#my bills need to start paying themselves cause i got more important shit to do

[khywren]

back from war (working 10 days straight) and ready to kiss my wife (interact with my mutuals)

[weasleylangs]

in the summer sun - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader but honestly it’s just a whole Weasley family slice of life fic. Summary: The war has ended and the Weasley’s appreciate their family now more than ever. Warnings: Mention of the war, mention of Fred having a near death experience, mention of PTSD, anxiety, nightmares and injuries, opening scene involves an anxiety attack, fuck is said twice by the way. Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This fic is inspired by this ask I received from Kai @weasleyclaw for the ‘send me a made up title game’! The warnings sound scary, but I promise this is a super fluffy slice-of-life fic with Fred and the reader, just existing after the war! Fred lives, obviously but he still had an accident and in reality, he’d be going through a lot of shit and I didn’t want to ignore that!

I am in no way romanticising mental illness and trauma, I myself struggle with a variety of mental illness and trauma and representation is super important, babey!!!!!! Proper support is important!!!!!!

I still can’t decide if I love or hate this but.... [schedules while I’m asleep]

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Fred sat up quickly. Heavy and ragged breathing coursing through his lungs as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t even remember what he was dreaming of now that he’s awake, only remembering flashes of green and a loud ‘bombarda maxima’ before being shocked awake by his anxiety and fear.

He’s been plagued by nightmares for three months, ever since he was fighting in that seventh floor corridor and the wall came crashing down on him. He knows it’s normal to be haunted by these memories, he almost died, for crying out loud, but he would really like to have one night where he sleeps through it without being jolted awake. 

He could feel the pressure in his chest get stronger as he struggled to breathe as he checked the clock on the bedside table. It reads 6:30am and when he looks out the window he realises the sun is already rising and the summer heat is making it into their bedroom. His girlfriend of five years sleeps in the bed next to him, snoring lightly having not been woken up by his oncoming anxiety attack.

Fred struggles to remember the grounding technique she taught him when he had his first attack. She’s his biggest supporter, always there when he needs her, but he wants to get better himself . He doesn't want to rely on her for the rest of his days no matter how often she reminds him it’s okay and that she wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

He’s got his legs swung over the side of the bed, his body closing in on himself when he feels the bed move and arms wrap around his middle, “Breathe, Freddie, and tell me five things you can see,” she whispers gently in his ear.

His eyes darts around the room, searching as he tries his best to breathe, “The tree outside our window, the lamp, that chair,” he struggles to speak as his breathing is laboured, “your book on my bedside table, my slippers…”

“Good job, my love. Now, four things you can touch.”

His hands grab hers, “Your hands,” he says as he turns to face her, “the duvet, my shirt and…” His hand moves, from her hand to cupping her face, “your hair.” 

This continues, Fred rattling off three things he can hear, two things he can smell and one thing he can taste before he realises his breathing has slowed down, his hands have stopped shaking and while the pressure in his chest is still there, it’s been alleviated and he knows it’ll disappear in a few moments. 

Y/N whispers soft praise in Fred’s ear as she lays him back down in their bed. She’s so proud of the progress he has made in just a short few months. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, while he barely remembers, he knows it’s the same nightmare as usual. Hogwarts, duelling, wall comes crashing down and Fred almost dies. It’s more of a flashback if anything, that he’s constantly reliving the worst day of his life.

“That’s okay, we can just lay here and rest before we go to your mum and dad’s… If you still feel up to going?” Y/N knows when nights like this happen, Fred usually wants to stay in bed and recoup his energy and try again the next day. 

“No, no, we have to go,” he says and it’s not because it’s an obligation, he truly does want to. After almost dying, after spending almost a year without knowing if Ron, Harry and Hermione were okay, after Bellatrix Lestrange threatened to kill both Ginny and his own mother and with Percy reconnecting with them all, he appreciates family time like he never did before. They all deserve to have happy, carefree and relaxing days and that’s what today is meant to be for them all.

“If you’re sure, my love,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. Fred probably won't fall back asleep, the sun has risen and while he won’t admit it, he’s too scared to try and sleep again. But he doesn’t mind, he’s perfectly content having Y/N fall back asleep in his arms and sometimes, rarely but sometimes, her soft snores lulls Fred into a light, undisturbed sleep.

-

It’s lunch time by the time Fred and Y/N apparate to The Burrow. Fred’s still recovering physically from his injuries - having your entire body crushed by rubble does that to you, so he happily side-along apparates with Y/N instead of solo floo’ing places. 

When they walk into the house, they’re met with a chorus of hello’s and Molly dragging Fred into a hug and kisses his cheeks repeatedly, and then continues to complain that he has no meat on his bones and that he needs to be eating more while shoving a muffin into his hand. 

George is snickering by the table because someone who isn’t himself is finally being on the receiving end of his mothers affection and he has Angelina Johnson awkwardly beside him. When Y/N raises her eyebrows at him, he mouths a ‘I’ll explain later’ before winking and walking Angelina over to her. 

“Hey, Angie,” she says, pulling the girl into a hug. While they were never close at school, considering Y/N wasn’t a Gryffindor, they still got along when the time arose, “didn’t know my little Georgie here got himself a bird.” 

George groans at the fact Y/N completely ignored him and Angelina blushes as she tries to hide her face behind her hair, but Y/N can see that she’s smiling and not at all bothered by the teasing, “Hey, I’m only teasing, come here!” she says as she pulls the embarrassed girl into a tight embrace. While Y/N drops the subject of Angelina and George finally getting their lives together and dating after years of pining, George knows Y/N is going to corner him later and get the answers out of him.

Hermione and Ginny quickly run down the stairs and grab Y/N, pulling her into a hug as well. Soon enough, the entire family is trying to squeeze inside the living room - including Bill and Fleur who always turn up for the Weasley get together and even Charlie has taken extended leave from his job in Romania to stay and spend the summer with everyone. 

Because of the overcrowding, Ron whistles loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Who wants to play a game of quidditch and let mum have some peace and quiet?” Immediately Harry, the twins, Angelina and Charlie are out the door, already fighting about teams and position. Y/N briefly hears Harry whine ‘I want to be on Charlie’s team but he plays seeker’ as their voices fade. Ginny stays back, wanting to catch up with Y/N for a bit and promises to join everyone later.

Fred loves nothing more than spending time with his siblings. Growing up as a twin, he’s had someone constantly by his side, but he loves his huge family more than anything. George and he spend 5 minutes fighting over who gets to be beater until they just decide they’ll just be on different teams before they realise they don’t have enough siblings for a full team anyway, meaning the beaters are out of the equation.

This causes the twins to just start jokingly fighting over who plays chaser before Ron and Harry has to break it up so they can actually play. 

Fred adores flying. His hair has been growing out and the wind through it as he flies is one of the best feelings in the world, he thinks. It makes him forget all his worries, his only focus is snatching the quaffle out of George’s slimy grip and getting it past Charlie, who’s playing both keeper and seeker for the other team to make up for the lack of players.

“Oi, Ickle Ronnikins,” he calls out from his broom, wobbling slightly as he yells to get his brother’s attention, “mind paying attention to the match and not your girlfriend? George is getting every shot in, mate,” He’s teasing of course. They can see the girls through the window and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sneaking glances at Y/N.

Meanwhile, the three girls sit at the kitchen table chatting amongst themselves and Bill and Fleur are outside in the garden when Percy and his girlfriend turn up. There’s tension in the air, there always is when Percy turns up. It’s not that no one wants him there, but given his history of being a ‘right prat’ (Fred’s words), everyone is cautious. 

But he goes right up to Molly, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her on the cheek and then turns to his dad and gives him a hug. 

“Hey Gin, Y/N, Hermione,” he gives them a curt nod as they say hello back before pulling the girl beside him closer, “this is Audrey, my girlfriend. Do you guys mind hanging with her while I go find the boys?"

The girls, of course, nod. “How long have you and Percy been together for?” Y/N asks as the girl sits and she hopes she isn’t coming off rude. She’s been with Fred for five years and never met Audrey and Hermione’s been in the Weasley’s lives for even longer, so it’s clearly a recent development. 

“Around this time last year… With everything going on and Percy not being on speaking terms with everyone, we haven’t really had the chance to meet…” she trails off and Y/N senses the awkward tension rising, so she grabs Audrey’s hand in a reassuring matter.

“Don’t stress about that. You’re here now and you’re family,” while Y/N isn’t officially a Weasley, her and Fred have spoken about their future together on numerous occasions so she doesn’t feel like she’s speaking out of turn offering ‘Weasley Family Status’ to Audrey, “I’m Y/N, Fred’s girlfriend.” 

“And I’m Hermione, Ron’s girlfriend,” Hermione adds and before Ginny even speaks, Y/N interrupts her, “You’re obviously a Weasley, Gin,” and the girls all start giggling.

“I’m Ginny, Harry’s girlfriend!” she exclaims proudly when all the girls finally calm down and it only sets them off again.

What the girls don’t notice is that Molly’s watching them, with a smile on her face. She’s always wanted daughters - she loves Ginny and she loves every single one of her sons, but she wishes she had been able to give her a sister. But watching the scene unfold in front of her, how these girls welcome Audrey so easily into their lives, Molly’s eyes well with tears as she realises she has the most wonderful daughter and future daughter-in-laws a woman could ask for. 

“How’s Fred doing?” Ginny asks. Of course, everyone’s suffered from the war, but everyone is constantly concerned about Fred. 

“Between seeing his psychologist and his physical therapy appointments, he’s doing really good,” she says, looking out the window and she laughs as she sees Fred holding Ron in a headlock, shouting something about how rusty he is at keeper, “there’s days it’s hard, and he has really bad nightmares sometimes, and there's days where they make him not want to leave the house but he had one this morning and was determined to get here today. I’m really proud of him.” 

Molly rubs Y/N on the shoulders, almost like a thank you for being there for Fred through it all as she places muffins in front of all the girls and takes her own seat. She takes a moment to scold Arthur for trying to repair the muggle radio playing he’s stolen from work before joining in on the girls’ conversation as they eat. 

The sweet moment is interrupted by a voice that is clearly Percy’s shouting and both Y/N and Audrey’s automatic assumption is that the worst has happened. Especially when Y/N hears the familiar voice of her boyfriend shouting incoherently. 

All the girls rush out the door, expecting to break up a fight but that isn’t what’s happening. Instead, Fred has Percy on the ground, rolling around in dirt and they’re both laughing . Molly has to excuse herself, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of Percy being accepted by his brother. 

“What’s going on here?” Audrey questions. It’s clear she’s still weary, worried that at a moment's notice, Percy’s siblings will turn on him and forget his apology. Fred looks up, winking at Y/N before looking at Audrey and flashes her a cheeky smirk, “Perce said I suck at quidditch.” 

Everyone rolls their eyes at this as Y/N grabs Fred’s hand and pulls him up. She lives with him, so one would think that the time spent apart at The Burrow is no big deal, but secretly Y/N has always been super clingy, wanting to always have Fred in her sights, and it's only worsened now they live together.

“Hi Freddie,” she giggles, tucking herself close to his side despite the summer heat blasting down on them, “I miss you.” she whispers.

Fred lets out a cackle of a laugh, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leading her to the tree they always sit under as he tells Ginny to take his spot on their makeshift quidditch team. Secretly, he was hoping to get away from the game because he needs a break and maybe an attempted nap under the tree. 

He settles down first, stretching his legs out as he leans against the trunk and then he pulls Y/N down to sit between them and to rest her back against his chest. This has always been their favourite way to cuddle.

“What’s the go with George and Angie? I knew they were going on dates but...” Fred asks, and Y/N shrugs. “He just said he’d fill me in later so I’m still waiting. But she’s at family day, so it must be getting serious.” Fred hums behind her, resting his chin on top of his head as he watches his family on the makeshift field in front of them fight over quidditch rules. George is trying to teach Percy fake rules and Ginny’s smacking him over the head as he laughs at the confused expression on Percy’s face. 

To their right, Arthur’s got the radio working and he’s charmed it to blast 80s muggle music loudly for the entire family to hear. Bill’s dragged Fleur to dance around with him and Arthur’s trying to get Molly to join them. Charlie’s sitting with Audrey and Hermione, probably droning on about dragons as usual and the girls listen intently, gasping when appropriate. 

“What are you thinking about?” Y/N asks. Fred is never this quiet, usually speaking every single thought that comes to his mind without any sort of filter. It’s gotten him in trouble a fair few times, from both his mother and Y/N. 

“I’m just happy,” he says quietly, tucking his head into her neck, and Y/N doesn’t miss the crack in his voice, “I’m so happy I’m here with everyone.” She shuffles in her spot so she can sit and face Fred and he can’t meet her eyes because his own are welling with tears.

“Don’t hide, my love, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she coos as she cups his cheeks in her hands. He leans into her touch and smiles as he sniffles. 

“I know, it’s just…” He trails off and Y/N knows what he’s going to say. He almost wasn’t here and that thought haunts the both of them more often than they’d like to admit. “I know, but that doesn’t matter, because you’re here , and I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am you are,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheeks.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says and Y/N’s heart swells. Marriage and lots of ginger babies has always been in their life plan, but hearing Fred say it, so, so vulnerably, almost brings her to tears. “Forever, Freddie, you promised,” she replies and he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on her lips. 

He’s always promised. He promised forever when they were 16 and they’d only been together for a year as they danced at the Yule Ball until 12am. At 17, when he admitted he wouldn’t be finish the school year. He promised once again at 18, before he flew out of Hogwarts with George. At 19, straight after George had his ear cursed off and he was sick with fear because the war was real and happening.

At 20, they were fighting in their school and he’d promised, ‘We're surviving this fucking thing and I’m marrying you as soon as I can.’ 

They pull apart and Y/N is smiling at him, adoration filled in her eyes as Fred feels around in his shorts, clearly trying to grab something. When he pulls it out, Y/N’s eyes catch the small, velvet black box and while she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, her heart is racing.

“I’ve been carrying this everyday, waiting for the perfect time,” he chuckles, shaking his head. You’d think Fred Weasley would have a huge and bizarre proposal, most likely with fireworks and dancing gnomes somehow, but in reality, this is perfect. He’s surrounded by his loved ones, there’s no war and he wants nothing more than to officially make Y/N a Weasley. 

“Is that now, Freddie?” she says and he nods, smiling. Y/N thinks he’s never looked happier in his life. He knows what her answer will be so he doesn’t feel the slightest bit nervous.

“I promised you, we're surviving the war and I’m fucking marrying you as soon as I can, so here I am,” he pops the box open and Y/N gasps. It’s nothing extravagant but she doesn’t mind. Small and classy, just like she’d always wanted and she doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Fred’s hand wipes her tears with his free hand, “Will you marry me?” 

She barely gives an answer, nodding her head violently as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his. Their teeth clash and they both laugh at Fred not being prepared to be jumped before getting a verbal response. Y/N pulls away and puts out her left hand, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

He slides the ring on her finger and it’s a perfect fit. They continue to sit in front of the tree, watching their family but Y/N constantly catches herself looking at the diamond ring sparkling in the sun and she’s decided she’s never been happier as well.

Everything is perfect, because it’s the calm after a very, very long storm and she’s never taking family for granted again.

[live-laugh-lenney]

The One Where YN Meets Will.

Hello, hi!

I’m Emily, I’ve had this blog for a few months now and I’m not sure what I want to do with it, apart from reblog gifs of Will and catch up on all things Youtube and the Eboys and the Sidemen and all that. Thought about giving writing a go, since I’ve done some before on another blog for another fandom, and this came from my brain as an attempt at writing for WillNE.

I am willing to take requests or write anything that anyone wants me to write about, if anyone would like one written for a specific idea.

Hope you like it. x

A consistent buzz came beside her.

Rumbling on top of her bedside table, her phone laid overturned and ringing with an incoming call from someone, charging on the thick Stephen King book that she was halfway through reading, ripples rolling over the surface of the water in the tall glass placed next to it, that she took to bed with her the previous night. She glanced at the salt lamp, small and jagged-looking and emitting a dull orange glow behind the sunlight that streamed through her windows, and gave herself a tut for leaving it on overnight; she couldn’t remember leaving it on although she couldn’t help but give a mental clap at how truthful the benefits of having a Himilayan salt lamp had been.

‘MUM’

The three letter word flashed at her in bold text, above a candid photo that someone had taken of her and her mum in a heart-to-heart chat in the middle of a family barbecue that had taken a turn once her father had found the alcohol stash in the garage and turned a casual family get-together into a night where everyone stumbled over the front doorstep on their way out. A heart-to-heart conversation that had them both smiling brightly at one another.

“Mum, hi.”

“Hi, darling.” Her voice sounded so soft, so sweet, inviting and warm and YN missed her more than anything; if she had anything to say about moving miles away, she would always give the advice of making sure distance was something you could handle. “You sound tired, did I wake you? I thought you’d be on your way to work by now.”

YN looked at the red numbers on the screen of her alarm clock, reading 7:45, and she had a tiny freak-out for a brief moment before she came to the realisation that it was her day off and she wasn’t due into work until after the weekend had finished.

“You did, yeah. I’m not due at work today though. They gave me the day off since my boss’ schedule is just meetings out of town today. He’s up North for conferences and such and it was late notice for me so he didn’t mind me not accompanying him. I wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway,” YN clarified and she used her free hand to push herself up from the mattress. Her hair was knotted and pillow-messed, sticking up in all directions and falling loose from the ponytail she’d thrown it up in before she fell asleep. Her t-shirt twisted around her middle which she adjusted with her fingers, bringing her knees to her chest and staring out the window as the sun continued its rise in the horizon. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t fuss about me,” she heard her mother tut from down the line. But YN couldn’t help but fuss over the two of them; if she lived closer to them, she wouldn’t worry so much because they’d be just a short distance away if they needed her help. But she didn’t live close and she hadn’t done for almost two years; she lived almost 300 miles northeast of where she used to live with her parents and it wouldn’t take her more than twenty minutes to tend to their needs. “We’re both fine, stop worrying yourself, darling. Your dad’s been back doing his gardening so he’s out there already. Watering his flowers, spraying fertiliser, cleaning all the fox poo up. He’s been growing some veggies in the plot next to the greenhouse so you can take some back when you next come to visit.”

YN smiled to herself, bringing her shoulders to her jawline before dropping them and relaxing against her headboard. The back of her head resting against the plush velvet, coloured a clean white, and her toes curled into the sheet beneath her, her fist clutching the duvet as she brought it tighter to her body.

“You can always send me some in a box? Or you could come and visit and drop them off yourself? You know I’ve got the spare room in the new place if you want to come up for a weekend. It’s vacant, just full of my empty moving boxes and bags that I haven’t gotten rid of yet,” YN said, a yawn creeping up her throat that she hid with the palm of her hand, “I need dad’s handyman work to come and help put some shelves up. You’ve not seen it yet.”

“Your dad said it’s a lovely flat. Lovely view. Lovely building. But, you know what he’s like when it comes to describing things. Everything’s lovely,” her mother snorted and YN laughed softly; her father had always been vague and she’s pretty sure that she’d never heard him use any other word to describe something other than ‘lovely’. “We’ve been talking about paying you a visit.”

“Please do. It’s a little lonely here by myself. I’m yet to meet new friends or have a chat with the neighbours. Everyone’s either back in Cornwall or back in Hackney and both are a hefty distance away.”

YN had never considered herself as an introvert so to call herself lonely felt strange.

She was always the friend who asked for the bill, she was the friend who made the complaint in a restaurant when a plate of food came back wrong, she was the friend who made advances on blokes in pubs and clubs because her friends were too shy to go and introduce themselves and she was the friend who always carried the responsibility of making polite conversation with people in pubs when they needed a table to perch themselves at. She was that friend. So making friends with strangers and starting conversations with her co-workers and approaching others who she found had kind features was never something she struggled with.

Moving to a new place and having to make new relationships and form new bonds, regardless of how far it was from the bonds and relationships you already had, she found it daunting to start fresh.  

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m not sure. The weather is really nice and it looks warm out so I might go and explore Canary Wharf and see what’s around. I need to do some shopping, food and furniture, so I might do some of that,” YN rolled onto her side and let her cheek rest against the cold side of her mattress, the backs of her thighs exposed to the cool air of her bedroom as her t-shirt rose up her body; and she made a mental note to buy herself so proper pyjamas because knickers and an oversized t-shirt could cause more problems than expected. “We’ve got a lovely grass area outside the block of flats so I might sit out there, soak up the sunshine, read a book and eat some lunch. I don’t know. Might see how the day goes, I have a good feeling about it.”

“Go exploring. You can find some places to show us when we come to visit,” and YN smiled.

“I’ll do that. You’ll love it mum. This place is amazing. I feel so lucky to have been given something as beautiful as this. I had a crack den for my first flat so this feels like a dream,” she stared at her ceiling. There was no yellow tint from how the previous tenants smoked inside and there were no unusually coloured stains on the ceiling’s coving that caught the eye because of how a stain of that colour shouldn’t have been there, leaving the mystery of just how it got there… and YN didn’t need that kind of stress over something like that. “It doesn’t smell like pee, there’s no syringes outside and there’s no sign of vomit or shit stains on the floor because it’s all laminate.”

“You deserve it, darling. You really do.”

“It’s clean, mum. It came clean, it smells clean, it looks clean. Everything looks brand new and,” YN pauses for a moment, rolling onto her stomach and she sighs with content, “I love it.”

*

After hanging up, she contemplated getting up and getting dressed for the day.

It felt rather tempting to stay in her comfortable loungewear and enjoy the silence, the time to herself and the time off she had been after for so long, taking advantage of Deliveroo and ordering food for breakfast, lunch and dinner rather than cooking something homemade and having the leftovers the next day (or for when she woke up in the early hours with a hankering for something to nibble on, because she could, because she didn’t have an authority figure to tell her no).

By the time her phone call ended with her mother, it was a little over forty-five minutes later and her alarm clock showed a time that she didn’t want to see on her day off; 8:35am. She expected another hour or two added on to her usual sleep schedule, to make a difference to the usual 6am alarm call that had her detesting her job just a tiny bit, but it wasn’t frowned upon because she’d take any given opportunity to speak to her mother. The one person she called her best friend because she really was the only person, apart from her father, that she’d drop anything and everything important for. Her sleep didn’t matter when she got to her the voice of someone she missed so dearly.

Porridge and fruit, a colourful array of strawberries and blueberries and bananas and cranberries in her bowl, and a warm cup of tea had been her breakfast as she caught up with the lifestyle Youtube channel she had been in the loop with. A Youtube channel that she had been a big fan of from the moment she moved to London, one who she turned to in times of need, one that she stumbled across when googling aesthetically pleasing ways to decorate a flat because she really needed to do something about how her Hackney flat had looked before a lick of paint and a hanging plant, one that she continued to view and like and followed tips from, even when it came to her new flat.

“Don’t be afraid to like monochrome and definitely don’t be afraid to follow a colour scheme that might seem ‘out there’ and in your face. If you like lime green then go paint a portion of your wall that colour. If you like the brightest shade of pink then go mad and add some colour to your life. You can never feel more organised than when your surroundings follow a consistent pattern that brings immense amounts of joy when you enter.”

The young girl on her screen, with space-buns either side of her head and an outfit that definitely came from a trendy thrift store clothes rail, sat before a wall of a delicious shade of peach that YN thought looked lovely; not for herself, because she’d stuck with the whites and the greys and the blacks that her flat already consisted of, but perfect for the young twenty-something year old.

“There are loads of websites where you can buy hanging plants, or artificial hanging baskets, and hanging canvas prints and wall art. I’m always looking for new things to buy so I’ll link some of my favourite online stores for you to check out; hit my Instagram mentions up with photos of things you’ve brought, too. That’s what I love to see.”

YN’s spoon clinked against the ceramic bowl in front of her as she pushed it away from her, reaching for her television remote and turning off her Youtube app, her television turning off completely and leaving a black screen behind. The flat falling silent. She looked around her, drumming her fingers against the tabletop, eyes squinting as the sunlight streamed through the wall-to-ceiling windows and made everything feel bright..

As much as she warmed to the idea of staying inside and ordering furniture and decor for her home, scrolling through online stores to buy something she thought she needed but really didn’t need, she had a good feeling about the upcoming day.

*

“Listen, love, I’m not sure if you could tell but I’m not exactly a people person. I don’t know you, don’t want to know you, have no plans to get to know you. You might live in the building but that doesn’t mean we need to be friendly.”

He spoke with such vigour in his voice that YN could only keep quiet so as to not entice a negative reaction out of him in such a confined space because confrontation was something she was never comfortable with. Sure, she’d endured confrontation before but that was from people she had been acquainted with, the ones she was friends with, people she saw on a daily basis and from people she worked with, from those who were supposed to confront her when something was wrong or hadn’t been down in a way it was supposed to be done; her boss, mainly. This man was a complete stranger, someone she didn’t know,someone she’d never seen before so instant regret filled her veins. She thought he looked friendly enough to start a quick conversation, to make the lift ride seem a little less boring, filling the empty space with general chit-chat.

