#my family think id do something with art too like i am nowhere near good enough for anything to do with that!! fuck off!!

[bishonenspit]

i want to have goals 🫠🫠🫠 and an education and skill but i have none and i am way too old to start now 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

[aparoxysm]

3,5,7,8,9,12,15,18,19,20

✿  Does anyone in real life know about your RPing hobby and what, if anything, have they said about it?

My parents know, because for as long as I’ve been on the internet, they’ve known that I like to write and write with friends overseas. My dad still calls it fanfiction somtimes to other people, like he’s proud of me or something, and that’s enough to make me want to never talk to him again out of embarrassment, ha, but I deal with it. Because I truly do love writing more than anything. Other than that, my boyfriend knows, but he doesn’t care about it / ask questions and I don’t really like to tell him about it either. I’m not as embarrassed about RP as I used to be, but I still feel like it’s just something for me that other people wouldn’t really understand the mechanics of. The only times my boyfriend and I do acknowledge it is when I start talking about an RP friend he hasn’t heard about before like a real life friend, so he’s like who dat and im like oh, new rp friend from > insert country

That being said, he actually did surprise me the other week and I have been holding onto it for fear life. We were complaining about a friend who literally just sleeps and watches Netflix all day when she’s not working, and he’s like “I don’t get how you can do that” and im like “Well I have friends online who claim to do that a lot. Me, personally, I’d get too bored.” and hes like “I just don’t get how people can do nothing all the time? Like at least with you and your online stuff, that’s still doing something. I just feel like that’s actually a hobby.” and I kind of didn’t hear whatever else it is he said because he actually ??? referred to my RP addiction as something valid and worthy??? and all this time i’ve assumed he didn’t get it and thought it was dumb??? IDK, it made me feel good.

✿  Have you considered writing professionally or do you have plans to?

Always. But I never will, I don’t think.

✿  How do you handle the toxicity sometimes found in the roleplaying community, particularly in fandoms?How has roleplaying, specifically, impacted your life?

I use tumblr savior to blacklist a lot, because it really gets too much for me to be exposed to it a lot, and it makes me feel shitty and not want to rp with certain people because of how they behave, or makes me feel guilty for how I behave… I usually drift away from things that give me major negative vibes, otherwise I become in great, exponential danger of saying something i’ll regret. I’ve hated Tumblr RP a lot in this last year. It’s nowhere near as relaxed as it used to be, and I know there’s a lot of political debate on the topic of equality but I am not comfortable in a space where I have to edit everything I do and say or just not do or say it at all. When it gets like that level, a good dose of the unfollow button and keeping my mouth shut is what I find the most helpful.

✿  How has writing improved your life and do you see yourself sticking with it?

When I graduated high school, I went to college for art and animation, and it basically ruined my creative life. Before RP, I used to be an avid drawer, I sketched every day, I improved my skills and motivation so much, everyone knew me as the girl who drew in class instead of did her work, the girl who was going to grow up and be a famous artist, and when I went to college, it killed that for me. My ego took a big blow because the tech side of the course absolutely annihilated me, i couldn’t do it. so after that (and that was 2 years ago now) i haven’t really drawn since. but the silver lining was that I took on RP more dedicatedly after that, and found that I truly adored writing. Try as I might, I’ve never really comitted to a personal writing project, and it’s only in the recent times that I’ve taken the pressure off for me to do it, but. RP makes me happy, it makes me feel like I’m doing something good when I reply to people or make new friendships, it makes me feel like I’m wanted and needed, that my characters and plots are valid and that other people would care if I’m here or not. It was a big boost for my self confidence, and it’s also made me so much more privy to the creative world, which i needed after that. so yeah, i see myself sticking with writing.

✿  Is there a quote from a piece of literature that holds great value to you? What is it and why is it important to you?

She stood in front of her closet mirror in her T-shirt and twisted this way and that. What’s wrong with me? She wondered. There was nothing the matter that she could see. She was tall and leggy, like her mother, with full breasts, small waist, and slim hips that curved enough to show she was female. Her skin was gently golden; it was always golden, sun or not, and her tawny hair was thick and long and wild. So why was it that groups of girls stopped talking when she approached them at school and answered her openings with tense words that killed the conversations she tried to start? Was she too good-looking? Was that possible? Was that the threat they saw? 

Legitimately, this was the first and pretty much only female protagonist I had ever read about who fully and whole-heartedly loved herself where it mattered. Sure, she still had her shortcomings and moments of weakness, but god damn, Vivian was so proud of herself and what she stood for, and that was so refreshing to see during that period of young adult fiction. It’s why she became my first favourite character from a book. And has pretty much inspired me to write feirce, aggressive, self-assured female characters ever since. I was just so inspired by her way of thinking as a young girl, it appealed to me so much and so that moment in the book plus a whole lot of others, really stuck with me.

✿  What do you typically look for in a roleplay partner?