Cowering away from him and almost closing in on herself, even though his attention stayed focused on the screen of his phone as he scrolled through a social media app, she thought he’d finished with her and she hadn’t expected him to perk up anymore.

“Not everyone likes to chat to strangers.”

“Well, I like chatting to strangers so don’t mind him,” a quirky Geordie accent perked up from behind her, her posture adjusting at the sudden appearance of someone behind her; she’s sure she didn’t see anyone else in the lift, apart from the towering bloke beside her, when she stepped into the lift but, then again, he was tucked away in the corner with a cap on his head and she had been looking at the floor as she entered because a mark on her white shoe had caught her attention. “Come chat to me, if you want. Promise I won’t bite your head off like matey-boy there.”

Her trainers squeaked on the floor as she spun around, eyes raking up and down his figure so she could get a good look at who the voice belonged to, almost staking him out in a way. He was a handsome chap, with brown hair sticking out from beneath a black cap upon his head that he’d pulled quite far down his forehead, a cheeky grin on his face that made the mood in the lift much brighter. There was a graphic print printed on the front of the black hoodie he had decided to throw on, the commonly-known Adidas stripes lining the length of his joggers, trainers on his feet with the laces loose and almost untying by themselves (clumsy, she assumed he was, because there’s no way he wouldn’t trip over them as soon as they loosened completely).

“I’m Will. Will Lenney.”

“I’m YN.”

“Do I get your surname? S’only fair since I told you mine.”

She laughed softly and replied with her surname, a look of appreciation on his features as he held his hand out for her to take, which she gladly shook with her own. Skin so soft, fingers so delicate, with a hold so strong that she couldn’t find herself letting go. She didn’t want to let go. This was the first contact she’d had with someone new, in a month of being new to the area, and it just so happened to be with someone she found rather attractive to the eye.

The bloke from before, who had tore down her attempts at being the friendly neighbour who he would, no doubt, see quite often, couldn’t help but let out the strongest sigh of annoyance. A sound that brought them back to reality, hands falling from their hold, dropping back down to their sides with a faint rosy-look on their cheeks that didn’t come from how warm it was. A sound that made the both of them turn their noses up, that made them their eyebrows scrunch on their browlines and made them want to really throw words at him until he gained some manners. Yet they ignored him because he wasn’t worth the time.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he started, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder that had slipped with the movement of his arm falling down to his side. His fingertips and right down to the middle of his palm still felt heavy with the thought of her hand still in his. “I’d remember such a beautiful face.”

The heat already on her cheeks reached boiling and she knew her flushed look caught his attention. His smile turning into a grin which had her looking at her feet, shyly. A handsome lad with a sense of immense charm about him; she liked him and it wasn’t typical of her to form an attraction at such an early stage.

“Yeah, I moved in about a month ago. Floor 10, right at the end of the corridor. A proper upgrade from where I used to be located but thanks to my work, they moved me from my previous office block to my current office block in Canary Wharf and said they’d move me closer if necessary,” she thought she was rambling and she expected a look of faint annoyance on his features that would silently tell her to shut up. She picked at the loose string hanging from the hem of her t-shirt and twirled it around her finger, looking up from her feet and seeing a look of intense concentration on his face, enticing her to carry on. “The move was necessary. Completely necessary. It wasn’t a nice place where I was before, it was the first thing I saw on the website and I was desperate for somewhere to live. If I stayed there, I would be half an hour away otherwise.”

Canary Wharf.

It was a complete upgrade from the streets of Hackney and the dingy flat she had become so accustomed to for a little less than a year; the smell of weed and tobacco would fill the corridors and hit her in the face when she left her front door, the lights were always dim and flickered and the lifts were rickety and untrustworthy, discarded bikes and scooters and old prams and baby-carriers littered the space between one end of the hallway to the other, suspicious figures dressed in black hoodies and grey joggers always greeted her with stone-cold faces and squared-up jaws. An attempt, she guessed, to look like they were the typical hardnuts of the complex and that they weren’t to be messed with, even if it was just a polite ‘excuse me’ to pass them by and to be out of their hair within a moment.

It wasn’t all bad, regardless. Her neighbours were sweethearts, they always said hello and invited her in for cups of tea and a slice of cake after she finished work, most people were kind and warm and had their own back stories as to why they chose such a place to live - she could only imagine that the building was a nice place to live, with residents who took care of themselves and the place they lived in, before London gangs took over and were on the high of increasing and before drug dealers became more frequent on the streets - and her life, thank god,  was never bothered. No one intervened, no one found her life to be their business to spread and life felt normal; she had a home, somewhere to live, somewhere to sleep and eat and shower and feel warm and cosy in a bed. Even if it wasn’t as nice as she had wanted it to be, she had somewhere.

Her new flat was almost dream-like if you compared it to what she lived in before. It made her Hackney flat look like a pit; a drug-den, if you will. She could wake up to pure sunshine filtering through double-glazed windows and there was no chance that she would be rudely woken up in the middle of the night from the ghoulish moans of the wind getting trapped between cracked window panes or the drunken yells of people stumbling down the hallways back to their homes. She could walk to her new place of work rather than hop on public transport and she could take the time to explore a side of London she never had the chance to see. Her floor was laminated wood, heated when the nights were cold, and there were no stains of garishly and disgusting colours of god-knows-what from previous tenants who had lived there. The view was beautiful, she could see right to the end of the horizon, and the scenes she was greeted with on her arrival home were almost picturesque… except pictures could never do it justice.

She’d been there for a month.

A whole four weeks.

And she could already feel improvements in her lifestyle that weren’t so bold before. She woke up happier and didn’t feel the need to stay in bed for a lie-in, she felt happier during the day and had a bob in her step that brought light to her office block, she felt safe when she walked out the reception and into the open space by the entrance and didn’t feel like she would be jumped by hiding predators if she arrived home late at night. She was friendly with her neighbours, always popped round to give them any post that had been posted through her mailbox by accident or if deliveries were left with them when she’d been at work and always started a conversation with them when they stood waiting for the lift to arrive on their floor.

“Oh, nice. What is it-”

The ding of the lift stopped Will mid-sentence, silenced them and halted their conversation as the doors opened to reveal the reception floor, empty and desolate from people. It was mid-morning, almost lunchtime, so YN had assumed most were working or out in the streets of London to enjoy the sunshine; the latter being what she had planned to do.

The man from the lift, who had tucked himself in the corner and stuck earphones in to block out their conversation, made sure he was the first one out and disappeared before YN could give him a sarcastic goodbye, not that he would have heard her anyway so she settled with a wave, a really exaggerated and over-the-top wiggle of her fingers, and hoped he saw it in the reflection of the window as he left and disappeared into the mass of people walking by their block of apartments.

“You’re a right character, you,” Will admitted, nudging her with his elbow and smirking at her, “what is it you do, job-wise? That’s what I wanted to ask.”

“I’m a PA for a CEO at an advertising company. A personal assistant who runs and gets coffee for everyone, gets lunch during her lunch-break, who organises meetings and creates schedules and gets the big boss what he wants when he wants it,” she clarified, “it’s not exactly the best job and I wish I was doing something I wanted to do but it pays well. For now, it’s enough to get me by and keep this place.”

They started walking toward the automatic doors of the entrance, feeling the cool air of the shade on their exposed skin that definitely disappeared as soon as the sunshine hit them, coming to a stop just by a brick wall. Young children were running around with their parents walking behind, cyclists were dinging bells to pass through large groups and groups of university students were huddled on the grass, eating lunches they’d brought from restaurants on their way, backpacks discarded and being used as pillows as they laughed and joked. Tourists were taking photos and posing to show off where they’d been and what they got up to when it came to showing their friends back home and businessmen and businesswomen were almost speed-walking to get back to their offices in time with a styrofoam takeaway lunch in their hands.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? Just tell me to piss off if I am.”

“No, no. Don’t be silly. I’m only popping round the corner to see my mate. He won’t mind if I’m late,” he said, perching down on the brick wall and patting the space beside him. The legs of his ankles rose up to show the white ankle socks he’d paired with his trainers., “What is it you want to do as a job? Just, the way you talk about your job now makes it sound like you don’t like it.”

“I do like it there. But I don’t want to be a personal assistant, running round London to get coffee and sandwiches, for the rest of my life. I’ve always dabbled in blogging, taking photos, talking about nonsense and stuff. Posting videos and vlogging, too. I’ve tried it out as something fun, documenting holidays and stuff, and I’d love to do something with that and take it further but... I don’t know,” she sat down beside him, sliding her bag off of her shoulder and setting it on her lap, arm looped underneath the handles to keep it from spilling the contents inside, “I don’t want to be a social influencer but someone who does what she wants to do and gets by by just being herself. No companies to promote her or anything. Nothing to boost her. All her,” she stared off into the distance, tapping the heel of her foot against the concrete. Will nodded. “What do you do?”

“I, uh,” he scoffed out a laugh and rubbed the nape of his neck. His hat fell from his head and he decided to swap the shade of the cap to the sunglasses he had hanging from the neck of his hoodie, “funnily enough, I post videos on Youtube. I’m a Youtuber.”

Her head whipped round and she gawked at him. Eyes wide, mouth agape and her hand found his forearm, squeezing it tightly with excitement.

“You’re not?”

“I am, yeah. I was in university, didn’t like what I was studying, and I was told that if I really felt strongly about this Youtube malarky then I should pursue it to its possible potential and see where I end up. My mum’s words, not mine,” he snorted. He felt her hand loosen around his forearm and he watched her face become rigid as she came to the realisation of what she’d done. He dismissed it because he didn’t want to embarrass her but, really, he didn’t mind and he found it endearing.  “I’m not that big or popular or anything but I’ve got a couple million subscribe-”

“Not that big,” she mocked and rolled her eyes, “a couple million subscribers is huge. I’ll have to search you up. What’s your channel name?”

“WillNE. Like, Will then an N then an E. Like a-”

“Like a play on words with your surname,” she grinned as she proudly finished his sentence for him and he nodded, rather pleased with himself; and she had to give it to him, it was something special, unique and rather creative than some of the stand-out names she could think of from the platform. Some were really out there and had no relevance to who they were nor what they spoke about, some were vague and some were almost as bonkers as the people who came up with them. “That’s really cool. This is really cool. A famous Youtuber lives in my flat complex... I’m talking to a famous Youtuber right now... heck, I’ve managed to keep my cool around someone famous and I’m amazed I haven’t embarrassed myself. Wait till I tell my friends about this. They won’t believe me.”

“They’re not fangirls or anything, are they?”

“No, ha. If anyone’s the fangirl out of my friends then it’s me. I’ll find myself watching Youtube when I’ve got nothing else to do,” she admitted, “cooking dinner? I’ll stick someone on to watch. Can’t sleep? I’ll just binge watch someone until I’m tired. Day off and there’s nothing to do? I’ll find a channel and just let it go from there.”

“Maybe I’ll pop up on there one day. I’ll help cure your boredom,” Will grinned, “then you can say ‘hey, that’s one of my mates there on my telly, that is’.”

A comfortable silence swallowed the both of them as they sat and let the seconds tick by. The tweets of the birds came from above, distant chatter came from the students lounging on the grass behind, scuffs of soles signified people were walking and jogging nearby and despite the feeling of time coming to end between the two of them, neither of them wanted to leave the other, neither wanted to bring the conversation to an end and neither of them wanted to part ways.

“So, we’re mates, huh?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Will smiled. Eyes locking with hers for a brief second, long enough to catch the twinkle in her eye and the genuine smile that lifted up her lips, “you’re a good’un. I like you. I think we’ll get along really bloody well, me and you.”

*

(WILL’S TEXTS. YN’S TEXTS.)

Filming a video tomorrow. Fancy coming by?

Won’t I get in the way?

Bollocks will you. Come along. Please. You can see firsthand how to make a Youtube video since you said you’ve always thought about it.

Where?

Only at my place. A TWOTI.

This Week On The Internet… nice one. I’ll be there.

You’ve done your research on me!

Spent all day googling you. As soon as you walked away, I started my research and I cut my day short so I could come home and watch your videos. Just call me a superfan now.

Superfan, ha.

I’ll have to test you. Could get you in a video to see if you’re my biggest fan.

Try me. I’ll get full marks. Your subscribers will look like phonies compared to me, hahaha.

You might have to sit off camera, out of shot, tomorrow. If I don’t finish everything by the time you get here, that is. No distractions. No pulling faces behind the camera.

I’ll be on my best behaviour. I’ll fangirl at the door, drop my Twitter handle into conversation, ask for a signature and a photo and then I’ll be fine.

I’m not going to regret this, am I?

You won’t hear a peep out of me. Promise.

Come by after lunch then. We can get some takeaway for lunch or something, if you don’t eat before, and I’ll have some bits filmed by the time you get here so you won’t have to sit in silence for too long.

Make it 1pm and it’s a deal.

Why 1pm?

It’s Saturday tomorrow. I don’t get up before noon on the weekends. Not even for you, mister big-shot Youtuber. ;)

And here I was, thinking you would throw your routine away for your new best mate.

Nice try.. see you tomorrow, William.

Ohh, serious. Full name and all. I see how it is, YN.

Goodnight, you muppet.

See you tomorrow. x

[reddeadinmybed]

Simplicity (M)

ANON ASKED; can we get NSFW dutchxreader? maybe something a little rough but not too violent or crazy.

Life on a farm was never easy. My father was never one to ask for money from loan sharks, he was too proud of a man to ever admit that he needed help when times were troubling. However, when a stormy night hit the farm and destroyed the crops and killed our livestock, my father had no choice. My father had somehow managed to find a loan shark easy due to them being only up the road. Something about them recently moving here from Ambarino.

The lenders name was Leopold Strauss. He was a German who was very good with numbers and anything mathematical. He lent my father approximately $250 to let the farm to get back on its feet again, which didn’t need the insane amount of money. He gave my father the time limit of a week and if we didn’t seek him out, he would send one of his men to come and “collect the money” for him. Sounded like a crock of shit to me. No loan shark would come and collect the money without starting a fight.

When my father told my little sister and I, we hit the roof. My father didn’t know the first thing about loaning or money in general. My father was now well over-encumbered with money and my sister and I had to make sure that the money was going to be spent accordingly and wouldn’t be spent on the likes of alcohol. It was either my father spending all the money for his own pleasures, or it was some assholes trying to steal the money for their own pleasures.

My sister and I thought we had managed to get the money back on time. We had put the money in the safe and didn’t let father know where the key was hidden. He agreed, not wanting to be indebted to a loan shark for the rest of his life. It was perhaps one of the smartest moves he made ever since mum died. The smartest move he ever made was to quit drinking and start focusing on a life with his two daughters.

Everything was going great until our farm got raided by some scum who called themselves the O’Driscoll’s. They stole our money, the money that we had saved to return to Leopold Strauss. They had blown up the safe whilst my father, sister and myself went to Valentine to grab supplies. 

We came back to nothing. No money. No cattle. Absolutely nothing. We were lucky they didn’t burn our house down. If they had, we would not have been able to have shelter. We were already on the cusp of losing the house. Prices were slowly starting to increase and supplies were scarce.

Leopold Strauss was going to send someone after us and there was nothing we could do about it. There was no way the three of us could make $130 in four hours. Father was told 6:00pm otherwise they would come and if was 2:00pm now.

Father told us that he was going to handle this problem and that we needed to hide. Something about not wanting any of the men in the gang to know we were here however we didn’t make it.

Just as my sister and I were going to hide, there was a man who kicked the door opened. My sister screamed in surprise and I pulled her closer to me, protecting her from the man. My sister was clinging to me desperately, terrified of the man who just knocked our door off its hinges.

“Mr L/N, it appears you haven’t handed us our money back.” The man says whilst taking a look around our house, most probably searching for something for him to take.

“Mr Williamson, you have to believe me when I say I had the money but those O’Driscoll boys took all of it. They had left us with nothing...I-I–”

Mr Williamson grabbed a glass from the cabinet and grabbed the scotch that was half empty. He then took a seat at the table and placed his feet on top of it. Mr Williamson poured himself a shot and brought it to his mouth, swigging it back.

“Now Mr L/N, do you really think I care about those damn O’Driscoll’s? You learn money to our Strauss and you need to pay up.” Mr Williamson chuckled, clearly finding the whole situation amusing.

Father spluttered with his words, giving Mr Williamson more of a reason to find the situation funny. Mr Williamson just sat there and continued to chuckle and pour another drink, knocking it back.

Mr Williamson looked over toward my sister and I, finally noticing us standing there, shaking in fear. If it was even possible, my sister gripped onto me even harder. I felt that if she held onto me tighter, I would die from getting crushed.

Mr Williamson gave a smirk.

“Well ain’t this a surprise,” he looked over at father. “Forget about the money Mr L/N, we’ll clear the debt for one of your beautiful beautiful girls over here.” Mr Williamson started as he creeped towards us.

“You leave them alone you hear! They’re not taking a single step out of this house with you. You and your gang can...can go fuck themselves! You hear me? Go fuck your self!” Father yelled and took steps closer towards Mr Williamson.

“Shut up you old bastard.” Mr Williamson pulled his gun out of his holster and whacked father over the head with it. Father fell to the floor, knocked unconscious from the impact of the hit.

My sister screamed, scared because father was our protector yet he was knocked out on the floor, leaving me to deal with Mr Williamson by myself, who was staring at my sister with predatory eyes.

Panic swarmed through me at the thought of Mr Williamson trying to take my sister. There was no way I could let him take her. I would rather him take me and even kill me before he even lays a finger on her.

“Now the question is, which one of you ladies should I take as payment.” Mr Williamson’s smirk only grew wider when my grip on my little sister tightened. It was obvious he wanted my sister and his menacing steps towards the two of us made it even more obvious.

“Y-You leave her alone you! Take me instead. I will go willingly if you let her go.” The words were meant to come out strong and make me long strong but my words were stumbled and quiet.

Mr Williamson’s smirk didn’t falter. He knew that I was scared and he knew that I couldn’t do a thing to stop him from taking my little sister. I would still try my hardest to keep the evil man that stands before me from stealing my little sister.

If Mr Williamson manages to take my little sister, I would never forgive myself.

“Well then. If I can’t have her...I’ll take you.” Me Williamson grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him. His grab caused me to go flying into his chest.

He stank of alcohol, no doubt he was drunk even before he came to ‘collect his money’. The smell made me want to gag, it was so bad. Not to mention that he hadn’t bathed in what seemed like centuries.

“H-hey! Let go of me!” I yelled out, trying to yank myself out of his grip.

Mr Williamson laughed.

“Look at what we got here. First she wants me to let her sister go and now she wants me to let her go. Well, I’ve got some bad news for ya sweetheart...” he looked me dead in the eye, “I’m going to have to take you with me. You’re the payment.” He then started walking towards the door, his grip on my collar pulling me with him.

“Y/N!” My little sister yells and proceeds to run after me.

Mr Williamson ignored her pleas and hogtied my hands before throwing me on the floor and hogtying my legs together. He threw me over his shoulders, his disgusting hands giving my waist a squeeze. He chuckled, throwing me over the horse.

“Y/N! No, please don’t go! I need you!” My sister cried out but there was nothing I could do. I was stuck on the horse and I couldn’t even see her. The repulsive man in front of me had faced me away from my little sister so as Mr Williamson got on his horse and started cantering away, I could only turn my head and look at her.

She looked a mess, crying her eyes out and eventually she collapsed onto her knees and thrusted her arms out as if she was trying to grab me. My little sister looked broken hearted and as Mr Williamson’s horse retreated, a tear fell from my eye.

How was I going to survive this?

It was only a 30 minute ride but it felt like hours. I didn’t attempt to speak in fear that I would get hit. I didn’t look towards Mr Williamson at all, not wanting to attract his attention towards me. During the ride Mr Williamson pulled out a flask and proceeded to frantically drink out of it. He finished it by the time we made it to the gangs hideout.

When Mr Williamson’s horse was hitched up, he grabbed my waist again, muttering about how nice my waist looked, threw me over his shoulder, and walked towards a large tent.

There was people in this gang - women to be in fact. They didn’t at all look intimidating, apart from one but she only looked stressed, ordering them girls to clean the sheets and clothes. Maybe they were like me. Slaves.

“Jesus Bill, Strauss sent you to collect money, not a girl.” One of the males said to Bill.

The man wore a worn out stenson with a blue shirt. He had a bandana wrapped around his neck and wore blue jeans with black and white suspenders. He had chaps that overlapped his pants and wore black boots. He was handsome, there was no denying it.

“Oh shut it Arthur, maybe if you could’ve done it better you should’ve gone instead,” Bill retorted and proceeded to walk towards the tent.

I looked at Arthur and he gave me an apologetic look, apologising on behalf of Bill.

I didn’t even get the chance to smile back at him because I was thrown to the floor. I grunted as I hit the floor, the air being knocked out of my lungs. I wheezed trying to find air for me to breathe again.

“Mr Williamson, I trust that this girl is important and that’s why you’ve kidnapped her from her home and robbed her from her family.” A sombre voice rang out and it had me turning to see who was the owner of the voice.

He was a tall but handsome man. He held a cigar in one hand and had the other holding on to his belt. He wore a black top hat with a red lining. He wore all black consisting of a black button up, jacket, dress pants and shoes. He stood there like a god and he looked like one too.

There was a girl in the tent who had red hair. She was gorgeous and had her hair professionally put up and looked perfectly in place. Her dress accentuated all her curves and made her bust looked luscious and plump. She was glaring at me, seeming displeased that I had pulled her away from the gorgeous man that stands before me.

“Dutch, this woman is payment for the L/N loan. Apparently the O’Driscoll’s had stolen their money right before I came. As punishment I took her.” Bill’s words made me angry; livid even.

“The O’Driscoll’s took everything we had! Even our payment to you, you incompetent asswipe.” I spat towards Bill, tired of seeing his excruciatingly annoying face.

Bill looked at me, annoyance dripping down his face.

“Now you shut it you dumb little bi –”

“Enough Bill. You can leave now.” Dutch called out, not once looking at him, his gaze remaining on me. “Before you do leave, untie the girl, she doesn’t need to be bound.” He placed the cigar in his mouth.

It was like I was entranced. Everything he did was perfect and all he did was put a cigar in his mouth.

Bill untied me and Dutch offered his hand out for me to grab. Apprehensively, I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up and towards him. I collided into his hard chest and his hand let go of mine and he placed it on my waist, stabilising me.

I blushed, not expecting such a brazen move. He was all kinds of warm, from his hands to his gaze. The weather was warm, probably why his grip was so warm.

“Everybody gather around. This here is –” he stopped and looked at me, expecting me to introduce myself.

“Y/N,” I muttered. It was so quiet I don’t even think that Dutch had heard it but he had.

“This is Y/N. She will be staying with us now. Keep your eye on her and if she runs away,” he paused to look at me. “Bring her back.” His voice was deep and it brought a shiver down my spine. It was clearly a warning. A warning to let me know that if I try and escape, there will be hell to pay.

A couple of minutes passed and everyone went back to what they were doing. People were cooking, others cleaning. Some were sitting there and writing in a book - a ledger. Most likely Leopold Strauss.

However Arthur caught my attention the most. He had a journal open and it appeared he was sketching. He looked at me ever so often and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Arthur was drawing me.

I slowly moved towards him and sat down next to him. He was sitting on a log that was overlooking the river. There was a lot of bugs around here but it was something that Arthur had seemed to be used to, not paying attention to any of the bugs flying around his face.

“Do you like drawing Mr –” I waited to hear his last name.

“Morgan,” he looked up towards me, staring at me for a bit before looking back down and sketching once again. “The last name is Morgan.” He looked very handsome sketching, yet not quite as handsome as Dutch.

“Mr Morgan,” I tested out his name and Arthur looked up at me. I gave a small smile and he returned one to me.

I had no idea but I wasn’t afraid. Mr Morgan made me feel...safe. It was as if he would never hurt me. I know its strange considering I just met him but he doesn’t look like he would hurt me. In fact, no one in this camp looks it. Apart from Mr Williamson and one other man in this camp (he had blonde hair and a strange moustache with an expression that was truly evil), it didn’t seem that any of them wanted to hurt me. Hell they even had a kid in this camp.

I felt somewhat safe with this camp which is definitely crazy considering they just kidnapped me from my family and my home.

“The answer is yes.” Mr Morgan said, confusing me. I frowned at him as if trying to remember if I said anything.

“You asked me if I liked to draw,” Mr Morgan clarified. “Yes, I like to draw.” Was all he said and we were sat in silence again.

I took one look at Dutch and he was talking to the girl in his tent. They didn’t look happy, somewhat yelling at each other. You could hear the phonograph playing classical music, drowning out their argument. I then looked back at the river again and watched as the sun started to go down.

I don’t know how I’m going to survive here but I’m hoping that eventually, they’ll let me see my family again.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I have been with the gang known as the Van Der Linde Gang. I have gotten to know everyone a bit better during the weeks I’ve resided here. I’ve even gotten to know Bill. He was a grumpy brute and although I don’t particularly like him (or Micah and Molly) I remain - for some silly reason - hopeful that a friendship can grow between the two of us.

I’m extremely close to Arthur Morgan and Mary-Beth. Karen doesn’t like me too much, saying I need “exposure to the real world and not some fairytale world”. The reason being that Mary-Beth and I love to read. We love to read about other lives. Other lives being the rich and famous and love stories that we could only dream of.

Arthur is my lifeline. When I felt like I was drowning, Arthur had managed to pull me back and remind me of who I am and what I was doing here.

Although I miss my family very much, I felt like this was the life that I was missing. I felt like I was meant to be here. I didn’t want to leave this place. Yes, I wanted to see my family again, everyone would in my situation. Yet I feel like I don’t want to go back to how things were before. It seemed boring.

Over the few weeks I also got to know Dutch Van Der Linde and his somewhat ‘girlfriend’ Molly O’Shea. Dutch refuses to call her that but Molly jumps at the chance, reminding me that Dutch belongs to her.

It was currently 7:30 in the afternoon and the sun had just left the sky a couple of minutes ago, yet there was a gorgeous residue of patterns from the sun that littered the sky. It was gorgeous.

“Miss L/N,” Mr Matthews voice called out. I turned to face him, a smile on my face.

Mr Matthews was a lovely old man who acted like a father to me. He always talked about his ex-wife Bessie and how things used to be. They were interesting stories and I loved to sit down by the fire and listen to them, a smile on my face.

“Yes Mr Matthews,” I said whilst turning around to face him completely.

His old age was slowly getting to him, the wrinkles becoming evident as each day passes. I had no idea how old he truly was but I was assuming he was in his late 60’s to early 70’s.

“Dutch would like a word with you in his tent.” A spark of nervousness ignited in my belly. The tingle I felt made my breath hitch and I could only give a small smile as a response to Mr Matthews.

He walked off leaving me to sit there and think about what Dutch could possibly want. Was it that he has noticed the stares that I give him? Was he going to kick me out of the gang? Was he going to yell at me for doing something wrong? My mind went into overdrive, thinking of all the worst case scenarios in my head.

I stood up abruptly and started walking towards Dutch’s tent which was all closed off. I had no idea how I was going to let him know that I was there, it wasn’t like I could knock on the sheet. Instead I resorted to, “Mr Van Der Linde, I’m here.”

Dutch uttered out a “come in,” and I found myself opening the sheet and stepping inside, making sure the sheet was shut properly. I then turned to face Dutch and my jaw almost dropped with the sight I had before me.

Dutch held a book in his hand and flicked the page when he had finished the page. His jacket was not one and his shirt was unbuttoned allowing me to see his chest. His hat was sitting on top of a barrel and I could see his hair was rough due to the hat being on all day.

“Y-yes Mr Van Der Linde?” I asked, stuttering at the beginning.

Dutch noticed this, a smirk on his face as he took a puff of his cigar. He blew out the smoke and placed cigar on a tray, ensuring that the whole tent won’t set on fire due to the cigar dropping.

“Miss L/N, I have called you in here so I can discuss a...an observation I have seen with you and Mr Morgan in the camp.” At the mention of Arthur my cheeks turned red.

Oh no, he thinks I like Mr Morgan!

“M-Mr Morgan? He and I are merely just friends, he and I a-are nothing more.” I muttered out quickly and Dutch smirks once again.

Dutch closed the book and placed it on the barrel before walking closer towards me. I took a step back, not wanting to be in his way but it appears he was walking towards me. I took another step back, afraid of what he was planning.

He flicked the switch of the phonograph and classical music started to play. The sound blocked my thoughts, it being way too loud for me to think.

“Dance with me Y/N.” The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. He offered out his hand and I didn’t even think before I grabbed his hand, eager to dance with him.

He pulled me to him, much like the first day that I met him, and I collided to his chest. His arms encircled around my waist, giving a little squeeze before his left hand gripped my own.

My breath hitched at being so close to him. His grip on me was tight, as if he never wanted to let me go which was fine by me because I never wanted him to let me go. Being in his arms felt right and I never wanted to be held in another mans arms.

Dutch moved backwards slowly, guiding me with him. Everything felt so right. I could feel his chest pressed against mine and my right hand was gripping his shoulder with such desperation, I’m sure Dutch could feel my nails digging in.

My gaze remained on his and his gaze remained on me, both of us too afraid to look away from each other. It was as if we’d disappear if we looked away from each other.

Dutch’s gaze flickered fo my lips, and at that moment, I desperately wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to make me his, I wanted to be his.

His head tilted in, as if he was going to kiss me and I wasn’t going to pull back. I wanted this just as much as he did. I wanted Dutch to kiss me, to call me his. I could feel his breath on my lips and we were so close our noses were almost touching. If I leant forward even the slightest, our lips would be pressed against each other.

The kiss was going to happen except Molly barged through the tent and saw Dutch and I. She saw me pressed completely towards Dutch and our heads tilted and close together.

I broke away from Dutch and removed myself from his embrace. Immediately a sense of longing filled me. A feeling of yearning for his embrace nagged at me and it would do anything to be in Dutch’s arms again.

Not thinking, I turned and ran out of the tent, not wanting to hear what Dutch nor Molly had to say. I just kept going until I finally made it to my tent and laid on the bed, attempting sleep.

I was afraid. I was afraid of the way I felt when I was with Dutch. I should hate him. He’s forbidding me from seeing my family and he’s keeping me here. I should feel nothing but repulsive when he touches me and I should be trying to escape as I’m thinking at this very moment; but I can’t. I don’t want to leave because when I’m with Dutch, my world is complete.

Maybe I was crazy but the simplicity of being with Dutch is what I yearned for. I didn’t have a struggle when I was with him, life was easy and simple. I wanted him and I knew I couldn’t have him.

He was with Molly.

A couple of days had passed since that night with Dutch. I had avoided both him and Molly, still not wanting to hear what they had to say. Not only that, I had no idea what to say to either of them. What would I even say to Molly? There was nothing to us? Clearly Dutch and I both wanted something that night whether it was just pure intimacy or each other. It wouldn’t make sense if it was just intimacy he craved, he had Molly for that. Right?

I was walking to a table to place my stew down when Molly stood in front of me and knocked my plate causing the hot stew to land on my chest and the food to cover me.

I gasped, not expecting Molly to do that or have food all over me and my clothes. It burned, the stew being fresh off the burner. I wanted to scream and flick the hot food off of my chest but I was also too proud to admit that I was in pain, especially to

Molly looked proud of herself for ruining my dress. She had a proud smirk on her face and she crossed her arms, pushing her bust out.

“What the hell!” I yelled out looking at Molly with an angry look on my face. Everyone in the camp looked our way to see what was happening.

Micah let out a little chuckle and made a remark, no doubt a disgusting one.

“That was for hanging out with Dutch, when you know he was mine.” She then turned away and started to walk away from me.

A flash of anger ran through me and I stormed towards the stew pot. I grabbed a bowl and grabbed a handful of stew with the spoon and placed it in the bowl before walking towards Molly O’Shea and dumping all on her.

She gasped in shock and yelled that it burned.

“Two can play this game Molly. Don’t fuck with me.” I then turned and started walking towards the river. I needed to get these clothes off of me.

I continued walking a few metres away from the camp, just to make sure that no one could see me. I didn’t want anyone to see me naked especially Micah. He was a creep.

When I thought I was clear, I started to undress. I then walking into the water, with my dress in hand. I needed to clean the stew off of the dress if I ever wanted to wear it again. I was limited in clothes and I needed this one to not be stained.

I stood in the freezing cold water trying to get the stain out, not even noticing that Dutch was slowly walking towards me. His steps were slow, him taking his time appreciating the view.

The water stood up to my waist so he would’ve been able to see my breasts and me struggling to get the stain out of my dress.

It wasn’t until I groaned and threw the dress towards the shore that I saw Dutch Van Der Linde standing there watching me. I gasped and covered my breasts although there was no point, he had already seen them.

Dutch stood there with a smirk on his face.

“Miss L/N, I didn’t realise you were so brass.” He grabbed his hat and placed it on the floor. He then took his jacket off, slowly undressing himself in front of me.

“Mr...Mr Van Der Linde, I-I wasn’t expecting you to follow me. I-I needed to clean my dress after –”

“After miss O’Shea threw your stew all over you. Yes I heard. I also heard that you threw stew over her. That was a very bad thing to do Miss L/N. You’re disturbing the peace around here,” Mr Van Der Linde said as he unbuttoned his cuff-links.

“I-I didn’t m-mean to. I was mad and...and I –”

“That’s enough talking Miss L/N, you need to be punished,” he cut me off once again. I gasped at his words. Punished? For sticking up for myself? How exactly is he planning on punishing me?

His shoes were off and his shirt was now unbuttoned, much like the night before. He was now pulling his belt out of the loop holes in his pants. He was staring at me as I watched him undress. Who knows what he was thinking at this point. All I know was that he was so darn attractive right now and I was excited to see what was going to happen.

I took a step back, gasping at the coldness of the water as it hit my nipples. Dutch noticed and smirked, pulling down his pants leaving him bare all for me. I started walking into the water, not even giving me a chance to bask in his naked glory.

He walked towards me and once he reached me he stood there, waiting for something to happen. Or perhaps that was me. We were just staring at each other, naked, with the water reaching my shoulders and his chest.

I don’t understand why he’s not doing anything. Was I not attractive enough? I don’t understand.

“Miss L/N, I must say, you are ravishing. I’m finding it quite hard to hold back.” I looked up in surprise. Hold back? What does me mean by that?

“What if I don’t want you to.” It was a bold move but I wanted to know what he would really do and what he’s really holding back.

He gave one last smirk. It was one last smirk before his lips were on mine and kissing me as if it was the last chance he would ever get to kiss my lips. The kiss was aggressive and fast but no doubt passionate. All of our emotions from the last couple of weeks towards each other were embodied in this kiss.

Dutch tilted his head to the left, allowing me to bring myself closer to him and for his arms to trail down my waist and grab at my ass. He squeezed his hands and I gasped in surprise, which allowed Dutch access to inside of my mouth. His tongue explored my mouth, learning every crevice within my mouth. I moaned and the intensity of the kiss. Never have I been kissed like this before.

Dutch’s lips detached from mine and his left hand came up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking it down, causing my head to roll back. I winced at Dutch’s grip on my hair but all was forgotten once his lips attached to my neck.

They were slow kisses to start off but soon his patience was worn thin and he proceeded to sloppily kiss and suck at my neck before moving down and towards my breasts.

Dutch’s hands went down to the back of my thighs where he gripped them and pulled them up, wrapping my legs around Dutch’s waist. I could feel his length rub against my thigh and my stomach turned in anticipation.

I have never felt so hot and heavy for any man. Dutch is the only one who has brought these feelings upon me. I felt desire, a copious amount and it was only for him. I only wanted him. Every other man seemed like nothing in comparison to Dutch and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dutch circled his tongue around my nipple, sucking at the skin and making lewd noises that I have only dreamed of hearing. I’ve dreamt about this moment for weeks on end, wanting Dutch to fuck me; hard.

“Dutch,” I moaned out, gripping his hair with my hand. I pulled him closer towards my breast. He nibbles before biting at my left breast and I gasped in pleasure and in pain, the mix feeling so good.

Dutch pulled away from my breast and looked at me. I was puffed out, wanting Dutch to desperately fuck me and show me how bad I was being. I wanted him to punish me and tell me I was a naughty girl. I wanted everything and I wanted it now.

He turned around, me still in his grip and he walked towards the shore before placing me - surprisingly softly - on the ground. He hovered over me, looking at my body which was still wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he whispered to me before kissing me once again.

The kiss was still passionate and rough, exactly what you’d expect from Dutch Van Der Linde. He wasn’t a soft guy, he was a hard and tough man who brought nothing but dominance to the table.

His hand traveled down my body. His hand brushed past my stomach and I jerked due to reflexes until he finally placed his thumb on my clit. He placed pressure on it and sparks flew and travelled up my body. I let out a slight moan at the pleasure.

He pulled away and looked at my face, watching my face contort in pleasure as he slowly rubbed circles on my clit. He did this for what seemed like minutes but it was only a few seconds before pulling away.

“Do you like this Y/N?” His voice was incredibly deep, most probably due to the need he felt, much like I’m feeling at this moment. I needed more from him, I needed him inside of me.

He continued to circle my clit with his thumb gaining more moans from me. It was like I couldn’t control the noises that came from my mouth. They were dirty moans. The type of noises my parents would kill me for letting out.

“Answer my fucking question Y/N!” He raised his voice whilst rubbing my clit faster, causing more moans to escape my mouth. “I said do you like this?” He asked once more.

“Yes!” I called out, halfway through a moan. I wanted more, the teasing was getting too much. I wanted him to stop teasing me and actually do something.

Dutch said no more and moved the finger that was on my clit and travelled down to where I was needing him most. Dutch placed his finger at my entrance and slowly pushed it in. The intrusion made me gasp, bucking my hips forward to feel more of him. Once his finger was fully inside of me, he kept it there, not moving it at all.

“Please,” I begged whilst thrusting my hips up towards Dutch, wanting to feel his finger move in me. Dutch however would not move his finger at all, watching me with a smirk on his face as I looked at him pleadingly.

“What do you want me to do Y/N?” Dutch asked, moving the finger that was in me slightly but never retrieving his finger or attempting to move and make me feel good. It was as if he was waiting for me to tell him what I want.

“I want you to fuck be Dutch. Please,” Dutch pulled his finger out and plunged it back in, causing me to gasp in pleasure once again. “Fuck me,” I moaned out.

That was all it took for Dutch to pull his finger out and grip my legs, spreading them open. He looked at me with such a devious smirk that if I wasn’t so desperate for Dutch to fuck me, I would’ve gotten up and left my now.

Dutch without hesitation thrusted into me, giving me no time to adjust to his hard length which I have not even properly seen yet. It felt large and it left me breathless. It filled my walls up so perfectly and I just wanted him to move already. I wanted to cum so bad and I wanted him to mercilessly fuck me.

He sat there for a moment, looking at me to see how I was fairing. I wrapped my arms around his waist, bringing my arms back up to grip his shoulders. Dutch moved his head and placed it in the junction between my neck and shoulder.

Dutch pulled his hips back, causing his length to come out of my entrance before he slammed his length back in. I moaned loudly, loving the way that he managed to fill me so nicely.

“Faster,” I moaned out and Dutch grunted.

Dutch thrusted faster and harder causing my body to be thrusted upwards. My legs wrapped around his waist and I brought my nails down his back whilst moaning.

Dutch’s right hand travelled from my waist and moved towards, brushing over my breast and travelling up to my neck. He gripped my neck and gave a light squeeze. My breath gave way from the grip on my neck.

It all seemed too much. From the grip on my neck to the hard and fast thrusts that he was giving to me. I couldn’t make a noise, my mouth was open but nothing was coming out of my mouth. Dutch’s thrust kept moving my body, my breasts bouncing up and down. Dutch watched my body, enamoured by the way that my body was reacting to his movements.

“Yes Dutch!” I moaned out, not even caring that the camp may hear us from where we are situated. “Right there, please keep going, please!” I was practically begging, that was how much I wanted to cum, to unravel under Dutch’s touch.

Dutch grunted and brought his other hand to my clit. This caused me to jerk into Dutch’s grip allowing him more access to my neck. Dutch practically growled as he slammed his lips back onto mine once again. His tongue invaded my mouth, connecting with mine. However I could hardly kiss him back due to my moans of pleasure from Dutch’s thrusts. Dutch rubbed my clit in circles and I couldn’t control the jerks my body was making.

A familiar tingle in my stomach formed and a yearning for the upcoming orgasm filled me and it had me panting for more and jerking my body so that both Dutch’s and my hips were meeting together, allowing for his thrusts to hit deeper.

I could stop the moans as my orgasm was quickly approaching. It had me clutching onto Dutch and pulling him as close as I could possibly get him to me.

Dutch looked at me with a smirk (which he never removed).

“Are you going to cum sweetheart?” He asked and I nodded, throwing my head back in pleasure.

It was all too much to handle. The pleasure was flowing through me and I was shaking, it felt that good. From Dutch’s hard thrusts to the lack of oxygen from Dutch’s grip on my neck, I could almost feel the coil snap within me.

I brought my hand up to Dutch’s hand which was wrapped firmly around my neck. I placed my hand on top of his, appreciating the coolness of his rings on my hot skin. I then pulled it at an attempt to let sit back into my lungs as I felt I was going to pass out at any point.

The water from the river hit our legs, the tide coming closer to shore as the day progressed to night. I rubbed my right leg up and down his leg as he thrusted himself into me.

I would never forget the feeling that I was feeling at this moment. I never wanted it to end, it felt so good. I just wanted Dutch to fuck me forever, I could get used to the way that Dutch fills me up so nicely.

The coil that was holding me together was just about to snap, I could feel it. It would only take a couple more thrusts before I would cum on Dutch’s dick.

“I’m going to cum! Dutch, yes, oh my god, I’m going to cum. Please Dutch, faster!” I moaned out, no longer holding back as I was desperate to cum.

“C’mon Y/N, come for me. You know you want to,” the smirk was evident in his voice but god I did want to cum. I wanted to cum so bad, I would do anything at this point.

One last thrust was all it took before the coil snapped and I was cumming around Dutch’s dick, hard. I screamed in pleasure as the pressure finally overwhelmed me. I gripped Dutch hard and clenched around him, causing Dutch to groan in pleasure.

My head was thrown back and my eyes (although were already shut) were squeezed shut and I could bet that Dutch’s back would be scratched to pieces due to my nails gliding down his back.

It only took a couple of more thrusts and Dutch was cumming in me, his cum filling me to the brim. I moaned at the feeling of his cum painting my walls whilst he was still buried in me.

Dutch let out a quiet, “fuck”, letting me know he enjoyed this just as much as I did.

We sat there for a while, trying to regain our breathing. We were panting crazily, both our stamina depleted from the dirty act we had just completed.

“I hope you have learnt your lesson Miss L/N.” Was all Dutch said before he pulled himself out and stood up, giving me a once over before grabbing his clothes.

Without even sparing me a glance he put his clothes on. During this time, I frowned, wondering why he was acting so cold. Usually the people I’ve been with showed some sort of aftercare whether it was one last kiss, cleaning me up or even giving me some cuddles before leaving. Dutch however gave me nothing. He just left me in the sand and put his clothes on.

With one last glance he walked off in the direction of the camp, leaving me, extremely naked and extremely embarrassed that all of this had just happened the way that it just did.

Over the next couple of days, Dutch hasn’t talked to me. He refused to even look in my direction. It was like nothing had happened between us whatsoever and it felt like the hospitality that I should’ve received when I first came here.

I felt used and abused.

Now that he had gotten his way with me, he wanted nothing to do with me. Like there was nothing else he wanted from me. He didn’t even want to talk to me.

The worst part of it all was that Molly O’Shea loved this.

Molly would sit there and smirk at me whilst she clung onto him like he was going to disappear at any moment. It annoyed me to no end that she had to throw it out there to me constantly that ‘Dutch was hers’ or that ‘I was never woman enough for Dutch’.

So I did what I only thought was possible.

I decided to leave the camp. They couldn’t keep me here anymore. Especially since the leader Mr Dutch Van Der Linde didn’t want even acknowledge me as a part of the gang, so I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me leaving.

I made sure to do it at the middle of the night. There would only be one man on patrol duty and that was Javier. Javier had no idea that I was going to escape, just like the rest of them.

That was because I didn’t escape from the front road where the gang usually rode in. No, I escaped via the woods. I ran through the woods until I eventually made it back to the road that lead to Rhodes. It was from there that I managed to hitch a ride from a lovely stranger with the name Hewitt and he drove me back to the farm on his carriage.

When I arrived back to the farm I had no idea what I was going to see. The feelings I felt had never caused me to vomit from shock, pain, anger and grief all at once. The breath in my lungs was no longer there and I struggled to breathe.

What was before me was my house on fire and in front of me, was Dutch, holding a gun to my fathers head.

I had no idea how they managed to become one step ahead. I hadn’t said anything about it and I had never made any plans until tonight to even leave so how the hell did Dutch know that I was going to leave the gang and how the hell did he get here before I did?

Dutch turned to look at me with a smirk on his face. He didn’t say anything, he just looked back at my father who was on his knees and looking at me with an apologetic look on his face.

It was then that Dutch pulled the trigger, killing my father.

I watched as my fathers life flashed before his eyes before his life faded right in front of me and he fell to the floor, a bullet in the middle of his forehead, blood pouring everywhere.

Dutch then turned to me and chuckled. It was a deep chuckle that truly showed how evil he was. He killed my father and my sister was no where to be seen; presumably dead. It was all because of him.

“Miss L/N, did you really think you’d be able to escape from me?” Dutch then walked forward and raised his gun, placing it to my head. “No one escapes from the Van Der Linde gang.”

It was then that he pulled the trigger and all I saw was black.

Hello everyone!

I hope you all enjoy reading this long and extremely unedited imagine which I went way overboard with. But hey, the anon wanted rough, I went there on all levels.

Anyway, thank you for the reads and I will see you next Tuesday maybe.

- REDDEADINMYBED

[ninjanonymous]

I’m pissed off, and sad, and scared, and I have a lot to say right now. This all needs to be said, for my own sake if not for anyone else’s.

Very recently, the Supreme Court ruled 7-2 that employers under the Affordable Care Act are now allowed to roll back access to birth control for their employees, as long as their religion disagrees with it. This ruling was made in the name of religious tyranny, and NOT that of religious freedom. Christian-run businesses can now force their beliefs onto their employees by actively denying them the healthcare that they very much need.

Can you imagine the outrage there would be if SCOTUS decided that it was suddenly okay for a Muslim-run business to break FLSA standards during Ramadan? After all, if a Christian-run business shouldn’t be forced to pay for all ACA-protected aspects of an employee’s healthcare, why should a Muslim-run business have to sacrifice profits when eating lunch during Ramadan is against their religion?

“Oh, but there are federal protections to keep something like that from happening.” Are there? Are there really? The ACA gave employees FEDERALLY PROTECTED access to birth control through their employers, because an employer’s religious beliefs shouldn’t be used to control the freedoms or hurt the wellbeing of others. Now look where we are.

This court ruling essentially dictates that religion can make you exempt from federally-mandated rules for the sake of profit. It puts the employer’s beliefs above the beliefs and wellbeing of their employees. It puts any company’s self-proclaimed God over the law, and allows them to forgo worker protections because, according to them, it’s what Jesus would want.

And where do we draw the line? Should a company that’s run by a Jehovah’s Witness be allowed to deny coverage for a needed blood transfusion? Can a religious company claim that any illness is a righteous punishment from God, and the use of modern medicine to treat it would be sinful? What would that mean for something as devastatingly expensive as cancer treatment? What if the CEO doesn’t agree with vaccines? And really, why even stop at access to healthcare when there are any number of ways that a company could encroach on their worker’s rights in the name of God?

Too many people in this country are entirely dependent on their employers for their health insurance. Healthcare costs in America are the highest in the western world by far, and life-saving treatment is often prohibitively expensive without it. This SCOTUS decision may ultimately deny many Americans their constitutional right to life.

Employers pay private insurance companies to provide care for their employees. This is a blanket expense. They don’t get an itemized bill for the healthcare that they’re covering. They’re paying for general healthcare coverage to be provided by insurance company, and that’s it. The employers are not the insurance companies themselves. They are not the ones processing the claims and choosing which to deny and which to cover. Your medical record is private, protected information. Your employer does not have access to that information under HIPAA. If your employer isn’t allowed in the room with you during your doctor’s appointment, they absolutely shouldn’t be allowed to pick and choose what care you can and can’t receive.

These companies are literally just saying, “see that person right there? I don’t like that they’re on birth control, because I’M a Christian, and that’s against MY beliefs, so now THEY can’t have it.” A Christian forcing their beliefs onto someone else isn’t religious freedom, just like a Muslim forcing their beliefs onto a Christian wouldn’t be. This is religious tyranny the and Christian-backed persecution of women.

And for this specific ruling, it really is that arbitrary. This ruling is a poorly-disguised move to further strip away the rights of women in the name of Abrahamic theocracy. The idea that this decision would save money for these employers is completely asinine, considering good reproductive healthcare and access to birth control reduces long-term costs overall (I will be adding the stats and sources to back this up in a later post).

And here’s an important reminder for you all: reproductive healthcare is still basic healthcare. Taking care of one’s needs regarding their reproductive system benefits their overall health. And even if you disagree with me there, “birth control” is a pretty damn big misnomer. While it is commonly used to prevent unwanted pregnancies, there are a myriad of other reasons that a woman might need it for.

Birth control can control hormonal acne. My own mother was put on it for this reason back when she was a teenager.

It can be used to help regulate one’s mood. A dear friend of mine is on it for this reason. She suffers from severe depression, occasionally to the point of suicidal ideation. I am fucking terrified about what this court decision could mean for her.

It reduces one’s chances of getting uterine cancer. I have a family history of uterine cancer, and it can be hard to detect. They only found it in my grandmother by chance when they were performing an unrelated surgery.

It reduces your chances of forming ovarian cysts. Women with PCOS often suffer from these, and they can be quite painful. My mother had to have a football-sized ovarian cyst removed from her abdomen, and histology found that it contained pre-cancerous cells.

It can relieve symptoms of PMS and PMDD. Again, this is a form of hormonal mood regulation, as well as a means of controlling many of the unfortunate physical side effects of the menstrual cycle. PMS and PMDD are often topics of ridicule, but their symptoms can have a serious negative impact on one’s day-to-day life. I’ll add more information on this later, since there’s a lot to cover.

It can help regulate one’s menstrual cycle. For reasons I shouldn’t have to explain, knowing when blood and viscera is going to start pouring out of your crotch really helps with being prepared to deal with it. It also helps to avoid really embarrassing situations in public, or the need to clean bloodstains out of clothes and furniture. Irregular periods are a gruesome guessing game. I’ve been there. I don’t want to go back.

It can make your periods less painful. Periods happen when, once a month, the uterus sheds its inner lining. As in, the person having their period is bleeding internally, because one of their organs is shredding and expelling parts of itself from the inside. That shit hurts. Many women have reported vomiting or passing out from period pain. For me, the average period cramp can be compared to really bad gas or diarrhea pain. You know, the kind that has you breaking out into cold sweats on the toilet while you silently beg for mercy to any god that might be listening. Fun, right? I’d recon my pain level is about the average, too.

It can be used to manage menstrual migraines. Did you know some women get migraines in conjunction with their periods? Migraines are debilitating. Imagine having them chronically, getting them frequently around the same time every month, then being denied affordable access to the one medicine that was keeping it in check because your asshole boss says that Jesus wants you to suffer. Bonus points if you get fired because the migraines had a negative impact on your ability to work.

It can reduce your risk of anemia. Some women get really heavy periods. Like, crazy heavy, to the point where they bleed so much that it’s unhealthy. Technically speaking, I fall into this camp. I’d hemorrhage to the point of needing a transfusion if I went long enough without birth control. Gee, I sure hope the insurance-throttling company that I work for isn’t run by a Jehovah’s Witness.

Birth control is the only non-invasive way to control uterine fibroids, which often go hand-in-hand with endometriosis. These are non-cancerous growths within or around the uterus can cause uncontrolled bleeding, and may be quite painful in and of themselves. A ridiculously high number of women have this, myself included. Most women that have them have no or very few symptoms. I was not so lucky.

And that’s just a few of birth control’s many uses. And actually, let me talk about my fibroids some more for a second, just so you all have a better idea of what it means to live with this shit. TMI time. I take birth control. I’ve been taking it regularly for about five years now. I’ve never had sex before, and I don’t plan on it any time soon. This is the one and only reason I’m on the pill.

Five years ago, during my freshman year of college, I started bleeding out of the blue. Really, really badly. This “spotting” was sudden, and heavy, and unrelenting. I’d completely bleed through a super tampon in less than two hours, when one of those would last a good eight hours on my heaviest day during a normal period. I had to sleep with towels on the bed, and set an alarm to wake up early so I could take deal with the shed blood before it got too bad, and to give myself extra time for cleanup before classes. After going from horizontal to vertical for the first time in several hours, getting to the bathroom was a race against time and gravity.

I lived like this for a full month. Tampons and pads, for those of you that have had the privilege of never needing to buy them, can get really pricey. Doubly so for a broke college student, triply so when they need to be extra-large packs containing extra-large products, and quadruple-y so when that broke college student is still managing to bleed through those products at an absurd rate. And, it hurt. The pain was worse than usual; the camps were sharper, more persistent, and sometimes it felt like someone was jabbing a big needle into my abdomen and twisting it around. I was taking OTC painkillers constantly, and they barely made a dent in the pain.

The bleeding started just over a week after my last period had ended, so it was way too early for it to be my next cycle. I figured that maybe my cycle was syncing up to my roommate, or some other chick on my floor had some weird hormonal imbalance, and the outside interference from other people’s hormones was screwing with me enough to make my own body act weird. I figured I’d just have to wait out this one bad period, and everything would settle back down to normal. But, two weeks passed and absolutely nothing changed. The bleeding wasn’t slowing down, and I started to get worried that it wasn’t just an abnormal period. I waited a couple more days, then booked an appointment at the health center. It was more than a week until they could see me.

The consensus was fibroids. They couldn’t give me an official diagnosis without an ultrasound, but all signs pointed to that one conclusion. They said that the only way to make the bleeding stop was by taking birth control. I wasn’t happy about it, since my mom had me convinced that birth control would actually increase my risk of cancer (not true, as I later found out), but I agreed anyway. The nightmare was over a few days later.

So, off topic but still related, I had surgery on my foot a couple months ago. It had to be immobilized for a while, and I was put on blood thinners to prevent any clots from forming while I recovered. Birth control pills can actually increase the risk of blood clots, so I made the choice to hold off on taking those for a while, just as an added precaution. Sure enough, only five days later, the bleeding and the pain was back. Again, it had been only a week since my last period.

I still need to be on birth control. It is a medical necessity for me. My fibroids are still around, and I’ll still spot and cramp up if I miss a pill. I’ve recently been told by my doctor that a permanent fix, and my only other option for treatment, is a hysterectomy. I am 22 years old. Most surgeons would never dream about performing that procedure on me, even if it didn’t already come with its own health risks.

And hell, even if it is used just to prevent pregnancies, what gives someone else the right to deny a woman her bodily autonomy? Human beings are sexual creatures. They’re going to fuck, regardless of whatever laws or religious doctrines are involved. We are quite literally built to have sex, and it’s entirely healthy to do so. There are plenty of peer-reviewed studies that go into detail on the matter; just hop onto Google Scholar and see for yourself. And, maybe, preventing pregnancy is a need in and of itself. What if a woman has a condition that would make pregnancy extremely high-risk? Is she not justified in taking birth control to protect herself from grievous injury? If she’s married to a man, does that married couple not have a right to sleep together without fear of one of them literally dying for it? Even by Christian standards, it doesn’t seem right.

This decision that the Supreme Court has made is utterly shameful, and countless law-abiding American citizens will now be denied access to needed care that they otherwise couldn’t afford without insurance coverage. This is truly a loss for America and her people, and one that will cause suffering for decades to come.

[archathiums]

Another abbreviated, watered down, sleep deprived history lesson, but this time it’s all about literally the hottest founding father we have- Alexander Hamilton.

I mean have you seen him on the 10 dollar bill?

Anyways, so this is directly for @alexanderhamiltonlive the boy who deserves someone not trying to shit on him at least 23/7, I mean really. Anyways.

So the Ham man is born in the Caribbean, specifically Nevis, and obviously there’s some real strenuous circumstances, like you know- being born out of wedlock, nearly dying thanks to hurricanes and disease, being orphaned as a child.

You’d think this is enough to make anyone like, turn over and go back to Fucking bed, like “thanks god, I really fucking appreciate it- I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Instead this tiny Ham is so fucking smart, despite the fact the schools were like “no Bastard Orphans allowed.” He starts working for a really shady creep named Cruger and his trading company. And despite having literally no formal education he’s making these adults look like fucking idiots, he’s so smart, he’s like 13 and handling the goddamn finances for a fuckin’ trading company. And garbage boy Cruger is like “shit, I wonder how much money you could make me if you had a formal education.” So they raise money to send Hamilton to the mainland and are like “okay- get smart and come back.”

And Hamilton is like “lol k.” Cause obviously that’s exactly what he’s NOT gonna do.

Anyways, he gets to America, and shows up at King’s college like the lil’ 15 year old twerp he is kicking the door in yelling about graduating early and everyone’s just kind of like “whatever if you want to or something..?” And that’s when he meets Mulligan.

He’s got a bunch of other friends like Robert Troup, but the play doesn’t like them, so we don’t like them.

So the war is finally kicking off, and I like to think Hamilton’s college days were the equivalent of this—as a bunch of frat boys banging on shit in the street, yelling “come at me bro.” At the British.

They join in with a militia with a bunch of other students call themselves the “Hearts of Oak” make up a bunch of drills to practice in preparation. They’re actively fighting and one of my favorite goddamn moments in existence is The Battle of Princeton and just how much nonchalant big dick energy Hamilton radiated when STEALING FUCKING CANONS. I MEAN LITERALLY I NEED TO FIND THE MULLIGAN QUOTE—

‘I was engaged in hauling off one of the cannons, when Mister Hamilton came up and gave me his musket to hold and he took hold of the rope. . . . Hamilton [got] away with the cannon. I left his musket in the Battery and retreated. As he was returning, I met him and he asked for his piece. I told him where I had left it and he went for it, notwithstanding the firing continued, with as much concern as if the [Asia] had not been there.’

Like I’m so fucking?????? JUST waltzed back across into enemy lines to get his fucking gun?? Stops to look st a redcoat like “hey man, nice weather we’re having hear? Good for war.” Casual as fuck.

Anyways, flash forward a bit, Ham man is suddenly like a hot fuckin commodity. His brain and his recklessness has all the military leaders fighting for him as a secretary. Washington ends up winning and boom he’s an Aide-de-camp.

Things a pretty great until pretty boy John Laurens comes in from London like “hi I’m here to fight a war and be gay while doing it.”

They’re disaster gays, or well, Hams a disaster bisexual— but I don’t need to tell everyone how gay it was. We. All. Know.

He’s besties with Lafayette and Laurens. (alexanderhamiltonlive claims he’s kissed Lafayette once, but I have a firm stance on: PICS OR IT DIDNT HAPPEN.)

But point is, they’re called the ‘gay trio’ they’re just fucking besties constantly getting shot and fighting in a war. Lafayette rivals Laurens in just how often one of them gets WIA.

There’s not much I really need to explain in this I feel? We all know he got command of a battalion eventually, and beat some British ass in the battle of Yorktown.

Around this time Hamilton is married to Elizabeth Schuyler. There’s not much to know on where Laurens and Hamilton stood at that point, my firm opinion is that he just— marriage was important in political careers. And Hamilton was poly. we know you can love multiple people.

Now whether or not Laurens was cool with that is a different story, but that’s a different topic.

We win the war!! There’s party poppers everywhere, it’s like a week long party.

Hamilton goes back to school, passes the bar pretty quickly, graduates becomes a lawyer and pretty much single handedly shapes our judicial system. Like he gets credit for being the founding father of our economy but he did so much god damn more. And Hamilton was an excellent lawyer.

But he’s also a little shit who basically went ‘go big or go home.’ And took all the ridiculously hard cases. AND. WON. THEM. He made a name for himself.

So then he goes into working as secretary treasury and spends all his goddamn time arguing with a bunch of old racist white men. And then we have the Reynolds affair which I’m about to get real biased on for a second.

A lot of people give Hamilton flack for being a slut, but I think we’re thinking through the 21st century lense on it. There’s theories that Hamilton was bipolar and manic episodes that can cause you to write over 50 essays in the federalist papers can also impact you negatively.

We know James Reynolds was a con man, we know Hamilton made a mistake, but there’s so many more factors playing into than just Hamilton going “heehee, helpless pretty girl.”

People forget that charisma can be very flirtatious but it doesn’t correlate to lose morals. Hamilton wasn’t a slut, he was a romantic sure- it’s very clear Ham man was the type of person who fell in love ridiculously hard and fast, but we also forget he was human, he made mistakes.

And at the end of the day he did pay for those mistakes.

He didn’t get off scotch free with his affair. There’s too many attributing factors to the affair, it was already a sketchy situation, the bipolar mania and lack of knowledge or study on mental disorders, the level of charisma that Hamilton possessed that made people pay attention to him. Dumbing it down to “Alexander Hamilton is a slut” is just bad critical thinking skills.

We also know Laurens death has a major effect on Hamilton, it shut him off and in some cases made him reckless, but there are things for certain- Alexander Hamilton was not a bad person or father, there are a lot of accounts in writing that show he had the mentality of “kind to my loved ones, vicious to my enemies” and when you’re surrounded by enemies, that’s kind of the only real face you see.

I don’t have to describe the duel, we all know how it went down, Hamilton threw away his shot, Burr shot him and ran away, losing him was losing a great potential

president. Which hella sucks.

[flatstarcarcosa]

danger & dread (pt. 1)

summary: The most important thing in Van’s life is control, and having it. When their life starts falling apart, they and Slade both have to deal with the fact that emotional intimacy is a vastly different beast than psychical intimacy. Slade has to decide if he’s planning for a fling, or something else. Bill remains dubious of his intentions.  word count: 5521, split into 3 parts warnings: abuse, violence, alcohol, smoking,

part two || part three

----------------

    “Behave out there, we don't want you to think this a hotel.” The cop behind the desk laughs at his own joke as Van finishes signing a stack of paperwork. He passes them their belongings they'd been booked with, and offers a wave as they head towards the door.     “Fucking jackass,” they mutter, ripping into the plastic containing their cellphone and wallet. As if on cue, a black dualley screeches to a halt in front of them, the passenger door swinging open.     “Please tell me you thought to get me a pack of--” Van stops mid-sentence as Slade holds up a fresh pack of Marlboro's. They climb into the seat and slam the door behind them, plucking the cigarettes from his hand.     “Thanks,” they say, clipping their seat belt as Slade loops through the county jail parking lot and back to the exit.     “Why didn't you call me sooner? I was wondering where you were and it wasn't until I stopped by your house that your nosy neighbor filled me in,” he says, holding out a lighter. He waits for Van to light their cigarette before reaching across and plucking it out of their mouth to slide it in his own. They scoff and grab another.    “I couldn't remember your number,” they say.     “You know, back in my day, we had these things called phone books,” Slade says, changing his blinker from right to left as he changes lanes. “I hear cellphones have a similar thing.” 

    “It took me ten months to be able to remember my own number all right,” Van snaps, “I had a bit of other shit on my mind, give me a fucking break.”     Slade stays silent as the truck rolls towards a red light.     “Fair enough,” he says, tapping ash into the tray. “What about your mom? I doubt she has a dashing benefactor waiting to bail her out.”     “She's got Lew,” Van says.     “I thought Lew was in Texas?”     “She is,” they say, shrugging. “Let them figure it out. Fuck it, I need a few days of not getting my face beat in to pack my shit and move, anyway.”     “Why did they arrest you, anyway?” Slade asks in place of the obvious question of where are you going to go? Van's lip curls.     “Because cops are useless fucks at best and I should have known better than to call them,” they say.    Silence.     The cigarette smoke seems to ride on it, swirling around the cab of the truck and leaving a haze. Slade rolls his window down a crack to let it air out, extinguishing his own in the ash tray.     “Why did you?” he finally asks. Van groans, leaning back in the seat.     “Because my stupid fucking friend talked me into it! I told her I don't fucking trust cops and that I've never had a good experience with them and she was all 'oh I was in the same position and it worked out for me!' fucking lying fucking--” they choke back the urge to scream, instead inhaling deep enough that the rest of their cigarette turns to ash and falls off into their lap.     “Fuck,” they mumble, patting at the small embers.     “You could've called me,” Slade says softly. In fact, he can't figure out why they didn't. Van found out who—and what—he really is months ago, and they were the one who made the argument that they still wanted to be in a relationship anyway, despite Slade's hesitance. Them not calling him for help with something so serious going on both concerns and confuses him.     “Yeah full offense, but,” Van says, “last time you had a family blow-up, you faked your death and moved here, and then oh, proceeded to lie to me about who you were for a year and a half! I'm sorry that 'call Slade' wasn't my first instinct!”     Slade's grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he ignores an aggravated honk from the car behind him as he realizes he's almost driven by the turn for Van's neighborhood. He says nothing, knowing well enough that anything coming out of his mouth right now will just make the situation worse. Van deflates and pinches the bridge of their nose.    “Look,” they say, “it's been a shitty four days. I want to go home, I want to check on my dog, and I want to take a shower that's not in the middle of a room housing 16 people. All right?”    “Yes,” Slade says. He pulls into Van's driveway, parking behind their car. They've hopped out of the truck before he's turned the engine off and are unlocking their door by the time he's closing his. Their dog shoots into the driveway, stopping in the front yard to hike his leg and growl at Slade as he enters the house.     “Rufus, enough,” Van says, snapping their fingers. Rufus obeys, running back in and planting himself at their heels. Slade squats down and holds out a hand, letting the dog cautiously sniff his fingers. His body language changes almost immediately as he trots over and plops his head on Slade's thigh.     “You don't see me for a couple of weeks and you forget about me, huh?” he asks, scratching Rufus behind the ears before standing up. Memory jogged, the dog decides his new spot to be is right at his heels, and he trots happily behind him down the hallway. The living room reeks of cheap vodka, and one of the easy chairs is tipped over. Van digs through a pile of clothing perched on a rocking chair, tossing unneeded items over their shoulder.     “I'm gonna take a shower,” they say, balling clothes up in a towel. “Can you feed him for me?”  Van slams the door to their bedroom shut before Slade can answer. Rufus whines.    “Hungry, boy?” he asks looking down. Rufus whines again, tail wagging slowly. Everything falling apart around him, and all he's aware of is that at least one of these humans is going to feed him, and now his main human is home again, and the house isn't dark any more!     Oh, to have such a simple understanding of the world.     Van spends forty five minutes in the shower. In that time Slade feeds the dog, lets the dog out, washes the dog's bowls, and smokes four cigarettes. He's rinsing his mouth at the kitchen sink, the foul aftertaste reminding him why he quit in the first place when Van opens their door. The stop in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding their cellphone to their ear.     “I'm not asking you to not bail her out at all,” they say, “I'm just asking you to wait a few days.... I don't know, Lew, lie about it!” They jerk the door shut. Slade leans on the kitchen counter.     “Because I need time to get my shit and get out,” Van says, snatching the cigarettes and lighting up. “Well if she doesn't want me to leave, she should have thought of that before going on a drunken bender, threatening to kill me, and beating my fucking face in because I said I was going to leave!”     They tap the cigarette against the ash tray and stick it back in their mouth, drumming the fingers of their free hand on the table.     “Her complaint about me not having a job right now isn't valid, unless we're all just ignoring that I quit that job because I was pissing blood.” Van grinds their teeth as they listen, rolling the cigarette to the other side of their mouth. “Then I guess I'll be fucking homeless! I don't give a fuck! Fuck you, fuck her, and tell her if she wants to try and make more of an issue about the car she can fucking sue me like my father is!”     There's an audible clak as Van tosses their phone onto the table. The noise causes Rufus to whine again and stick his head between Slade's calves. He moves him gently with a foot, glancing down as he speaks.     “What's your plan?” he asks, because he knows Van always has one.     “Get my shit and go,” they say. “Apparently Lew is paying mom's bail, they're gonna process her out in the morning. So whatever I'm doing, I have like 10 hours to do it. Which means anything I can't shove in my car might as well get set on fire right now, because she'll trash it all.”     Van pauses, taking in a breath and running a hand through their damp hair. “Fuck it, it's only stuff.”     “Are you staying with anyone?” Slade asks. At this point he's actively attempting to steer the conversation where he wants it.     “I was in the process of getting a hotel when I had to call the cops,” they say. They turn towards the living room, taking stock of what items are theirs, and what of those should be taken. Slade calls their name to regain their attention, and they either don't hear him or they're ignoring him. He sighs and steps around the counter, reaching out to put a hand on their shoulder.     “What god damn it?!” they snap, recoiling away from his touch. They've got an arm half raised in front of them, and for a brief moment Slade watches a deep-seated and uncontrolled fear flash in their eyes. He brings his hand back and holds them both up in plain view.     “Calm down,” he says softly. “You're over thinking.”     “I have ten hours to pack my fucking car and find somewhere else to go,” they snarl, “no, I don't think I fucking am!”     Whatever dam Van has built up to keep themselves functional is starting to crack along the edges. It's understandable, considering the last handful of days.     “So, what are you going to do?” Slade asks, crossing his arms. Van tangles a hand in their hair, tugging at it slightly and staring around the room with hazy eyes.     “I'm...gonna finish packing the tote I was packing when the cops showed up,” they say. Slade sighs.     “No, I meant after you get your shit together,” he says. “Where are you going to go? Who are you going to stay with? You can't stay in a hotel forever.”     “I-I have some friends, I'm just waiting to hear back.” Van picks their phone up and taps the screen.     “These the same friends that convinced you, against your better judgment, to call the cops, which resulted in you getting arrested despite being the one who got beat?” Slade asks pointedly. The hand holding their phone begins to shake, and right as he realizes that was too much and that he's pushing too hard, Van lets out an angry scream and tosses the phone. He launches himself across the room, managing to catch it just before it shatters on the floor.     “I don't fucking know!” Van yells. Both their hands are in their hair now, tugging enough to be painful. “For once in my fucking life I don't fucking know what I'm going to do or what I should be doing, or what the best idea is, okay! So fucking sue me!!”     Slade sets the phone back on the table, making sure to move slowly and measured. He notices the dog hiding under a chair cowering and shaking, and he squats down to extend a hand. Rufus bumps his nose against his fingers, staring up at him with wide eyes.     “It's all right, buddy,” he says, rubbing the top of his head with a finger. “You're a good boy.” Van lets out another scream, turning and kicking the coffee table. The fake plaster board serving as wood break apart with a loud crack.     Shit, Slade thinks, well, so much for the dam.    “I can't fucking do it anymore,” Van yells. “I don't have anything left! The tank is fucking EMPTY. I give and I give and I give and I fucking give and it's never enough! Nothing I ever do counts for fucking shit! Everything that ever goes wrong in everyone else's life is always my fucking fault, and I'm fucking tired of constantly getting my goddamned teeth knocked down my mother fucking throat!”     “Van,” Slade snaps. “Come here.” They don't turn to face him. Their arms stay down by their sides with their fists clenching and unclenching. He takes a few steps forward, boots silent on the carpet.     “I'm so fucking tired,” Van whispers.     “I know,” he says. He dares to put his hands on their shoulders, and although they tense up beneath him, they don't jerk away like last time. He takes that as a good sign and turns them to face him. When they don't raise their head he cups their chin, his thumb brushing against the bruise on their cheek. Van presses the palms of their hands over their eyes, face scrunching and flushing and their jaw setting itself tight.     As tired and strung out as they are, and they're still fighting furiously to plug the dam. Something in him switches on, something similar to the raging desire he had to protect them when his identity got outed months ago, yet different. Back then, the desire was mostly for selfish reasons; he didn't want to be responsible for someone that had no involvement in that part of his life dying because of it. A small part of it was because of the fondness and the rapport he's built with them, sure, but even that's rooted in his own innate egotism.  He's not sure how to put this new feeling into words, so he brushes it aside. That's something to worry about later, when there's less pressing matters in front of him.

[jeonsdear]

I’m having a mental breakdown. I’m supposed to start a course tomorrow that I’m not interested in bc I don’t know what I want to study or work with and I’m just crying bc I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I want to do, so how to I make progress in life? And I don’t want to have a job that doesn’t fulfill me and that doesn’t pay well. I’ve been stuck for years and I still don’t know what to do. Everything feels wrong. I just want to start living, but I can’t and I’m so frustrated and tired

This is really hard for me to answer because I can’t remember a time I didn’t know what to do. I always knew I wanted to go into teaching (even though I question whether I can do it a lot) and a big part of that is also my purpose in this life. But I have a few friends who are in the same situation so I’m going to base my answer on those experiences and I’m going to give you some tough love.

First of all, your purpose does not have to be your career. Just because mine is a big part of my purpose, does not mean the universe or whatever assigned you the same. People find their calling in parenthood, in the way they care for humans or animals, in their hobbies or just in their existence. So keep that in mind. And I truly believe each one of us has some kind of purpose. We just have to learn to embrace it.

How old are you? If you are a teenager, know that this is the norm. Only few teenagers actually know for sure what they want to do. If you’re in your early twenties, this isn’t too unheard of either. So if you’re a teen I’d just suggest keep it easy and try new stuff. You’ve got time to figure stuff out.

I’m going to assume you are around my age though. Now, the thing is, you have to pay bills. As much as I support people doing jobs they are passionate about, at the end of the day you have to make sure you survive. I go by the rule that as long as the job serves to pay your bills, it’s a good bridge offering time for you to figure out what your next career step is going to be. Not everyone of us is privileged enough to take time to figure out what we want to study. Some of us have to go right into it and it sucks but that’s how life is.

Since you’re talking about starting a course, however, I feel like you started University without actually being passionate about your subject. First of all, attitude is everything. As dumb as it sounds, if you start something being all negative it’s not gonna serve you. Be open for surprises! You don’t actually know whether you enjoy it or not. But by starting this course not even remotely interested or at least open-minded, you’re closing a door that might just be something you needed. I could preach about law of attraction because I find it to be so true in my life and I wish more people understood that there’s some truth behind it. That is also connected to my practical advice for everyone not knowing what they actually like: try it. Try as many things as you can, especially those that seem to be SO far away from what you usually enjoy. A lot of people don’t reach for fields because they put themselves in categories and are scared to shake those up. At Uni, you can sit in the most random lectures from other subjects! I sat in a mechanics lecture about space travel and it was fascinating. I did it because I had a spare period between my classes and I would advise you to do the same. But most importantly, give your current course a chance. Honestly, don’t be that kid where others can smell you don’t wanna be there. Give it a chance. Give yourself a chance. 

Now, try to journal and answer those following questions, because they can really help you figure out what’s going on:

1. Do I live the life my parents/family/friends/surroundings expect me to? Do I live according to my own wishes and morals or do I follow a path set out for me? (cue: if you are, you most likely haven’t found yourself and that’s why it’s so hard for you) 

2. Am I mentally well? Am I depressed? Do I have anxiety? (cue: depression makes everything hard in life so of course everything is shitty. It’s not you, it’s your brain. Get help)

3. Do I trust myself? (cue: If you don’t, you aren’t confident in pursuing the things you really wanna do so you don’t even consider them. You probably know what you’d like but you don’t trust yourself enough to actually do them.)

4. What are my abilities? How are my grades? What are my resources? (cue: check what you can actually realistically study. I didn’t have the grades for medicine so there’s no reason to be hung up on that)

I love you so I’m going to give you the fields I considered besides teaching, or the aspects that I thought were important in my career choice maybe you can find yourself somewhere in there:

1. HUMANS. I wanna work with humans. Preferably young ones --> Teaching, kindergarten, nurse, doctor, psychology based careers, 2. ANIMALS.  Veterinarian, zoo keeper, veterinarian helper, animal and environmental protection fields (they are looking for young women and they are starting to pay a lot for that and it’s very future-orientated lol) 3. MORALS. I believe in being a good person and being a positive influence --> teaching, kindergarten, nurse, law (to some extent), environmental fields 5. ABILITIES. What am I good at? --> In my case: languages, being motivating, organising and planning, patient, kind, social studies, introspective, learning, listening and empathising, leading 6. INTERESTS. What do I enjoy? --> reading, writing, cultural studies, learning languages, learning in general, politics and discussions, fighting for good causes, the way human brains work (e.g psychology), astrology, self-development, being a leader 7. DISLIKES. What do I dislike --> natural sciences, mechanics, anything with numbers, working outside, repetitive routines, no routines (e.g secretary and stuff ain’t my thing)

I applied for all the teaching programs in my state and a few law programs. I knew I wanted to study and not do job training (in Germany we call it Ausbildung) so I didn’t really consider nursing or kindergarten or any of that sort. 

But I want to end this answer with a big big big and passionate statement: do not choose your career based on money if you want to enjoy it. This is for people that do not care about what they work in as long as it gives them a lot of money. If you actually care about enjoying your work, better say goodbye to the idea of earning a lot. I don’t go into teaching because it gives me shit tons of money. I would not survive my studies if that was my reason lol. You seem like someone who wants to work in a field they enjoy, so...forget about the money.

I sincerely hope this is at least a little bit helpful and I honestly hope you will figure it out soon!  

[alovevigilante]

Job interview: by Kari Keillor

Interviewer: Hello, Mrs. Kailior is it?

Kari: No, it’s pronounced Keeler, like the elves but without the b.

Interviewer: yes, I see... ok. Well, I see here that you are interested in working for our fine establishment.

Kari: yes, please as I need the money.

Interviewer: ok then... why do you want to work here?

Kari: I need money.

Interviewer: (jots down notes) ok, yes... yes... hmmm, I see here that you only have your associates degree, is that correct?

Kari: yes. I’m also one class into my junior year of college at a four year college.

Interviewer: oh... I see. Well, I’m sorry, but in order to complete this interview we need our applicants to have a minimum of a four year bachelors degree to be able to do this very important job we need filled.

Kari: I’m not a bachelor.

Interviewer: yes, we see that here on this paper. That means you aren’t qualified to be what it is we’re looking for here.

Kari: you haven’t seen me. Your nose has been down in my resume the whole entire time.

Interviewer: um, yes, see we don’t quite know how you got in here to be seen, seeing that you aren’t up to our qualifying qualifications.

Kari: yes, well seeing that I’m unseen, and as long as I’m here, maybe we can discuss what I HAVE done in my life that can be an asset to your job requirements. Perhaps that will suffice and be of some value to your qualification team.

Interviewer: no.

Kari: ok. Well, it was nice not really meeting you.

Interviewer: yes. Thank you for fulfilling my requirements of having to see a certain amount of people to fill this very important position that we probably won’t fill for quite some time and leave empty, and make others in our company do the job in addition to the jobs we pay them to do, and won’t pay them any extra to do this extra work of this job we have left, unfulfilled. Also, we will all complain about it a lot, and the middle management, that’s me, will shrug and yell at the people below me, and we will tell our higher ups, but they won’t be available because they will be golfing, and eating croissants on a veranda in Paris, while everything below them goes to shit. And when their workers become disgruntled, they will blame me, and I will say that I am following their protocol of the very important and highly overrated way of how things have always been done in business.

Kari: yes. That sounds about right. Well, thank you for saving me all that time and grief.

Interviewer: no problem. Good luck to you, and it was great not giving you a chance.

Kari: yes, and thanks for not investing time or effort in me!

Interviewer: sure thing! Take care now!

Scene.

George Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: feel that clamp on your ass?

Kari: yeah.

Carlin: that’s bitterness.

Kari: right. Well, what do you want from me? I’m going back to school.

Carlin: why?

Kari: to become what I already am now only accredited by society.

Carlin: do you want to do this?

Kari: not this way.

Carlin: then why don’t you just wait til you feel better about it.

Kari: George, I’m 46. By the time I get my masters I’ll be over 50 years old. Wait?! I don’t have time to wait anymore. I’m sick of not having a degree.

Carlin: why?

Kari: cause I can’t do shit without one! I have an associates degree. Do you know what that means when you’re looking for a job, George?

Carlin: yes, cause I’m you. But enlighten me anyway so we can feel worse than we already do now.

Kari: ok, well, it’s basically the equivalent of having a high school diploma. When you look for a job that’s above minimum wage the requirements are usually the minimum of a bachelors degree in whatever and a certain amount of years of “on the job” experience.

Carlin: so?

Kari: ok, well, DON’T have it, George!

Carlin: then don’t do it, Kar...

Kari: George, I’m tired of not doing, ok? It’s time for some success for Kari Keillor, ok? I’m tired of the glass ceiling of social norms.

Carlin: great. Then continue to write and yell and scream and that will create the momentum you need for success in your chosen field.

Kari: a graduate degree in Art therapy and counseling?

Carlin: no asshole! Writing comedy!

Kari: no.

Carlin: fine, ok? We’re all here waiting until you come to your senses.

Kari: George, unfortunately we need to collaborate for that to occur, and I got news, we don’t have that.

Carlin: you don’t have to collaborate to write, Kari.

Kari: George, maybe you have forgotten what it’s like here on planet earth in the 3D, since you are now NOT here in the physical, but in order to lead a decent life, it takes tangible money, accreditation, and collaboration with people. I have none of the above.

George: yeah, I see your point. Ok then, off to school we go.

Belushi, John: oh fuck, I gotta go back to school and do this shit with her?!

Richard Pryor: yes sasshole, because you are belligerent to people online with your shit!

Belushi, John: don’t blame all this on me, Hamis is all up in Murray’s grilled ass...

Richard: ok, look. Kari’s pissed, ok? So now, our ass is being enrolled as a psychology major. This is what you get for being a shit... and a dick!

Kari: guys, look, it’s what we have to do to be seen for what we are. If it costs another 100 grand to do it, then so be it.

Belushi, John: this suuuuuucks, ok?! I’m not into it, so I’m not goin!

Gilda Radner: (pulling John by the ear) oh, you’re goin! Kari will sew your asscheeks together and drag you by the extra thread if need be.

Kari: I decided not to go near his asscheeks fictitious or not.

Gilda: probably a good decision.(1) Ok, let’s put it like this, we’re back to class. And you need to apologize to bill Murray, Steve Martin, John Cleese, Eric idle for being idle-y, Frank oz, and Mandy patinkin!

Belushi, John: I didn’t do shit to those guys! They have a whole bunch of problems all on their own! They’ve all lost their will to laugh! So why are you blaming me?!

(Terri and graham snicker in the background)

Harold ramis (aka hamis): listen John, we all know you like to instigate, and now all of us are going to be forced to listen to lectures on the human psyche, and you are to blame! So just apologize to them, and get this shit over with! I’m not willing to go back and become a junior in college again! Well, actually come to think of it, it may be slightly interesting to see how the human brain relates to how we interact as a collective people. This could benefit our writing immensely! Ok, I’m in. But Kari, just mention meatballs to bill one more time... for old times sake...

Kari: Hamis, how many times can a person mention that ridiculous, old timey movie before people start asking themselves if you’re insane?!

Richard: 34.

Kari: I don’t think it’s that many, Richard...

Belushi, John: nooooooooo! God, no! Ok fine, I’ll apologize... anything’s better than talking theory with ole schezwan head over here...

Kari: oh great! Now I’m gonna be called racist again... and still...

Belushi, John: Ramis isn’t Asian... you’re ok...

Michael stuvic (meathead from “All in the family”): No! Ok?! That’s just WRONG! She is a racist, a bigot, a lunatic, and she needs to be stopped! Gloria and I will not raise our little Joey the way that she’s been raised! We need more people to revolt against her incompressible blather!

George: she was raised in a good parochial upbringing.

Meathead: “I just thank god I’m an atheist...” (2)

Kari: I AM NOT A RACIST OR AN ATHEIST! I believe in all people being equal, and in God!

Meathead: no one said you were an atheist... A racist? Yes, but not an atheist.

Kari: EVERYONE thinks I’m the worst!

Belushi, John: no they don’t! They just think you’re a devil worshiper!

George: Belushi, stop fucking with Kari, she basically has the balls but doesn’t literally like people may or may not think, to write what she thinks we want her to say. So, now she has to apologize for being a shit but not, cause we were kidding and what she said wasn’t that bad or even bad at all... and Mandy, Judas Priest isn’t satanic, nor are they an anti-Semitic heavy metal group. They sing a ridiculously high pitched, screaming bloody murder, very, very, very long song called, “painkiller” about a flying skeleton half robot man that is on fire riding a motorcycle, and killing evil in its path. That’s it.

Richard: yes. It’s the age old story of skeleton half man half robot or machine, that gets pissed, and decides he’s going to take revenge and vengeance, so he flies in the air with metal and smoke and thunder and lightning and steel, and all that heavy metal good shit, and he crushes people’s dicks.

Gilda: sounds innocent enough to me...

Carlin: you like metal now, Richie?

Richard: well, I’m her, so I have to.

Belushi, John: THAT’S what the song is about?!

Kari: look, I don’t freaking know, alright?! All I know is that I only wanted to hear him sing it because he sings ungodly high for a man that hasn’t been kicked in the nut sack.

Hamis: we all want to hear that...

Belushi, John: .... but nooooooooo! She’s a fucking crazy woman! She’s insane! She’s telling me to sing a satanic song and I’m not ok with that!

Judas Priest: how many times do we have to say we’re not satan worshipers before someone believes us?!

Richard: 34.

Karl: ok, that’s it. I’ll apologize for all of you, because I do it all the time anyway. Ready?! Here goes: I’m sorry to everyone! I’m sorry I’m such an asshole and that everyone must be so insulted by me and my mere existence that no one in my life talks to me anymore. Ok?! There! I’m sorry you think I’m crazy because I’m a bored housewife who needs a destiny, and who hates to clean never, and cook sometimes but usually either orders out or ma comes over and cooks dinner for everyone at 6am, and I’m not even qualified to work as a person who talks poops on sesame street ok?! Cause I’ve most likely been banned from there in my head and maybe out, I’m not quite sure yet, because of being me! And I’m sorry, if that embarrasses you, or if I embarrass you by mere genetics or association! And yes, separation, isn’t cool with me, but it’s fine If you aren’t cool with me, cause I’m me, and if it’s a choice between you and me, I have to choose me, cause I’m all I got, ok? I wake up with me in the morning, and go throughout my day with me, and yes, close your ears people who don’t want to hear this part cause it can be construed as dirty like some of you believe me to be, I also bathe and sleep, with myself too! I do that! So, the opinions of you plural, make a marginal difference to me if I let them, which I usually do, because I’m human, and I have feelings and I care, but the scales have tipped now, and me, wins, cause I care about how I feel too now, ok?! And if you have a low opinion of me, and treat me that way, you, are out! Cause I’m not down with people who haven’t invested that much time or effort to get to know me talking smack about me like they’re experts on the subject of me, cause they’re not! So please enroll in the school of Kari keillor directly for the information, that’s ME, or shut your pie holes! It’s as simple as that!

Richard: God I love her....

Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: to the school we go, unless we hear otherwise.

Kari: what otherwise?!

Carlin: exactly.

Scene.

Kari: no scene! Wtf are you talking about?

Carlin: you are now witnessing reality. The reality is, no one collaborates with you, so it’s time you make the executive decision to support you, and we’re down with that.

Karl: you have, no choice.

Carlin: I know, but it’s nice you bounce it off is anyway.

Kari: ok, who wants to end this extremely lengthy scene and/ or monologue?

Belushi, John: I will. I wanna know something...

Kari: oh man....

Belushi, John: no, really, I’ve always wanted to know something and it’s really important.

Kari: ok, what is it?

Belushi, John: when there’s so many amazing pizza places around the Chicagoland area, why would ANYONE eat at a chain pizza place?!

Kari: scene.

Belushi, John: no, fine... I apologize to Frank oz, my old time pal, for calling him an asshole. He’s not one. He’s a really nice, and forgiving person.

Big bird: yeah! Wait a minute... who’s he?

Kari: sigh... scene...

1. “I think that is a good decision.” Is a quote from my husband’s cousin Gary, and I don’t know where the hell he got it from, but it’s most likely from a very obscure movie, as it’s an obscure reference.

2. A direct quote from the show, “All in the family” said by the fictional character Michael Stivic created by Norman Lear.

[gaypasta]

do you want fries with that?

Chapter 2 / ? Read on Ao3 

Previous Chapter

One Month Later.

The cold Autumn afternoon was quiet - much to be expected in this weather. It was an almost supernatural bitter wind which cut through the team members on their way to work, and judging by the frost build-up on the front door - it was due to stay the rest of the weekend.

Mike - who now works alongside Bill after Stan realised the only thing Bill didn’t burn was pancakes - had been late, the foreign country roads froze up worse overnight and Mike had to walk his bike for a mile until he had got onto the populated roads where the dozens of cars had slowly lifted the ice. It was understandable - Stan would rather Mike be late than drop his eggs (which Mike continued to donate to the Diner every weekend) or even worse, hurt himself.

Slowly, but surely, the entire Saturday gang had begun to arrive at work. Bill following Stan by half an hour. Mike and Beverly (after her first Saturday shift Stan had put her on every weekend after that. She was a fantastic worker and the customers loved her) arrived at eight. Ben and Eddie arrived at nine. Eddie continued to do dishes, even though he almost had a breakdown a few days prior because he had touched someone’s chewing gum. Ben helped Beverly out front, and even refused breaks if she needed someone to help wait tables.

Then there was Richie. Who was also meant to start at nine, but Stan doesn’t think he can recall a day yet where Richie was any less than fifteen minutes late. And sure enough, today wasn’t any different. Richie had bounced through the doors at eleven, after 2 hours he had barely done any work. He didn’t seem to be overly bothered about anything besides showing off his new sneakers. (They were ugly.)

Stan was trying to fill in wastage reports (Bill tried to cook hash browns and almost set the smoke alarm off), which was proving to be a more difficult task than usual because beside him, Richie was squeezing washing up liquid into Eddie’s sink, making a 2 - foot wall of foam. Stan had a headache, and his name was Richie Tozier.

“Ha-ha! Eddie, look, there’s almost enough suds for your mom to use to shave her legs.” Richie’s voice was like sandpaper.

“Dude, stop! This is gonna take ages to rinse. And my mom waxes, you know that.” Eddie complained, desperately trying to grab the washing up liquid out of Richie’s hands. Eddie, however, had barely grown an inch (or so it seemed) from they were thirteen. Richie had grown considerably, he was now taller than everyone except Stan.

“Oh, I know she waxes, I’ve seen it up close. Tell your future little brother that I’m sorry I can’t pay child support, too busy pimping.”

“Dude, that’s disgusting. Plus, child support comes out of a direct deposit, asshole.”

Richie dropped the bottle into the sink, causing a splash of hot soapy water to wave over the sink and wash Eddie’s apron and goloshes. Maybe they weren’t such a bad call after all. Stan stared at the puddle of water which had soaked the floor under Eddie. Richie turned around and caught Stan’s eye. He gave a cheesy grin.

Stan continued to stare directly into Richie’s coke-bottled eyes. It was almost like a battle of dominance, which was ridiculous. Stan was clearly in the dominant role, I mean - he was the supervisor. Not that Richie cared, he didn’t treat Stan any differently in work than he did at school, he carried no concept of a work/home barrier. Anything someone said in work, he would carry with him home. Stan recalled when he didn’t speak to Bill for three days because Bill had told him to stop being lazy and do some work during a rush hour. Stan didn’t really get it, they work to support a business and provide good customer service, having disputes with each other in work was inevitable,  all of the Loser’s Club (as they had dubbed themselves) had different personalities and different approaches to work. Stan didn’t see a reason not to leave it at the door. Regardless, Richie was in work - work which Stan took great pride in - and he will do his job as he is being paid $3/hour to do.

“Richie, please clean that up. The last thing we need is someone falling and cracking their head open.”

Richie looked down at the puddle, then back to Stan. “I’m the only one who comes near Eddie because he has AIDs.”

“Good, maybe if you slip it will knock some sense into you.” Stan quipped as took his pen back from the counter and continued to try to calculate how much money was lost by letting Bill cook. Stan heard a short slapping sound, followed by a yelp from Richie along with a string of explicites. Stan ignored it, choosing to do his work.

If twenty hash browns were thrown out, at sixty cents each - that’s $12. Plus the bottle of milk Richie crashed into on his bike this morning - $12.80, then the pancakes Bill had sneezed on, $13.80. Stan put the biro in between his lips to free his hands as he rustled through the binder looking for the wastage from the last week. His brow furrowed as he read the wastage from Thursday. $45?! How the hell did they manage to waste $45 worth of food? He began to recalculate all which was written down, in a desperate assumption that someone had made a mathematical muck-up. Stan had a habit of sticking his tongue out or sucking his cheek when he was concentrating, in lieu of his cheek he absent-mindedly began to suck the pen.  He faintly recognized movement out of the corner of his eyes. It was Mike bringing Eddie more dishes, stopping to wipe up the mess Richie had made.

Stan let out a smile of triumph. Someone had made a mistake and the wastage wasn’t nearly as high. He made a mental note to go back and double check the wastage as far back as he could, lord knows how their accounts didn’t notice it. He quickly, but neatly, corrected the maths and changed the subtotal - still letting the pen rest between his lips. It wasn’t until he moved the paper up from the counter to put it back into its folder did he notice Richie staring at him. Not the staring that Ben usually follows Beverly with, more alike to how your eyes fixate on something as your mind wanders, and it isn’t until minutes later that you realize you’ve been staring at someone.

He waited several moments to see if Richie would notice, but he didn’t. He just continued staring with eyes fixated on Stan’s chin. “Is there something on my face?” The underlying tone was ultimately ‘can I help you, Tozier?’

Stan could almost see the point where Richie had stopped dissociating as he had moved back about half an inch in surprise. Richie sloppily fixed his glasses - which weren’t that overly askew to begin with, Stan noted. “Yeah, jizz from that pen if you keep giving it all that attention.”

Stan went to snipe back, but Richie had skittered off towards Bill to pull at his apron - untying the bow and letting his apron fall loose, before spinning out the front to help Ben and Bev serve. Bill was carrying a tray of freshly baked peach pie from the oven, and he gingerly tried to step over the trails of his apron. Stan set his pen atop of the folder he was working with and made a beeline for Bill after Bill almost tripped on his apron with a shout. “Hold still.” Stan made delicate work of re-tying the apron. It felt strange tying a bow from the front now, after doing his own so many cold mornings. Stan used his own apron as oven mitts and took the pie off Bill when he was done tying it. “T-thanks Stan.” Bill traced the bow on the back of his apron. It was firm and unmoving. “W-when did we start doing p-peach pie?” Bill asked curiously, his head leaning to one side the way that it does.

“Oh, Mom had some leftover Peaches from Rosh Hashanah. They were just going to be binned, so…” Stan had trailed off. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable that Bill had asked. Stan could cook, and bake, and sew. His Mother firmly believed in order to be a well-rounded person it was important for him to develop both ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ hobbies and skills. He enjoyed baking with his mother, in fact, it was some of his most cherished memories growing up. But he’s not nine anymore, he should be doing more exciting things on a Friday night than making a peach pie for work the next morning.

Bill’s eyes lit up in amazement. “You made t-this? It smells am-amazing. It looks so much b-better than that cheap frozen s-sh-shit.”  Stan moved his eyes off Bill, looking out to the front of house instead. “C-can we taste it, I mean, we sh-should know what it t-tastes like before serving it, r-r-ight Mike?”

Mike looked up from frying fries and nodded. “If Stan doesn’t mind, of course.” He sent a reassuring smile to Stan, who straightened his back and nodded.

“Fine, but only one slice. Between everyone, not each.” He sent a warning look to Bill, who was probably thinking about bringing a slice home to Georgie. Stan would allow him, of course, but Georgie would more than likely stop by to meet Bill and cycle home with him. Stan would give him a slice then. Stan lowered the plate onto a clear counter out of the line of sight from the customers. He walked over to beside Bill’s prep area and pulled a sharp butcher’s knife from the wooden knife block. Mike lifted the fries and left them in the basket, allowing the grease to drip out back into the fryers, and made his way over to Bill and Stan. Stan used his apron to hold the hot plate in place as he made eight almost exactly equal slices into the pastry. “I’ll go get a p-plate.” Bill jogged over to grab an immaculate white plate, peaking Eddie’s interest from a stained coffee pot. “Here, I got forks t-too.” Bill gently lowered the plate and the forks onto the counter. Stan lifted the slice and fluidly transferred it onto the plate. Like he had done dozens of times before. Using a fork, he cut the slice into seven equal pieces, which appeared to be about a mouthful each. Stan pierced one with his fork, they reminded him of the hors-d'oeuvres his mother had made for his Bar Mitzvah.

He looked around to realise that not only had Eddie joined the gathering, but everyone had their eyes glued on the pie. “Um -” he really didn’t know what to say.

“You have to try it first, I m-mean. It’s yours!” Bill smiled using his hands to usher the fork closer to Stan. “I get that, but do you all have to watch? I never considered eating a spectator event.” And with that said, they shrugged and all joined Stan in having a taste of his own baked creation. It was a strange feeling, knowing people were eating what you made. It felt almost personal, Stan had a temptation to slap the forks out of their mouths before they took a bite. That would be ridiculous though, of course.

Eddie wasn’t a massive fan of peach in the first place, so Stan didn’t think much of it when he screwed his nose up and shook his head. Bill and Mike, however, loved it. Bill made a weird groaning noise that Richie would probably make a crude comment about. Mike just took a heavy breath, as if preparing himself to recount the taste. “St-st-stan! This is s-so good. It’s like, fifty thousand t-times better than the ones at the b-bakery on R-Richmond Street.” Stan could feel his heart begin to swell the way it does when you’re happy. Bill’s family had exclusively bought their Sunday dessert from that bakery since as long as Bill could remember. Stan could remember joining Bill several times, but he never really was one for sweets. Usually, he just picked up a fresh loaf of bread. Mike nodded in heavy agreement. “I used to deliver eggs there, Mrs.Dotts always gave me a slice of something for the road.” He patted Bill on the shoulder. “I gotta agree, this is good stuff. Like, money-making good.”

Bill called in the rest of the group to taste. Their reactions were much the same, except Beverly had never had fresh pie before, only one from the supermarket - she was blown away.  

Richie took the biggest piece between the three and chewed it obnoxiously close to Stan’s ear. Stan was waiting patiently for what he could only anticipate as being irritating feedback. Richie’s head nodded as he ate it, making an obscene parody of the noises Bill was making earlier. Stan rolled his eyes. Richie swallowed loudly and threw his hands up into the air.

“Hallelujah, boys and girl! The messiah has returned in the form of Stanley Uris. Who knew Jesus would reincarnate as a Jew after his Jewwy demise?” Richie praised into the ceiling, wrapping an arm tight around Stan’s neck.

Stan shoved the boy away, “Don’t call Jesus - or anything for that matter - ‘Jewwy’. It sounds a toddler trying to say ‘Jerry’, also it’s offensive to my culture.”

“Go cry into your Yakuza.” “Yamaka - and you were there when Bowers and their gang of underachievers threw it into the sewer. Also, shut up.”

Richie looked up in thought for a moment before clapping loudly. “Don’t you all have work to do? Ten-hut soldiers!”

The group shuffled away, probably wanting to get as far away from Richie’s loud army-colonel impersonation as possible. Stan began to collect the dirty forks, before Richie grabbed his forearm. “Dude what the hell-”

“I need your help.”

Stan stared quizzically at Richie’s change of tone. It threw him off and left him feeling uneasy. “With what?”

“It’s my Mom’s birthday, I blew this week’s paycheck on cigarettes and the arcade, also I owed Eddie money.”

Stan snorted, “You owe all of us money.” He pointed out.

Richie waved his hand in the air in a dismissive manner. “Yeah, I’ll get to it, Mom. I need you to show me how to bake a cake, or a pie or a fucking doughnut or something.”

Stan looked down at the pie and back up to Richie. “That good, huh?”

“Dude shut the fuck up, it was a solid ten out of ten, and I can’t even lie about it to annoy you, that’s how good it was. Please?” Richie raised his eyebrows and held his hands together, like a child begging. “I’ll jerk you off, Mr.Uris? For extra credit?”

Stan inwardly grimaced at that. Moreseo the use of ‘Mr.Uris’ than the offer to jerk him off. “I already have your sister for that.”

Richie laughed loudly, clapping Stan on the shoulder, making him stumble slightly. “Boom! Stan the Man hits us with another good one! I’ll see you after work, bring what we need!” And with that, Richie was off, heading towards the back door, a cigarette already in his mouth to take an unauthorized smoke break. Beverly followed him, it was almost as if they were on a nicotine timer.

Stan stood there, the realisation dawning on him that Richie had just invited him over to his house, without really giving him an option. Stan tries to remember the last time anyone apart from Bill was at Richie’s house. He can’t, so he starts making a mental list of what to bring to Richie’s that night.

Richie better actually fucking help make his own mother’s cake or else Stan might just cook him along with it.

Next Chapter

[dearyallfrommatt]

Alt-weeklies are dead. Blogs are dead. Bootlickers and the civility police won.

 The above story from The New Republic written by Alex Pareene was brought to my Twitter world by Radley Balko, superlative journalist and maybe the only self-described libertarian I’d let thrive after the Purge. In short, it discusses the recent emasculation of Deadspin and how it’s indicative of the death of the “rude press”. That is, the elimination of smaller, shall we say less respectful outlets like Splinter and Gawker, publications that would stick their fingers into they eyes of the rich and the very much richer.

 And it’s not just those web-based publications’ deaths that article warns of. It’s the slow extinction of the alt-weekly or alt-monthly, all to be replaced by boutique publications that won’t be so gauche as to upset their betters. In other words, they’ll be “civil” because “civility” might be the most important thing we’re missing in this cold, cruel world.

 The first writing gig I got out of college was at an alt-monthly and the only “regular job” I’ve ever had was with an alt-weekly, so I might be a bit biased on this matter. Twenty-some-odd years ago in Gainesville, FL, a pair of cats named Colin Whitworth and Mike Podalsky started MOON Magazine, maybe the altest alternative magazine that wasn’t a ‘zine that I’ve ever seen. I mostly wrote about music and Gainesville being what it was, there wasn’t much sticking-in-the-eye that needed doing.

 Though I do remember them pissing of a real estate guy so badly he started his own “alt-monthly” in competition. It lasted one issue as I recall. Every afternoon at 4:20, we'd have a “staff meeting” and the magazine run pieces from severely left-wing sources going after the destruction of the Everglades or the dangers of the Cassini probe. It was that kind of magazine.

 After I left Gainesville for Athens, I took up with Flagpole Magazine, a music/news/arts weekly in Michael Stipe’s hometown. Athens is a different town and publisher Pete McCommons was a different breed. An old school newspaper man contrasted to Mike and Colin’s “young upstarts”, Flagpole was a gentler poke that nevertheless contrasted well with the bought-and-owned-by-the-chamber-of-commerce local daily, The Athens Banner-Herald. He still gave a lot of room to his staff to go nuts, notably my direct editor Ballard Lesemann.

 When I left college in 1997, I had already worked in actual, for real newspapers for almost a decade. Furthermore, I’d grown my hair long and discovered Hunter Thompson, so I was by no means inclined to go back to covering school board meetings for some small town weekly. MOON went the way of the dodo sometime in 2001, and though I left in 2002, Flagpole’s still kicking.

 I rarely made anything close to a living at writing, but I’m thankful of my time with the alts and grateful to Colin, Mike, Pete and Ballard for letting me share the ride with them and have a little fun. So, again, grain of salt. One thing working on alternatives taught me was that “complete objectivity” was not only impossible but unnecessary so long as your cards are on the table, so I ain’t going to put no shuck on you.

 Now, I won’t summarize or really explore what the above-linked New Republic piece goes into. I highly recommend it be read and considered with much gravity. Even if you don’t agree with its conclusions - or even the need for the existence of “rude journalism” - do study on what it suggests. Do we really want a world where the extremely rich, either as individuals or as a group, can shut down publications that don’t show proper fealty and people who’re willing to tell the Boss Man to take this job and shove it?

 The responses to Radley’s retweet and others I’ve seen elsewhere are telling indeed, though. While there are plenty of sympathetic voices, not a few folks are saying “well, good, fuck ‘em”. There is a negative view of journalists, but if anyone suggests that it’s caused by recent events in the business are lying or stupid or ignorant or all three. For as long as there have been rich dudes willing to start wars for more wealth, there have been plenty of poor bastards willing to die for them. Nowadays, we have folks willing to pay Major League Baseball for what they used to get for free, and not even blink an eye.

 A lot of it’s political. Right-wing media doesn’t have the same problems in getting funding because, well, most rich people are quite fine with the nuts and bolts of conservative thought. The economic side, anyway, which spells less taxes or regulation; the social side, they have enough pull to not have to worry about anyone griping unless they piss off someone higher up the ladder.

 Which is extremely amusing, since these are the same folks who stay constantly stricken with the vapors about how much money Hillary Clinton (or Elizabeth Warren or Barrack Obama or Bernie Sanders or fill-in-the-blank-here) bring home. The “common people”, they’re saying, don’t need hoity-toity nerds who can string sentences together and count without taking off their shoes telling us that they’re favorite rich guy needs a kick in the nuts for being the type of bastard that needs kicking in the nuts on a regular basis. The hooting baboons that support digital frat houses like Barstool are happy to stick it to those PC creeps, man, rebelling in that way that hurts the actual elite not one tiny bit.

 They also hate the corporate media and social media sites, which they will tell you endlessly in the comments sections of corporate medias’ pages on social media while FOX and CNN have a special on it every other week. They hate “political correctness” trying to tell them that the “natural order” isn’t just boozy white dudes watching the Pats and gorging on chicken wings, making  cracks about the opposing quarterback being homosexual or making “hey-it’s-just-a-joke” jokes about Serena Williams or some WNBA playing being a “man, baby”.

 There is most definitely a place for big mainstream news sources like CNN or The New York Times or TIME Magazine. A professor of my in journalism school used to repeat the quote, paraphrased from memory, that “journalism is the first rough draft of history”. Despite what the right wing has been screaming for years, whoever the president is, the big papers are rarely out for his blood. Once you become president, you are a “Washington insider” and all the corporate media really cares about is making money. 

 Whatever he says about the “Washington Swamp” and “fake news”, Donald Trump’s been part of that world, as is every Washington politician or media figure. FOX News is the mainstream media and the Washington Examiner has plenty of backing to keep that so. Who funds The Federalist? That publication has its place but that question must be asked. To do otherwise is to tell the powerful that you’re just fine with them running things, thank you very much.

 But there needs to be a place for a small, scrappy paper speaking for the weird and shat-upon, flicking the earlobe of the rich and powerful and running ads for weekly drag shows. The dirtbag center - that’s what I’m calling the tedious middle-class bourgeoisie spawn that all voted for Trump because they hated Hillary but don’t want to admit it and were shocked as the rest of us, deal with it - wants to be kept fat and saucy while their kids joke about “learning to code” and they all grind themselves down in a miserable existence. Sticking it to the media and the elite, man, all up in the “intellectual dark web,” man, just like Peter Thiel or Bari Weiss, man.

 This is one of those things that shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, because these people are that guy who started a one-run magazine to get back at Colin and Mike for saying hurtful things about them being crooked. In America, at least, there has always, always been a group of people who will kick down for the benefit of their upper-class betters and do it with a smile on their faces. It’s why dumbass country boys went to die for slavery and why thick-necked hardhats smashed picket lines and assassinated union leaders.

 Like the story notes, we all thought that blogs would be the new hotness, but that lasted just long enough for Google to deciding that “do no evil” was bad for the bottom line. People, especially wingnuts, boo-hoo about Facebook or Twitter without acknowledging or even recognizing that Mark Zuckerberg is a greedy little shit and Jack Dorsey is quite comfortable with cosplaying Nazis. Thanks to Ajit Pai’s bought-and-sold ass, Net Neutrality - about the only thing that keeps the internet from being anything other than a glorified Want Ads - is going to be that much harder to make reality.

A lot of this goes back to the “civility” thing, or lack thereof, NYT columnists bemoan whenever they get caught out being a dipstick. We’re too mean to each other, they say, we don’t know how to respect each other, they say. Rich people know how to run things better than the hoi polloi, so do sit down and be quiet like nice children. Or else. 

 Because here’s the thing, friends and neighbors: the rich, I mean really rich class in this country do not give a solid gold shit about you apart from how much more money they can squeeze out. Suck up to Elon Musk all you want and bemoan Bill Gates having to pay so much in taxes that he’s still a billionaire afterwards all you want. They are not going to let you on the space ship with them once they’re done fouling the waters and scouring the land.

 You can cheer the death of Deadspin all you want, hoot at the firings of journalist who say bad things about Trump or the cops or Tom Brady, and general be gleeful that the media all should “learn to code” to your heart’s content. Because it won’t end there. Conglomerations are already scooping up weekly and small town dailies, shuttering the superfluous and give everyone the same story in the same tone while kissing the proper butts.

 In the end, we need an antagonistic press. We need someone willing to piss off the deep pockets and old families and moneyed interests. We need someone that’ll give a voice to left-handed, bisexual, transvestite furries who love swing dancing. Or even just a little time, a slice of acknowledgement that the world isn’t just boozy obnoxious white dudes on barstools or bitter wine moms sniping on Facebook. You can cheer the downfall of such, but all you’re doing is putting the noose around your own throat and saving the Powers That Be a little time.

 You may not want to rock the boat, friends and neighbors, but have no illusions. When the rubber hits the road, the Wealthy Elite will throw you over. Don’t make it easier for them.

[vanquisher2099]

Part Thirteen: A Detective Uncovers a Clue

It was highly unusual, in an age of self-driving vehicles, for any sort of accident to be caused by operator error. By law, all vehicles had to be equipped with an autopilot system, so even antique models had been retrofitted. This all added up to the idea of a truck accidentally finding its way across a high speed rail line by mistake as an unlikely occurrence, although from what John could tell that seemed to be the story that the authorities were sticking to. It was not as though the idea of an intentional train blockage was so surprising – there were still various terrorist groups operating in the interior whose weapon of choice was abandoned vehicles, occasionally packed with explosives – but for whatever reason they seemed unwilling to countenance the idea in this case. That alone was enough to pique John’s interest, even without it seeming likely that the young woman he was meant to find was likely to have been on the train.

That the young woman was supposed to be dead was, John suspected, just another twist in a case which had already been, he thought, suitably twisty. He’d left the…commune, he supposed it was, with a promise to check in with Gabriella and her crew in a couple of days with an update. So it was not particularly shocking when, after making some polite inquiries at the local police station, he found himself being shooed away and then, moments later, approached quietly by one of the detectives who remembered his name and invited to grab a cup of coffee in a suitably out-of-the-way diner.

The detective introduced herself as Helen Solstice. “Gotta say I’m a bit of a fan,” she said with a grin, “it’s not every day you run into someone who got drummed out of the CPD for trying to get to the bottom of such a well-publicized attack.”

John shrugged, not bothering to correct that the ‘terrorist attack’ hadn’t been the thing that got him canned. “Honestly, once the big conspiracy came to light, the higher-ups were just happy that everyone seemed to forget about it. My unwillingness to let it drop got me the boot.”

“And you still have no idea who did it?”

“Not really – but we did have a person of interest seen leaving the building. Problem was, any attempts at identification came up empty, and the department didn’t want to devote further resources into tracking them down.” This was punctuated by a dry chuckle and an “obviously.”

Helen nodded understandingly. “So now you’re out here causing trouble in a different state, huh?”

“It’s the job – I’m supposed to find someone who was on that train.” John explained. “Or at least, I’m pretty sure she was on the train. There’s no way to be sure without a lot of access to stuff I don’t have – you know, like surveillance footage.”

“How do you know she was on the train?”

“Well, I was asking around downtown, and a few people claimed they saw her entering the train station just before the train left. Stands to reason she might’ve been on it.”

“You don’t think that’s grasping at straws?”

“From the sound of things, she was running from something – a few of the folks said she looked like she’d been in a fight.” John said with another shrug. “If I’m on the run, I get on something that gets me out of town fast.”

“So she headed to the train station and caught the first train out.” Helen said with a nod. “That tracks. Kind of doesn’t give you much to go on even if there wasn’t a crash though, does it? Lots of stops on that particular line.”

“Yeah, but I doubt she would get on and then get off. You don’t get on the inter-city train to get off a couple stops later.”

“Unless that’s all that happened to be available at the time.” Helen pointed out.  “Or if you thought you were being followed and wanted to shake a tail.”

John tried not to look too obviously depressed. “So you see where security footage from the train would be useful for me, then.”

“Except you seem to be convinced she was on the train when it crashed.” Helen said, “meaning you have a perfectly good idea of where to start looking.”

“A few scattered news reports put her at the scene, yeah,” John said, “but if she’s in some kind of a jam, I’d like to know if it followed her on the train. And off the train, afterwards.”

“Fair enough.” Helen replied, taking a sip of her coffee. “Normally I’d be all too happy to help you out. This crash though…”

John sighed. “Let me guess. It wasn’t accidental.”

Helen winced visibly. “Please tell me it’s not that immediately obvious.”

John shrugged. “Probably not to most, but you have to admit the likelihood of anything like that being accidental is pretty slim – and it doesn’t help that the department was so quick to classify it as such. I mean you put a statement out like two hours after it happened!”

“See, I was telling my partner at the station it was too goddamned quick on the draw, but obviously we aren’t the ones managing that sort of thing.” Helen’s expression seemed to be caught between being pleased and annoyed to be proven right. She sighed. “Obviously someone had their mind made up beforehand. No idea why, but you can understand the reluctance to have any kind of video evidence floating around that could disprove our theory.”

“You get a lot of terrorist incidents this far west? I thought California generally managed to stay out of that stuff.” John knew the answer, of course, which was ‘California got more than their fair share,’ but figured in the moment that he needed to play up the Midwestern rube a little more.

Helen’s reaction seemed to prove him right. “Yeah, well, that’s what the official story is I guess. We do a lot of covering up and reclassifying out here. Nobody wants to have the FBI or, god forbid, the DHS start taking an interest in our affairs. Everyone seems to think that’s a one-way ticket to the shitshow that happened to you lot out in Chicago – no offense.”

“None taken.” John said, smiling wryly. “Although seeing as how the FBI’s presence ended up uncovering that whole conspiracy,” entirely untrue, but the official line, “I personally tend to see it as something of a positive.”

“Oh please, spare me the party line,” Helen rolled her eyes. “I heard it was some vigilante that ended up blowing the lid off that whole mess. The FBI was probably too busy throwing its weight around at your station to do any real investigating.”

John laughed. “Yeah, well, can’t blame me for trying to save a little face. Nobody wants to admit that someone outside the force ended up being the one to actually sort things out. Professional pride, you understand.”

“Which is precisely why,” Helen said, leaning forward, “If I were to give you some kind of access to the footage, you’d have to promise me that you’ll leave any speculation alone – you can confirm your girl’s presence or absence, and see if there was a disturbance on the train or whatever, but if we suddenly get a bunch of stories popping up on the Net about how this was actually a terror attack or some shit, it’s your ass. You got me?”

“Hey,” John said, raising his hands defensively, “I’m just trying to make ends meet. I got no interest in making anyone look bad. I’ve put too much time into this investigation to be able to go back to my client and tell them ‘oh sorry, let me refund the last month of payments.’”

Helen seemed to be debating her next course of action. Eventually, she came to some sort of decision, nodded, and slid a small data drive across the table. “This doesn’t go into the cloud, understand? You don’t even put it in something connected to the Net. Take a look, and meet me here tomorrow to give it back. That’s the best I can offer.”

John nodded, taking the drive and stowing it in a pocket. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, if I happen to need a favor down the road, maybe you’ll be able to help me out.” Helen said in a tone of voice that suggested she already had something in mind. She stood and nodded to him. “Good luck with your search.”

“Thanks,” John said with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m sure I’ll need it.” He stayed in the diner for a little longer after Helen left, half because he wanted to finish his coffee and half because there was always the chance that someone had followed Helen and would want to introduce themselves as well before he left. This time, it turned out that nobody had – or if they had, they weren’t interested in talking to him – so he waved the waitress over to pay his bill and left.

As he headed in the general direction of the hotel where he’d been staying, he was surprised to receive a call from Harold.

“John! Still wasting time looking for the dead girl’s parents?”

“Something like that.” John said, pleasantly. “You know how these things tend to get complicated.”

“No I don’t, because I’ve got the smarts to see this shit coming and not take the job in the first fuckin’ place.” There was an element of scolding in Harold’s voice, as there generally was whenever John’s propensity for taking on difficult cases was discussed. “You gotta get back here to Chicago, there’s a new job that my client wants to bring you in on.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Ceres Industries, if you can believe it. They’re paying me and Jackie Powers an enormous amount of money to work together to find out who sent them some threatening letter or other.”

“That a fact, huh? And they wanted a third on it too?” John whistled low in spite of himself. “They sound desperate.”

“Desperate and willing to pay way more than the job’s probably worth. That’s the important thing.”

“So why don’t you and Powers just split my share of the fee and call it good?”

“Because you’re better at this sort of crap than I am, and I don’t want Powers lording it over me later when she ends up being the one to track them down.” Harold said in a rare show of honesty. Harold and Jacqueline had never gotten along – there was some history between the two that Harold had never bothered to volunteer details on.

“Why don’t you ask your FBI boyfriend to help?” John said, only slightly teasing. “Karl’s always been pretty good at that kind of forensic work.”

“Normally I would, but I can’t risk him deciding that the FBI needs to get involved and blowing this whole deal. He’s got this whole sense of duty thing going, you know? It would be cute if it wasn’t such a pain in the ass. Besides, we don’t talk shop. One of our rules.”

“Oh please, you’re telling me he’s never helped you on a case before?”

“No,” Harold said a little defensively, “just that he’s a pain in the ass about it so I try to avoid doing it unless I’ve got no other option. And this time, I have another option, which is that you should drop this crap in LA and come help with this.”

“If I hadn’t just caught a big lead, I might actually consider it.” John said, trying to let him down easily. “Another week or two and I’ll have this all wrapped up and be on my way back to help, assuming you’re still in need of it.”

“Sure, sure.” John could hear Harold’s eyes rolling over the call. “Assuming I don’t have to deal with Jackie solving this in before you get back, I guess I’ll see you then. Good luck out there, kid.”

There was a click as the call disconnected, leaving John to finish up his walk to the hotel in relative silence. He was itching to look over the surveillance footage, curious as to whether or not Charlie had really been on the train – and whether or not she was in fact the person seen fleeing the scene of the crash.

When he did see the footage, he sent Harold a message saying that two weeks had maybe been a little overly optimistic.

Part Fourteen

Part Twelve

[monsterloveday]

The Wonderful Struggles Of The Creative Mind.

So if your a creative you will understand this. If you are not - you wont. There seems to be a “Im a creative” community where we all seem to understand each other with our frustrating complications. That stamp on our heads that causes SO much complexity in life. But its something that we don't dare wish to trade. It is definitely a love hate relationship.

Its like an annoying pain that you don't wish to cure because in the end you get so much out of it - you grow from it, you progress from it, but it never comes easy or for free. You have to go through that bit of suffering for it. For some reason it always reminds me of pregnancy and childbirth, when you finally get to see your finished piece and you think “it was all worth it” haha. And when its done you feel relieved, exhausted, but that natural high is luring you in to do another piece soon - yet you know you will stress to high hell when your in the process again. But you want to get better, you want to learn more and more - it almost feels like there is no end to it as your work or the stage you're in will never be enough.  Im not saying Im this pro artist, I am still just dipping my toes into the creative pool, but I know its something that is naturally within me, I definitely need to improve and learn as much as I can, but I know that ‘seed’ needs to be nurtured, its up to me to help it grow, that I would have failed or wasted it if I don't bring out. Its a ‘gift’ that was given to me, its my way of contributing to the world - well thats the way I see it. Kinda of like if you imagine a beautiful violin made from the finest materials, with hours of craftsmanship being put into it, but it never gets played. 

Looking at other peoples work can be good and bad. Its good for inspiration / ideas. But sometimes you'll look at other peoples work and it kicks your works ass. ”I want to be as good as that, but will I ever be?” - the feeling of inadequacy and constant competition will never leave you - so its best to just embrace your particular skill or look and see that as your personal stamp on it. It is best to only be in a competition with yourself. 

But sometimes that is so hard.  There is never a 50 50 life with us, we are one extreme to the other - so focused and in the zone and determined to get somewhere with this ‘gift’ or so unfocused and completely lost because our art isn't going as we want and with that everything else in life seems to follow suit. Art is very emotionally draining for me. Its like a domino effect for me, when I am happy in life, my art stuff blossoms and I feel like my life has purpose and is on the way to going somewhere, whereas when I am not doing life so well, my art and everything I once took pleasure in falls to the wayside, which again leads to a downward spiral. Its a hard thing to get out of once it happens, I think thats why we have terms like ‘Art block’ / ‘Writers block’. I think creatives expect more from life. From seeing so much beauty around us, we also see so much pain - we are the happiest and most depressed. If I were to only work in a job I didn't give a crap about for my rest of my life and just exist, Id be left thinking... “Is this it?, is this ALL there is too it?, what about reaching my goals and having that reassurance that I got to the place I was REALLY meant to be in, that I knew there was something better destined for me, I wasn't supposed to just ‘work to live’.

I dont think we have it in us to just do ‘the simple life’. How wonderfully annoying this is, because having a simple life would indeed be a lot less stressful, but it would certainly be a lot less magical - this is why its so hard to obtain but we refuse to live without it. It steers us to a path that is stressful yet so for filling. Dont get me started on job hunting in an academic world. Creative jobs are nearly always seen as ‘unrealistic’ and the world tries to suck you in into the office / mundane jobs of life that are easy to obtain and you can stay in for years and years and years because you will always need to pay the bills. Its a inner battle with yourself - what you want, and what is easy. Just seeing the words ‘Company’ / Insurance / Admin just sucks the life out of me. Its because I JUST. DONT. CARE. I dont care about these kinds of jobs, I don't care if I never progress in them, I don't care if Im crap at them. Because I just don't give a shit about them and I hate not giving a shit!. I want to love what I do, I want to be skilled and I want to care. I want to be used. But unfortunately the jobs that will for fill you are like hidden gems and very rare. This is another temptation to just let it all go. But I cant. Imagine a world where you Google jobs and it gives endless artistic options and not academic crap where you don't actually understand the job description and you don't have to pretend to be ‘one of them’ and you don't end up re evaluating your whole life! haha. I would love to see a load of academics / uncreatives apply for things like drawing, painting, singing, acting or sculpting when they know they have no interest or skill for it whatsoever but they have to force themselves to do it just to pay their way in life!. THIS is what its like! This isn't to say that you need to get a job related to your craft, just doing it as a hobby can be enough to get the fix in you. Its hard to figure all this stuff out, and which direction you should take. I also find not being around creative people is so hard. Being around creative people that understand, that encourage you and push you, its like we are all so supportive of each other and understand the struggles. We can look at things and dissect whats awesome about it and talk for ages. I always say that being around creatives ‘Feels like home’. I miss this so much and its almost like the creative part of me gets sucked out of me when Im not around my ‘fellow creatives’. Its like they say being around negative people makes you feel negative - this works in the same respect when it comes to creative people - they make you thrive!. But what ever your art may be... It is your freedom, it is your voice, it is your expression. It is so personal and unique to you - its important. It makes the world beautiful, more interesting and way more enjoyable and exciting. The arts are everything good about life and we would be lost without them. It is a huge part of what makes you you, don't let that go, even though it can be the most annoying thing about you. Show the whole world what you have and don't stop, regardless of the constant battles having it will throw at you. Im a hypocrite for saying this, and I should say it to myself - Don't give up. It may take years and years of sacrifice, being poor, not having your own place or car haha!. But good things take time. Don't give up on you. I like to think and hope that if you keep working at it, it will repay you in some way, whether this means in a job or just a personal achievement. I hope i am right about this =).  (Id also like to say that being talented in something is VERY sexy ;P) Be back soon Jay Monster.

[punkscowardschampions]

Rio & Buster

Rio: Indie had a good night out that didn't result in me holding back her hair Rio: Am I dreaming??? Buster: Gotta be Rio: Yeah forreal Rio: Can call be a Mum all you like though, 'cos think she's got a proper lil boyfriend and I am so proud 😜 Buster: Thought you two didn't do hubbys Rio: Not as a rule but she's defs 😍 Rio: So cute Buster: While it lasts Rio: Oosh, pessimist this morning, are we? Rio: Was gonna ask how you were but ??? Buster: I'm being real. It's Indie Buster: And she's learnt from you Rio: She's 17, would you like her to have a marriage under her belt already Rio: and why you being a cunt about me for? Buster: I'm not Buster: I'm saying, she doesn't need to get wifed up at 17 like Buster: And she won't Buster: He's just one in a line, she had a crush on me, remember? What makes this lad special? Rio: Alright Rio: She can still enjoy it whilst it lasts, nah? Rio: So can I 🤷 Rio: Don't worry, I know she still has time for you, like, your ego can chill Buster: Never said otherwise Buster: You're the one throwing your congrats around for her and her new man Buster: Making it something it ain't and won't be Rio: And we get to the real issue here Rio: Look, I don't have expectations, alright? You don't need to worry, I'm not Chlo about it like, Jesus Rio: Give me some credit Buster: Fuck off Buster: I already know what expectations you've got. Understood like Rio: Do you? 'Cos you are deffo reading something wrong here Buster: I'm not an idiot Rio: Again, didn't say you were Rio: But I don't know where the fuck this has come from Buster: Then you're the stupid one Buster: Come on, Rio Rio: That's what it is Rio: I'm not clever enough for you? Did one of your arrogant law school friends see us the other night and now you've gotta ditch me and pray third times a charm with Erin? Rio: Fuck, I didn't know you were an ACTUAL snob, Buster Buster: Fuck you Buster: I'm not making this that easy for you Buster: If you want out get a better excuse, babe Rio: You're the one that's saying all this! Buster: Don't act like you don't know what's pissing me off Rio: I actually fucking don't Rio: Not a mindreader, yeah? Buster: Finally admitting it Buster: Usually reckon you know it all, yeah? Rio: Don't be a twat Rio: Just tell me Rio: I can handle it Buster: Last night Rio: What? Rio: You didn't like it? Buster: You know I did Buster: That's not the problem Rio: What then? It can't happen again? Rio: I thought we were past this Buster: We're clearly not in the same place Buster: Or headspace whatever Buster: I told you to stay. What the fuck Rio: But you don't have to Rio: Don't feel you have to, you know Rio: I get it Buster: No you don't Buster: I didn't do it for that Rio: You've just got out of a thing, and you've been fucked over and tied down unwittingly before that Rio: I'm not trying to be that, you don't have to pretend with me Rio: You want what you want and that's okay Buster: Fuck's sake Buster: Something wrong with your hearing this morning or do you just not wanna hear this Rio: I wanna hear but you ain't saying shit Buster: Cause you're too busy doing it for me like Buster: I'm trying to tell you what I want Buster: Christ Rio: Tell me Rio: Alright, I'm listening Buster: Yeah? Cause you didn't last night Rio: I didn't think you meant it Rio: not meant to hold people to what they say during sex, figure that rule extended to right after, like Buster: I reckoned we were past saying shit we don't mean Buster: I wanted you here with me Buster: I fucking still do Rio: Oh Buster: Tell me what you want Buster: Cause if I'm wasting my time I wanna know Rio: You know I want you Rio: I just feel stupid now Buster: I know you wanna fuck me Buster: I need to know if you wanna stay around after Rio: I do Rio: I thought you knew that too Rio: but I was thinking that's the opposite of what you wanted so I was just ignoring that side of it to keep you happy Rio: Pathetic, I'm aware Buster: How could you think that? Buster: You're the smart one like Rio: It sounds stupider now than it felt Rio: You can't blame me, like, you did just try and chuck me again Rio: its not like its ancient history Buster: I didn't Buster: I told you it wasn't about us Buster: And it's not like I wanted Erin Rio: I know, I get why you did it, 'course I do Rio: but it still woulda ended it, like Buster: But it wouldn't have been what I wanted Buster: You know I want you Rio: but I don't always know how Rio: you don't either, I know like Rio: we've not really said..ever Buster: Tell me now Rio: I want to be with you Rio: Basically all the time Rio: and not just because I wanna fuck you all the time either Rio: Still true but Rio: I do like you too Buster: Good Buster: I've told you so many times before that we're the same Buster: Need to start hearing me, babe Rio: I might just start Rio: Maybe Buster: Yeah? Buster: I wish Buster: I thought you knew what the bracelet meant like Rio: I know what it meant to me Rio: I don't know, I guess I'm scared to read into things you say and do, case I get it wrong and get fucked up over it Rio: Call me a pussy if you want Buster: I won't Buster: I get it Buster: But I'm not Drew and I'm never trying to give you mixed messages Buster: You can trust Rio: Okay Rio: I do Rio: in almost every way Rio: and I want to with the rest too Buster: Okay Buster: I know I've fucked up a lot but I'm not gonna do that any more, as best as I can swear to it Buster: You're too important to me like Rio: I'm not going anywhere Rio: I'm sorry I left Buster: I can't blame you Buster: I was gonna leave you, like it or not Buster: I'm sick of trying to fight this Buster: I care about you Rio: You're just trying to do what's right, be a good person, I'm not going to fault you that Rio: but you are good already Rio: you know that, right? Buster: All I know is if this is wrong then I'll be wrong. Fucking gladly. It doesn't feel like it to me, never has Rio: Me either Rio: Its only knowing what everyone else will think Rio: but it feels right to me, for me Buster: Yeah Buster: I don't care what anyone else thinks, just what you think Rio: Do you mean that? Buster: I do Buster: I wanna give you what you want, if we're fucking or not Rio: I wish I could claim you Buster: You already have Buster: I've not felt like this for anyone else Rio: Me either Rio: I didn't think I was capable honestly Buster: Proved you wrong, babe Buster: I wanna take you out. A meal or whatever. Not like we're sneaking around in the fucking dark Rio: I'd like that Rio: I told Indie Rio: Don't be mad, swear she won't tell anyone, she knew there was someone and I didn't want to say that was anyone but you Buster: Fuck Buster: What did she say? I don't want to fuck things up between you and her Rio: She was obviously taken aback at first Rio: but she is genuinely okay with it Rio: even happy for me Rio: gutted to have missed out herself, like but you know Buster: You're not just telling me what I wanna hear, are you? Buster: Minus that last part Rio: No Rio: For real, swear on my life Rio: I was headfucked too Buster: Maybe if we ever tell anyone else they won't be as headfucked themselves as we reckoned Buster: I don't know but it's good to think about Rio: Yeah, we don't wanna get too cocky too soon Rio: even if that's your speciality Rio: but maybe the world wouldn't implode? hm Buster: I'm well mad you said that before I could Buster: My MO Buster: Did you mean what you said about claiming me? Cause I have an idea Rio: Sorry to ruin your fun, babe Rio: Of course Rio: Hit me Buster: Well you're wearing something for me, I should too, yeah? Buster: Let's shop Rio: Yeah? Rio: Never turning down a shopping spree Rio: Let's do this Buster: Maybe I'll get you something too Buster: If you behave Buster: No clues if I mean good or bad Rio: Lucky I'm so great at both Rio: and I always work out what you want Buster: Yeah Buster: And lucky for me when you model it that's entirely for my benefit Buster: We both win Rio: 😍 Rio: Feels good being a winner again Rio: Especially with you Rio: but just know if we're buying lingerie you're helping me try on and take off in the changing rooms okay Buster: Just know then we might not make it to purchasing anything Buster: And don't blame me if we get kicked out Rio joined the chat 8 hours ago Rio: 🤷 I don't mind Rio: we're treating you, already got mine Buster: But we're meant to both be winning like Rio: We still will be, trust Rio: or we can behave and be really boring if you're feeling it Buster: I like you, yeah, but I ain't that whipped cheers Buster: 😂 Rio: If you think that's what I'm gon' be cracking the whip for, you're mistaken hun 😏 Buster: Valid, you can't be distracting me in lectures one minute and telling me to behave the next Buster: When do you wanna head out spending? Rio: Oh, can't I now? Rio: Bold assumption Rio: I'm ready whenever you are, not got anything on 'til my shift tonight Buster: On my way then Buster: Fuck it Rio: Yay Rio: Just need to get changed Rio: not gon' let me in the good stores like Rio: not on my pretty woman clapback best today Buster: I look so good it won't matter what you wear Buster: Other than to me 'course Buster: So take your time Rio: 😂 Rio: Boy bye Rio: I got my fans, how dare Buster: I know but I'm trying not to think about it Buster: Got jealous enough already Rio: Yeah? Rio: That mean you don't wanna head up the club, like? 😏 Buster: What do you think? Rio: 💋 Rio: I only want you, the rest just pay my bills, babe Buster: Too late to kick it old school and set you up like you're my mistress all expenses paid Buster: Flat set up to have you all to myself sounds good though Rio: Feminism fucked me on that one, yeah Rio: at least you got the dubo place to yourself basically all the time Buster: Thank fuck Buster: It's hard enough sneaking around when we've got somewhere to go Buster: If I couldn't see you as much like Buster: Fuck Rio: Rich boy perks paying off as per 😉 Rio: but nah, I feel that too, too hard Rio: like Indie knows now but she don't need a show still Buster: Much as she'd like catching one of my performances Buster: Don't need to make your friendship that weird Rio: 🙄 thought you didn't do performances? Buster: Maybe Buster: Maybe not Rio: Hmpf Rio: who you been performing for if not me boy Buster: Gonna dole that fake shit out to my exes Buster: You know you don't make me feel like you Rio: Damn, you're too smooth Rio: see how we got in this trouble Rio: can't be blamed Buster: Can't lie Buster: You gotta handle the truth Rio: Okay, only if you can handle all this Rio: [sends pics, more cutesy than usual but still hot obvs] Buster: Doing my best like Buster: Always trying to make me die at the wheel Rio: No Rio: I'm not Buster: 🤞 🍀 Rio: Seen more lively morgues than this joint tonight 💀 Rio: Entertain me? Buster: Course Buster: I could always do it in person you know Buster: Try not to get too jealous of your customers Rio: As much of a tryhard as you are, babe- 😘 Rio: Better boozers about, trust Rio: Looking for new jobs rn like, soz, know y'all all miss me Buster: Takes one to know one, babe Buster: Fucking feminism making you pay your own bills Buster: Keep getting reminders of it today like Rio: 🖕 Rio: Gotta try hard to get these tight old fuckers to part with the tips, like Rio: If only we'd known what we were fighting for, eh ladies? 😂 Rio: but it's all good, 'cos the only reminder all my new shit is giving me is of us definitely getting caught by that shop assistant but we were throwing too much 💸 around for her to do anything about it Buster: And you looked so hot in all of it Buster: Can't blame her for wanting to get a front row Rio: Glad you think so baby, the good shit is for your eyes only Rio: Don't need potential investors knowing I can already afford that shit shh 🤫🤭 Rio: as long as she abides by look but don't touch, I'm cool Buster: Nah for my eyes only you said Buster: It's well shit you have to work tonight Rio: Obviously not her, weren't feeling her that hard, like, even tho she was werkin' what she had for the commission but whaddya reckon on threesomes? Rio: Yeah, proper shit ever having to leave the bed init 💔 Rio: Fucking rest of the world, leave us alone for a bit Buster: You know how I feel about sharing Buster: Depends if who you're thinking of is worth it like Buster: Yeah Buster: Since you mentioned it, guess who's blowing my phone up and making me wish even harder you were here Rio: No, good Rio: I feel the same Rio: Done it before but Rio: can we keep it just you and me please Rio: Didn't leave it at the bitchy comment then? Not the entertainment I was after but, always happy to oblige isn't she Buster: You know I only want you Buster: It's more than fine with me if you feel the same Buster: My fault for thinking how bored I was, yeah? Can't lie though I was hoping we'd distract each other Buster: Maybe she sensed it. Still trying to cockblock after all this time Rio: You make me feel so special 😇 Rio: Lbr, who's competing with me, good luck hoe 😉😂 Rio: She's like anti-viagra, her mission in life to bring down the vibe and your hard on 😒 Rio: Got an idea but what bullshit she chatting Buster: Easiest thing I've ever done and you know I'm a lazy, entitled brat so long list Buster: Or me. Honestly. What lad? Fuck that Buster: Yeah. How did I ever get her pregnant? Never wanted anyone less like Buster: She's trying to say that I'm failing Jay 'cause I went shopping once without buying out half the shops for her. Please Rio: Looks like we stuck being the baddest for now then Rio: Hard job but someone's gotta, yeah? Rio: I don't even know, genuine, unless you were packing lil' blue pills for some reason Rio: 😑 She's the one out here already trying to buy love Rio: who's the real failure, hun Buster: I can't even blame coke 'cause I didn't take any far as I remember Buster: Fuck's sake Buster: She's pissing me off already Buster: Acting like Jay's boring her like Rio: Who could be bored with their own child? Rio: Soz real babies don't come with as many fun features as your dollies, like...the fuck? Buster: She's like a kid herself Buster: Her parents do everything and she has the nerve to act like I'm the one not pulling my weight Buster: I take the piss a lot with mine like, but I don't dump Jay on them as well Rio: Having a kid SHOULD grow you up but it don't always Rio: seen it with a lot of people I went to School with, all about the drama STILL, like they ain't got mouths to feed Rio: You're a good Dad, that's why Rio: No one can say otherwise Buster: Now who's making who feel special Rio: You should know Rio: and she ain't gonna tell you unless you marry her dumb ass so Buster: And that ain't never happening Buster: I'd rather the shotgun blew my head off Rio: 😂 Rio: No one is gunning for that one but her Rio: If you reckoned you were gonna do that next to make things right, I'd have to lock you up for your own sake, not even selfish, like Buster: I'd let you, not even selfishly, though it'd be fucking hot like Buster: Looks like I might get to see Jay soon though 🍀🤞 Rio: 😳🤤😍 Don't need to be given any more ideas about what I wanna do to you but I'll take 'em Rio: No way! See, cocky for a reason, gotta admit like Rio: How have you managed that? So happy Buster: It didn't take much, she has a life of her own, don't you know?! 😒 Buster: It obviously takes an age to prepare for a girls spa trip like Rio: Unsurprised Rio: but give a shit, she can spa 'til she shrivels up, like Rio: she's got so big like Rio: Jay, not Chlo Rio: not going for low hanging fruit bitchiness Buster: You ain't wrong on either count, but lot of other shit I can slag her off for before that Buster: Chlo's well thrilled Jay can say more words, gotta get those insta vids uploaded often enough that people think you care Rio: Absolutely, so not on brand to be a shit Mum Rio: cute though Rio: the fam will be buzzing to get to see her again Buster: Yeah Buster: I won't blame you if you don't wanna see me as much like Buster: Baby can be a mood killer Rio: Don't be daft Rio: It will be a bit weird for me compared to the rest but what else is new there? Rio: I still love her, like Buster: Suppose we'll have to find our rhythm with it 'cause when the other one gets here I'll have to hit the ground running from day 1 Buster: No excuse to be part time other than the ma hating me like Rio: Are you ready? Buster: Gotta be Rio: True Rio: At least this time the Ma isn't insane Buster: Thank christ Buster: Next time I might get one I actually like. Third time lucky and shit Rio: That's the plan, is it? Rio: You blatantly just want a male heir Buster: 'Course Buster: Do the world a favor creating a mini me Buster: Jay's already beautiful like Rio: Such a joker, McKenna Rio: though no kidding on that score Buster: Not asking you to volunteer to make me one, babe Buster: It's fine Rio: Obviously Rio: But you make 2 by accident and all of a sudden you're picking out names and potential mamas Buster: What can I say? So good at being a dad it'd be a crime to stop Rio: 🙄 I can't with you boy 😂 Buster: You love it Buster: I know you miss me Rio: Miss you more when you're a one-man sperm bank 😜 Rio: I do though, this shift could not drag any harder Buster: What time do you finish? Rio: last orders 12.30 but I'm closing 'cos the boss man cba Rio: come help if you like Buster: Only if you're offering me a lock in Buster: Honestly though, I can. Don't have anything on at uni until the afternoon Rio: I'm offering you a nightcap, think on, boyo Rio: Good, then we've got 'til then Rio: let's make it worth it Buster: Course Buster: The sooner I get my assignments done the sooner I can go get Jay too so gonna need you to motivate me Buster: I'm sure you've got plenty of ideas Rio: Absolutely, best study buddy you ever had Rio: Gotta be a hotshot lawyer or I'm out, like Buster: Yeah? Buster: I'd give you a week until you missed me too bad Rio: Channel that confidence into your work and you won't have to find out the hard way 😏 Buster: Well played Rio: I'll take my bow and reward when you're done tah Buster: But I know you ain't working hard enough for it yet Rio: Firm but fair Rio: such a DILF 😜 Buster: You're trying to joke but it's true Buster: We're parent goals here, ma 😜 Rio: I tell you you're daddy all the time Rio: No surprises here Buster: But I ain't gonna be mad that you said it again Rio: Now you're really gonna have to work harder to have me screaming that Buster: Nah, it's easily done Rio: Wish you'd come and prove it, babe Buster: I know Buster: But I'll make it worth it when I get there Rio: Same Rio: I'll let you focus for now though Rio: Good girl, see? Buster: I'd rather you let me distract us both Buster: Slow enough night that I could have you on the bar or I'd just have to hide behind it like? Rio: Baby Rio: You're killing me Rio: soz that pint was all head, something on my mind Buster: You're just trying to reciprocate, giving head while you're getting it Buster: They're welcome Rio: Be here now Buster: I don't want you to lose your job, babe Buster: Hot as it is to make you lose control Rio: I do Rio: Fuck this job and fuck me Buster: Gladly Buster: When's your break, that'd be a compromise worth making, yeah? Rio: I'm head tonight so I'll just take it Rio: we should wait though, right? you get some work done, I'll try too and then closing will be all the better Buster: You're right Rio: Standard Buster: If you get any more cocky I won't be getting any work done Rio: Sorry, you're too damn fun to distract Rio: Easy, too Buster: Shut up Buster: It's your fault Buster: Making me and my game look weak Buster: Thank Christ this all a secret Buster: And I have an idea how to level the playing field Rio: Your rep is safe Rio: Only I know how whipped you really are, s'how I like it too Rio: Yeah? Intrigued, maybe Buster: Take your break, babe. Touch yourself and think about me Buster: You'll be as weak as me Buster: And left wanting more too Rio: Done and done Rio: My fingers will do until your tongue can replace 'em and finish the job properly Rio: You want me to show you or is thinking about it enough already? Buster: Proof or it didn't happen Buster: And you can't hold me to anything if not Rio: you really want to get out of your job here? ow 💔 Rio: [10 mins later, said video] Rio: Will that convince you I need you? Buster: It's a start Buster: a fucking good one Rio: Well, I'm beyond ready for you Buster: I'm beyond regretting telling you to keep your job so there's your answer Buster: I've never wanted someone more instead of less as time goes on Buster: Until you Rio: I know Rio: I'm addicted to you Buster: I'd say sorry but I'm not Rio: Don't care, just keep giving me my fix and I'm happy Buster: I'm not about to stop, don't worry Buster: My family might be around more once Jay is though so thank christ Indie's on side Rio: Yeah, fair Rio: I'm not that much of a selfish cow Rio: That's your time with her, see me when you can, like Buster: I want time with you too and I'll make it Buster: Besides, who better to help me with a baby than the greatest ma I know Rio: I'd like that Buster: Yeah? Buster: I know it's a lot, but you're both important to me Rio: I'm ready Rio: Promise Buster: I love you Buster: So fucking much Rio: I love you too Buster: Tell me again when I see you and I'll know you mean it Buster: Don't want you to just feel like you have to say it back 'cause Rio: I will Rio: You'll see Rio: I've wanted to say that for a while now Buster: Sorry for beating you to it, but me too Rio: I'm glad, I was too scared, what if I never Buster: I'd still know Buster: I was shitting myself too though, not said it before Buster: I'm glad I have now Rio: Good, 'cos I'm gonna make you say it 'til you don't mean it no more Rio: feels too good Buster: I'm not gonna stop meaning it. Good luck Rio: I love you, Buster Buster: I love you too, Rio Buster: Get used to it like Rio: Don't know if I can Rio: its crazy Buster: I reckon you can do pretty much anything if you want it bad enough Buster: And I know you want this Rio: You really think that? Rio: I wanna do great things with you Buster: 'Course Buster: I don't fall in love with just anyone Buster: How could we not? We're both unbeatable like Buster: Together. Who else has a chance? Rio: Yeah Rio: Was never gonna be anyone else, I've known that for a while too Rio: I'm just so relieved to finally know for certain you feel it too Buster: Sorry to keep you waiting Buster: Always doing that Rio: Nah, I'd rather you were sure than say it too soon and regret it later Rio: and I've done my fair sure of making you wait so we're even on that one Buster: Not surprised. You're on my level all the time Buster: I didn't reckon I could be this happy. Don't get me wrong, I love being a dad and I wouldn't change it, but it doesn't always make me feel great Buster: You do Rio: Understandable, its a hard, thankless (most the time) fucking job, sure any of the 'rents would be happy to shout that at you like you don't know yourself Rio: but Jay is the best, and your other girl will be too, 'cos you're their Dad Buster: I actually believe that coming from you Buster: You make me feel like I'm not all just bullshit ego or whatever and could properly do something good Rio: Good Rio: 'cos you can and you will Rio: and Imma be right there with you Buster: I don't know how you started believing in me and not my bullshit but I ain't mad Rio: I told you, not as good an actor as people have you believing, sorry to burst ya bubble but not Rio: people didn't get to know the real you because it was too hard for 'em to bother Rio: I ain't never been afraid of a challenge, you know this Buster: Yeah Buster: Reckon you'll have to get me in front of the camera and let me work on that Buster: Keep the secret safe Rio: Now I know you're just saying that to make me happy 😏 Buster: I wanna make you so fucking happy Buster: Trust me Rio: I do Rio: We're gonna have it all Buster: Can I get you fired if I promise to find you a new job? Buster: 'Cause fucking hell Buster: I've gotta see you Rio: You have to Rio: Got big plans and they don't involve this place, but they definitely do you Buster: Fuck it then Buster: Nothing to stop me unless there's anyone there you don't want to see this Rio: I couldn't care less about anyone that ain't you right now Rio: You know I wanna claim you Buster: Good Buster: I'll be right there

[kwonhozhi]

A Penny For Your Thoughts, £400 For Your Meal

its now been a clean 2 weeks since i posted the last thing so here we go i guess,,, next thing i post should be the angus thongs au so i hope this tides you all over xxx

my love to @alrightevans @alrightpotter and @prongsyouignoramus for helping me get it from the mess it was when i wrote it 18 months ago to this

AO3

8:50. Avery glances at the bill and goes down to his car to retrieve his conveniently forgotten wallet.

 8:59. Malfoy goes down to see what’s keeping him.

 9:29. Nott slips out to answer an important call.

 9:44. Mulciber dons his coat to take a piss.

 9:51. Severus excuses himself for a quick fag, and Lily is left sitting alone at their table with a growing sense of suspicion.

 9:53. Lily finally convinces herself to look at the bill, and her stomach drops to her knees.

 11:41. “Ma’am?” the waitress asks, and Lily was sure she’d seen the worst of the girl’s frown, but she was wrong.

 “A-another glass, please,” she mumbles, and the waitress’ eye roll and impatient huff says it all. There are eight or nine completely full glasses in a little grove in front of her already, and she doesn’t exactly have a plan of action, but at least this is buying her more time.

 She’s buying herself more time, with money she doesn’t have.

 “Of course,” the waitress spits, and sweeps away.

 This close to midnight, Lily’s fairly confident they’d like to shut up shop shortly. She tears her eyes away from the frankly excessive amount of wine sitting full in front her, and glances around the previously bustling dining hall. She almost, almost pegs herself as the last diner, but there’s a man about her age on the other side of the room. He has a dozen or so desserts scattered around him, each as untouched as every one of her wine glasses. He gives her a tight smile as they make eye contact, and turns back to his food, pensive. Lily does the same.

She could call Petunia, but the thought of being a further £250 in debt to her sister’s beastly husband is even less appealing than the prospect of management throwing her into a cellar and skinning her alive.

 The waitress returns with a glass of chardonnay or something else Lily has never quite liked, and places it down on the table with a little too much force. They both watch the spillage seep into the tablecloth for a moment, then the waitress strides off in a huff.

 A part of Lily still hopes for the return of one of her party, though she knows it’s a lost cause. She should have expected it – Severus’ new friends aren’t exactly the honourable type. This is, she realises with a horrific dawning, the only reason she was invited at all. Exams-are-over celebration my arse.

 She deserves this, doesn’t she? Mary and her used to do the exact same thing on double dates that went wrong. God, they didn’t even have to speak to know when to excuse themselves, they’d just share a look that said ‘oi, this is a bit shit, isn’t it?’ and they’d bolt.

 She’s been doing the maths over and over in her head for the last hour and twenty minutes, and even with the hundred pounds in her account, the seventy five in her wallet isn’t going to cut it. How the fuck did Severus’ mates manage to rack up the cost to four hundred pounds? Did they order their food laced with cocaine?

 “Miss, you need to pay. Now,” the waitress hisses, and she’s flanked by the entire serving staff.

 “Yes,” Lily agrees faintly. “Yes, of course, you’re absolutely right,” and the noose tightens around her neck, “I just – my friends all left, you see, they thought it was funny, I suppose, and I don’t have quite enough to cover the bill, so if you’ll let me call my sister so she can…” Whatever the opposite of convincing is, Lily is apparently it, because her waitress looks thoroughly unimpressed with the story. It’s true, Lily wants to yell, I’m not making this up!

 “If you won’t pay,” and Lily notes the use of the word won’t rather than can’t, “I’m going to have to call the police.”

 “Is there a problem?” and Lily just about jumps out of her skin as she whips around to see who it is. It’s the man with the desserts, apparently having made his decision, finally on his way out. “Are you short on your bill?”

 Lily gives a small nod, cheeks burning, trying not to let the gravity of the whole situation crush her. Her humiliation is up to her neck, her chin, her ears, she’s drowning, oh god is she drowning. They’re going to call the police, and she’s going to go to prison, and she’s never going to get hired, because what school’s going to hire a twenty-three year old with a criminal record?

 “I clearly can’t let you call the police on her,” the man says, and shoots Lily an honest to god winning smile. “Look, she’s distraught. Add her bill to mine.”

 “I can’t let you do that,” Lily says, automatically, and god, Lily, why can’t you let your morals go for twenty fucking seconds?

 She couldn’t see him properly from the other side of the hall, but up close he’s quite a looker, with rectangular glasses perched carelessly on his long, thin nose, and thick black hair that’s just begging to be played with, and stop it, Lily.

 “I’m not paying for your meal, I’m spotting you the money, and you’ll pay me back when you can. Add it to my bill,” he says to the waitress, and her expression softens at his insistence.

 “Of course, sir,” she says, and he could be made of sunshine by the way she looks at him.

 “I mean, it’s not your fault your friends dined and dashed on you,” he’s saying, and Lily snaps back to attention, “and I have the money.” His hazel eyes twinkle and maybe he is made of sunshine.

 “Are you absolutely sure?” She grabs his elbow as he begins to reach into his coat pocket, “One thousand percent sure?”

 “One thousand and ten percent sure,” he assures her, and she smiles despite herself.

 “Alright,” she laughs. “Alright.”

 “James,” he says, and she takes his long fingered hand, wondering vaguely if he’s any good at piano.

 “Lily.”

 “Excellent. Beatrice, add Lily’s bill to mine.”

 The server nods as she takes his credit card, and James turns back to Lily. “I say we down this wine as soon as, then we can get out of here before Bea sells us to some shoddy black-market op. What were you planning on doing with it all, anyway?” he says, taking a sip of whatever was closest to him, and grimacing.

 “Well,” and her face burns red, “I was sort of hoping if I stalled for long enough, one of them would come back.”

 “Not very good friends, are they?”

 “They’re not actually my friends,” Lily admits.

 “Ah yes, a phenomenon I know well. I get invited to dinner then everyone drifts out without me noticing because oh, James’ll pick up the bill. James is frankly quite sick of it,” and something in his tone pushes his accent from upper class to posh.

 “If you knew they weren’t coming back, why’d you order so many deserts?”

 “Ah,” he starts, his brown cheeks darkening considerably. “Yes, that. A friend of mine adores the desserts they do here, and I couldn’t decide which he’d like best. I’d just made up my mind to take them all, because I have another pair of friends who’ll eat the left overs anyway, doesn’t matter, I’m rambling. Anyway, I was on the way out, and I saw you were sitting alone, and, and I assure you I mean this in the least creepy possible way, I had to make sure you weren’t about to get arrested.”

 “Which I was.”

 “Which you were, so lucky thing I was here.”

 “Lucky thing,” Lily agrees drily.

 “I like to help out where I can. Beatrice,” he calls, and she reappears, holding his card. “Would it be possible to wrap up the desserts for Remus? Only he couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately.”

 “Of course, sir.”

 “Excellent. Now, Lily,” and he hands her a glass of wine, “if you drink it fast it barely tastes awful. Assuming, of course, that you have no objections to a bit of mild intoxication.” Lily takes the glass, clumsily, and she might have jumped out of her skin when their fingers brushed against each other just now. “Quickly, quickly, before Olivia gets too cross.”

 They’re giggling when Beatrice reappears again, with an ornate box, which she refuses to hand to James, no matter how much he tries to grab it. “I’m sorry, sir. Olivia says I’ve got to personally deliver it to your car. She doesn’t want tiramisu all over the foyer. Again.”

 James snorts loudly, and Lily can’t help but laugh along. She follows James, who follows Beatrice, who leads them out of the dining hall, and they’re halfway to the garage before Lily stops dead in her tracks. James spins around with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

 “Severus drove me here.”

 “Oh. Do you want me to drive you home?”

 “You’ve just had five glasses of wine,” Lily points out, and James gives her this really blank stare and oh god, did she just hallucinate the entire thing? But dawning makes its way onto his face in an instant, and he laughs, bright and clear.

 “I have a driver!” he laughs, and she smiles too, but it’s sort of like, what the fuck.

 “You have a driver.”

 “I don’t even know how to drive,” he says, frowning. This seems to be more for his own benefit than hers. “I’m twenty-three and I can’t drive. What if I’m being chased by the police and I need to get away? I can’t!”

 “You have a driver,” Lily says again, and he looks at her like he’s just remembered they were having a conversation.

 “Yes.”

 “You’re like, a prince, or something. Aren’t you?”

 “Or something,” he says, eyes twinkling even when faced with her scrutiny.

 “I don’t live that far away, honestly, I’ll just walk.”

 “You’re going to walk, alone, through London at half past midnight? No.”

 “No?” Lily asks, raising an eyebrow dangerously.

 “I’ll walk you. No, it’s fine! I’ll call an uber or something from your house. Settled, let’s go.”

 “You don’t have to,” Lily says, but she’s already reaching for his hand.

 “I want to,” and he’s leading the way onto the street. She turns to their left and he follows, dreadfully, tripping a wide arc to come back by her side. It’s almost a dance, would be a dance (if they were a little more sober).

 “How many times did that waitress call you sir? Like, fuck.”

 “Happens a lot when people know you primarily for the size of your bank account.”

 “How come you’re so rich, anyway? Everyone knows your mid-twenties are for being dirt poor!”

 “Blame my parents. They were rich, ipso facto…”

 “Were? What happened to their riches?”

 “Nothing. The riches are fine, they’re just dead.”

 “Right. Sorry.”

 “No, they were old,” he says quietly, and she squeezes his hand, “I mean, I wish they weren’t dead, obviously, but…”

 “My dad died too,” Lily offers.

 “Sucks, huh?”

 “Yeah,” she sighs. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just pulls her closer when a group of teenagers leers at them, and she smiles softly at him. “I never knew this walk could be so nice,” she whispers, and he smiles back down at her. “I’d never have spoken to anyone like you, never in a million years.”

 “Because I’m so intimidatingly handsome?”

 “Yeah, that’s it. That’s definitely it. “

 “I get it a lot. The only people who want to talk to me are other rich people and… well, I guess that is how I met my best friend, actually, so it mustn’t be a completely bad thing.”

 “You ramble, you know that?”

 “I’ve been told.”

 She laughs, and it strikes her that she’s done that a lot since she met him.

 1:21. “I’m on the left here.” She drops his hand, but it’s only because her front gate requires both of hers to be opened. She stands in her tiny front garden, and she can’t think of anything funny or cool or witty say. “You’re good company.”

 “Good you think so, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me from now on.” Lily frowns, confused. James cottons on, and grins. “I know where you live, and you owe me about 400 quid. And, of course, you’re really quite pretty.” She kisses him without really thinking, but it’s right, him bracing himself on her gate as he leans forward to meet her, and her backlit by her porch light.

 They break apart when the most expensive car the neighbourhood’s ever seen pulls up to the kerb. “You had your car follow us?” she asks.

 He just smiles, a broad and honest thing, and steps backwards, reaching into his pocket. “This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done, but here’s my number.” He hands her a card.

 A business card.

 “Oh my god,” she says, turning it over in her hand. He kisses her again, and disappears into the car. She waves as he speeds off, and looks back down at the card.

 James Potter, Potter Industries

 She laughs – of course he’s James Potter. The laugh echoes down the now-empty street, and Mary’s light flicks on upstairs.

 “That you, Lil?” she shouts out the window.

 “Yeah!”

 “You alright?” Her head pokes through the lace curtain, concern apparent on her face. “You sound like a loon.” Lily just laughs, laughs as she pulls out her key. “Lil?” Mary calls down the stairs as the door clicks shut.

 “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great Mare. I’m on cloud fucking nine.”

[tialovestelevision]

A Buffy Dialogue - 6:1-8

T: It’s time for A Buffy Dialogue, this one on the opening act of Season 6. I’m joined here by Dragon, because there’s just so very much to talk about in these eight episodes. They’re sort of the establishing shots of this season, which is, oddly, the one with the most… start-to-end… season arc in the show. Like, there aren’t really any one-shot episodes so far. They all build the season’s story and emotional beats. So, Dragon, what shall we talk about first?

{*\../*} : Well, since the big arc of the season thus far has been about our characters and their personal motivations for their thoroughly disastrous choices, let’s do a character-by-character breakdown for the readers on where people are and what we think the writers are trying to tell us (and are actually telling us, not always the same thing). Some people are obviously not going to need much telling - the Trio basically speak for themselves, for instance, and Anya’s not got much going on except taking over the Magic Shop. But everyone else has issues! So let’s talk about them.

T: I think I’d like to start with Giles. His bad decisions are both fairly straightforward and the one whose mistakes are most understandable, I think. He’s not operating under any great trauma like Buffy, or mystical whatsit combined with the way the show metaphorized mundane problems like Willow. So… he seems like the onramp here.

{*\../*} : So at the end of “Tabula Rasa” we have Giles on a plane going to England because he’s spent the time since flying back in “Flooded” feeling like a barrier to Buffy’s recovery (probably best expressed in “I Wish I Could Stay”), and the evidence is fairly clearly on his side about the truth of that. He can’t stand watching her suffer at this stage in her relationship, and he’s making classically bad parenting-with-adult-children decisions like writing checks he can’t afford to write on a regular basis to cover bills and having parenting conversations for them instead of refusing and letting them make their own mistakes. That Dawn is being cast symbolically as Buffy’s kid is a bit of a problem given the realistic implications of having an older sister with no job or stable support system ‘raising’ a sibling only a few years younger, which the show actually talks about briefly in Season 5 and then drops completely for 6, and plays into the show’s overall failure to make a stable decision about how realistic it wants Buffy’s dealings with the ‘real’ world post-death to be. But that IS the symbolism here, and Giles is aware he’s acting an enabler to Buffy avoiding her responsibilities as Dawn’s guardian/parent. Given that he can’t make himself stop enabling her, removing himself is a logical choice. Maybe even a better one than staying. But from what you were writing about “Once More With Feeling,” you don’t seem to think so?

T: I hadn’t really thought about whether Giles could afford the check or not… I figured that, after Buffy got him three years of backpay in “Choices,” he probably had some extra cash lying about. Maybe not, though… he apparently spent his whole time from being fired by the Council in Season 3 to his return to England in “Bargaining” maintaining both a house in Sunnydale (and a nice one! But Angel had a mansion there and no money, and Dracula conjured a castle, and Glory kept a mansion or really lovely condo on a nurse’s salary, so Sunnydale’s real estate market apparently operates in some base-cthulu numerical system), so maybe he was in debt that the back pay paid off? Anyway, the show obviously wants us to think of the check as a bad thing for him to have done, and “he can’t actually afford it” is a better explanation for that than most.

{*\../*} : Especially if it’s “he can afford this one, but what about the next one?” which is actually pretty typical with parents and adult children.

T: That’s true. Anyway… to your point about how realistic Buffy’s post-resurrection mundane life is supposed to be… that’s kind of the key problem with the writing here, isn’t it? If we were going to treat it as realistic, the right answer by Giles would be to call the Council, inform them that they’re about to have one Slayer who’s in jail and another who’s homeless and can’t do any Slaying because she’s too busy working a menial job, and get them to start providing a stipend and maybe even paying for health insurance, then having Buffy set up six months of weekly sessions with a therapist who, living in Sunnydale, has almost certainly Seen Some Shit. If we’re going to treat it as metaphorical, shouldn’t there be a monster in the pipes? How can literal pipes break and cause metaphorical life problems? We have to keep this very careful balance of literal and metaphorical issues and barriers to solutions that the show never really gives us for any of what Giles is doing to make sense.

If there is no support network available for Buffy to draw from, she needs to keep the support network she has, because even if Giles’s current behavior is going to do more harm than good in the long run… well, the tire is flat. Yes, the Fix-A-Flat means it’ll cost more to repair later and might need replacing, but when it’s that or starve to death alone in the desert on the now-abandoned Route 66, you use the goddamn Fix-A-Flat.

{*\../*} : Yeah. A lot of this season really fails to cohere because it’s trying to apply the same making-metaphor-of-life-problems rules it uses in high school to young working adult drama, and that doesn’t really work very well at all. But since we just watched Willow wipe everybody’s memories and then Giles get on a plane anyway, I think we can agree that Giles is making a choice that will End Badly for reasons that have a lot to do with his personal relationship with Buffy and maybe less to do with an objective view of the overall situation.

T: Which one could say about Willow and the others in “Bargaining,” too, come to think of it. Oh, look, shiny transition!

{*\../*} : They work better when you don’t point them out, honey.

T: In the spirit of Buffy, I’m going to be impressed with the cleverness of my own writing even if my expressions of being impressed make it less clever.

{*\../*} : Fair play. Yes, the time-bomb we set up in “Bargaining” that finally blows up in “Once More with Feeling” by resurrecting Buffy is absolutely about putting personal emotional stuff above the moral or the practical. We talked about that quite a bit in “Afterlife,” but I think it’s important to pull out two pieces of parallel evidence from the rest of this first third of the season that show nobody has Learned Their Lesson at all. They’re actually not obviously related, because one is played as a gag and one is played as Serious Business complete with a Very Sad Song montage, but I think they are crucially connected: Willow’s stunts with first Tara’s memory and then everyone’s, and the fact that Xander summoned Sweet.

T: They’re both afraid. Willow has more power than Xander by far - I actually agree with Buffy that, by the end of Season 5, Willow has more power than anyone else in the main cast - but neither of them really knows how to prevent loss. I’m not sure if Buffy’s death helped form that fear, but I can pretty much guarantee that it’s on their minds.

{*\../*} : Absolutely. But they have another key commonality. If Buffy is currently the show’s metaphor/punching bag for trying to find your way in a world that’s financially unstable and doesn’t seem to care about your trauma while it’s checking you for credentials and contacts, Xander and Willow are both in the middle of another big life transition: adult relationships. It’s more obvious with Xander, because he and Anya finally come out about being engaged in “All The Way,” but let’s look at Tara and Willow for a minute. They’re living a house together, they’re supporting a household (do either of them have jobs? They seem like they must have jobs of some kind, but that’s never brought up. More realism problems), they’re effectively raising Dawn until Buffy comes back and even then they often seem to be acting as the heads of the household. They’re in a long-term, settled relationship. But they have never once, as far as we can tell, had a real actual fight before. They certainly haven’t learned to fight in a healthy way, which is an absolutely critical skill in a relationship where one partner comes from an abusive background.

So Willow’s on the cusp of having a wonderful adult lesbian family life, but she doesn’t know how to resolve conflict in it and she’s terrified beyond words of losing it. And, as we’ve established with Buffy, she’s got a ton of magical power and isn’t shy about throwing it at problems that scare her (Buffy’s death, Glory, maybe even Joyce’s death before that). Frankly, that she tries to magic her problems with Tara away is almost totally unsurprising in both the realistic and metaphorical senses.

T: True. The precise form of magic she chooses to use is, because Willow has spent most of the show as someone with intense emotional intelligence (Tara has more than her, but Willow spent the time before Tara’s arrival basically second only to Oz in ability to understand people’s needs and feelings) and Tara’s experiences make memory modification even worse than it would normally be, but… well, she has a hammer. Everything from death to life to deities to relationship issues looks like nails. She has a really, really good hammer.

{*\../*} : I think this another of those cases where the writing kinda trips and falls flat trying to get at the metaphor. Because if magic is power, in a different drama setting where power was fame or money Willow would be covering over their relationship problems with a fancy trip or flashy gifts or something of the sort. If magic is lesbian and/or female empowerment, then she'd probably be covering up their fight with really great lesbian sex instead of dealing with the issue. But Willow’s hammer is magic, so that’s where the writers go, and they’re willing to let Willow look either stupid or callous or both for not thinking about the correlation with Glory.

T: She left the Lethe’s bramble in front of the fire. They are obviously willing to make her look both. I don’t think they know how much both they have her looking.

{*\../*} : True facts. But having made that bed, now Willow is crying on the floor in her bathroom while Michelle Branch plays super-sad music and Tara does the I Am Leaving packing montage. Surely she will take this as a chance to sort herself out and learn better conflict management skills, right?

T: Because the next three episodes are called “Coping,” “Adjusting,” and “Living a Healthy Life.” No, wait, the other thing.

{*\../*} : Yeah.....  Anyway, my point from earlier is that Xander doing something extremely similar with Sweet - to try to force a happy ending with Anya - is played for comedy because Xander himself is usually played for comedy, but he’s basically doing the same shit as Willow but with less power and more stupid.

T: And by the by, how did I miss that the singer in the Bronze was Michelle Branch? I called out Hinton Battle over and over and missed Michelle Branch. I am shamed. She doesn’t have three Tony Awards, but she does have a Grammy.

And… yeah. Xander, look back at your life. You’ve lived the life needed to answer this question. “In all of history, how many times has summoning a demon worked out well?”

{*\../*} : Do Wolfram & Hart count?

T: Whenever they summon demons, they have to find more evil lawyers willing to risk being devoured by demons to hire. I imagine that’s a pretty employee-friendly job market from the start.

{*\../*} : So speaking of that ending musical montage, Buffy is doing a dead stare over the bar at the Bronze and then she’s locking mouths with Spike behind the stairs. This does not portend good things. I think your coverage of her in “Once More with Feeling” pretty much sums up the lousy place she’s in, but I thought she was starting to look up before the big whammy spell took her memories away. Is she basically reverting to bad coping because of the opposite of the King Ralph thing (speaking of Xander playing other people’s serious stuff for comedy beats)? The spell took her memory of losing heaven away and then gave it back, and she’s having a meltdown instead of laughing?

T: That seems possible. Alternatively, she was just getting better at putting on a happy face. Or her emotional arc over these episodes makes no sense. The writers certainly aren’t telling us. It would, though, make the King Ralph line contribute more than a quick laugh at an outdated cultural reference, and Buffy loves doing that, so let’s go with that.

{*\../*} : I think there will be more to say about Buffy after the upcoming episodes, but I did want to note one thing that I thought was interesting - she’s in a weird liminal space in these eight episodes in a lot of ways, hanging between the dead-and-complete heroine and the newly arrived, very harried twenty-something with serious trauma, but one that stands out to me in particular is her relationship with Dawn.

When we see her with Dawn in “After Life,” Dawn is acting almost as a surrogate mother to her - cleaning her, bandaging her, trying to get through to her. In “Flooded” and “All the Way,” Buffy is very distinctly acting in the maternal role toward Dawn - trying to provide, trying to hammer out the logistical kinks of life, trying to manage Dawn’s social behavior. She winds up defaulting to getting Giles to help in all three areas, but she takes them on as her job to then press him to help her with in the first place. But in “Tabula Rasa,” memories removed, she and Dawn revert very quickly to a much more natural role as sisters and seem much happier about it.

T: I think Dawn might actually be the only member of the cast to be really aware of how badly off Buffy is in “After Life,” and, to a degree, the episodes after it. Well, her and Spike. This is a Problem for Buffy, since Spike is basically toxic relationship structures given human form then having had that human form’s soul ripped out and body filled with even more toxic ideas about what love means, and Dawn is a teenager who needs a ton of taking care of herself (and is also, I’ll note, the victim of an inordinate amount of trauma - trauma that starts with finding out that she doesn’t, technically, exist and moves on to watching her friends suffer torture and injury and risk death to keep her safe, being betrayed by a trusted ally, and watching two parent figures die within months of each other, one of whom literally flings herself off a tower to keep Dawn safe). Neither is in a position to do much to help Buffy, apart from simple physical and emotional first aid from Dawn in “After Life.”

{*\../*} : Something that literally just occurred to me while I was thinking about the last scene of “Tabula Rasa” earlier - Dawn is, of course, being played in that scene as the teenage daughter reacting with anger when her abused mother moves out of the house. That was obvious from the get-go. But if she’s being played that way in that scene, and Willow and Tara are being played very much as her parents, who does that make Buffy (who is also being played as her parent)?

Crazy theory - someone in the Buffy writing staff was casting Buffy in the role of a biological parent rebuilding a relationship with their teenage child who’s living with a married lesbian couple that doesn’t include that parent.

T: Wouldn’t that make Willow her ex? That… actually makes a ton of sense, given the family and relationship structure here.

{*\../*} : Her ex who’s still pathologically attached to her and literally drags her back into the life of the family? Wow. This reading is seriously gaining steam.

T: And she does that while still in a relationship with her new-ish partner. A relationship that is, on the surface, quite healthy. Yeah… we’ve got a winner here.

{*\../*} : Healthy right up until the point when Willow starts becoming (magically) emotionally abusive and engaging in (magical) gaslighting, which her ex (Buffy) is too busy with her own issues to remark on.... Shit.

T: Hence “on the surface.” But yeah… I think we’ve found a model by which everyone’s behavior, other than Willow being stupid with the Lethe’s bramble, actually makes sense. Buffy is back somewhere she doesn’t want to be but loves the people there too much to tell them she wants to go literally anywhere else, Willow is trying to drag Buffy back into her life, Xander is Xander, Dawn is watching her family disintegrate for the umpteenth time in the last six months. Everything fits. Except the Lethe’s bramble in front of the fire. But the only possible model to explain that is “... and using magic makes you occasionally suffer bouts of extreme stupidity.”

… Or Willow wanting to get caught, because it’ll get Tara out of the way in a way that leaves her with less guilt (because Tara would be doing the leaving) and lets her pursue her ex again unimpeded.

It’s not that I don’t buy this model. It’s that I hate it.

{*\../*} : Season 6 - when it’s not incoherent, the model for coherence sucks. Thanks for listening to us in this little catch-up, y’all, and having a good night. Coming up next, “Coping,” “Adjusting,” and “Living a Healthy Life.” Really. We swear.

T: I want to live in a world where those are the next episodes. It sounds like a better world. A world where there is a kitten on my head right now, and it’s mewing and adorable. There is no kitten on my head.