Cliche, but chemistry. And not always in the writing kind but a lot in the OOC kind. I like people who I can talk to super easily, who write in the same tumblr language I do, who reference memes and are not afraid to hit me up with IMs and head canons, etc. I just love it because it makes me feel comfortable with a person, and like I’m not being a bother. The better I get to know a player, the better I get to know their character away from IC interactions. Likewise, I adore it when players get to know me so well that they read the patterns in my characters easily, and I don’t feel like I have to explain them all the time? It’s like they just know, and they know what path I want to put them on. I also look for honesty, people who are down to tell me what they’re feeling about a situation or whether something bothers them, or is able to voice if I’m doing something wrong. Most importantly though, I look for decisive people. Not overly decisive but it’s just so important for me to have someone who is like “yes that sounds good, i can start a thing for you if you want” or “i dont think that really fits, how about this plot idea instead?” I really cannot stand sending IMs to people about plots and characters and them just agreeing off the bat the whole time, but never really deciding on anything either, and so it makes me feel like i’m just paddling in a circle until i make all the decisions for us. To me, that’s not what RP is about. It involves teamwork, and effort, and to me, that’s not putting in effort. It gets me really frustrated.

✿  What made you want to join the roleplaying community?

I kept seeing bios in celebrity tags, and so when i sussed out what group rp was on tumblr, i was like holy shit there is a name for the thing i have been doing with friends over email for so many years???? and you can use PICTURES? i gotta get on this.

so somehow, i found a group rp that allowed mythical creatures, i wanted to be a peter pan mermaid, and the rest is history~~

✿  What one piece of literature has been most inspirational/life changing for you? Why?

(( Blood & Chocolate, by Anette Curtis Klause — because of the main character, as per mentioned. She’s inspired me to write full-on, aggressive, assertive, don’t-tell-me-what-i-can-and-cant-do female characters without apology. ))

The Truth About Forever  by Sarah Dessen — it’s hard to explain exactly why, and it doesnt even just involve ONE of her books either, but they’ve kind of shaped my whole general character story directions?? her books always follow a pattern and i really admire that pattern, even if it is repetitive, and i am secretly a hopeless romantic so i really like how her love stories evolve. it’s always slow burning, the boy is usually a direct surprising love interest, and the girl always gains new friends and family out of it, and the stories always involve a nice little reoccurring theme. In the Truth About Forever, it’s a game that she and a boy plays throughout the entire book, which eventually leads to a shift from friendship to something more. THAT PLOT HAS APPEALED TO ME EVERY SINCE. the example of a teeny, tiny, otherwise-completely-average moment greatly impacting the rest of a characters life with someone else… i am weAK for this concept ok. her females are always usally feircely independent too and that gets me ♥

✿  Who are your top three favorite fictional characters and why?

Vivian Gandillon (Blood & Chocolate) — i swear i could go on repeat forever haha, but i’ve basically already mentioned why.

Jace Herondale (Shadowhunter Series) — back when the first like, two books had only been published, i super fell hard for this series and it was straight up because of the commentary done by Jace and his ability to senselessly bicker with everybody in his path. his comments to me, were always absolutely hysterical. i was so in love with his wry and witty comments, especially the way he kept at ease and casual through super distressing situations, and i really wish id kept reading the rest of the series as it was published, but i seriously fell behind. then the movie came out. then the netflix series. now i’ve grown too far out of it and having to see the cast on my dash every second of every day makes me want to burn the books.

Shane Collins (Morganville Vampire Series) — this is an oooold old series that i used to read religiously, and it was more in the style of anita blake and buffy vampires~ rather than twilight and true blood -esque content. it got really weird and complicated though so i gave up on it, but for a time, i adored it. and i loved shane because he was hilariously human, he hated everybody except his housemates (though sometimes that could be questioned) and nobody held a grudge better than him. he had a knack for getting in trouble, usually on his own accord, was feircely protective and spent most of his time just being a genuine nuisance and temper tantrum thrower. i saw a lot of me in him, and idk. i just like people with tempers, i think it makes them super fun to read. 

[dazzledbybooks]

Ever since her mother walked out, Trix McCabe has been determined to make it on her own. And with her near-magical gift for pulling valuables off unsuspecting strangers, Trix is confident she has what it takes to survive. Until she’s caught and given a choice: jail time, or go live with her long-lost family in the tiny town of Rocksaw, Kansas. Trix doesn’t plan to stick around Rocksaw long, but there’s something special about her McCabe relatives that she is drawn to. Her aunt, Mia, bakes pies that seem to cure all ills. Her cousin, Ember, can tell a person’s deepest secret with the touch of a hand. And Trix’s great-aunt takes one look at Trix’s palm and tells her that if she doesn’t put down roots somewhere, she won’t have a future anywhere. Before long, Trix feels like she might finally belong with this special group of women in this tiny town in Kansas. But when her past comes back to haunt her, she’ll have to decide whether to take a chance on this new life . . . or keep running from the one she’s always known. With lovable and flawed characters, an evocative setting, and friendships to treasure, A Constellation of Roses is the perfect companion to Miranda Asebedo’s debut novel The Deepest Roots. A Constellation of Roses by Miranda Asebedo Publisher: HarperTeen Release Date: November 5th 2019 Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Book Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41021973-a-constellation-of-roses Amazon: https://amzn.to/31zyTR2 Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Constellation-Roses-Miranda-Asebedo/9780062747105?ref=grid-view&qid=1568883944503&sr=1-1 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-constellation-of-roses-miranda-asebedo/1129473584#/ Google Books:  https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/A_Constellation_of_Roses.html?id=TBb9wQEACAAJ&redir_esc=y iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/a-constellation-of-roses/id1451488194 Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/hk/en/ebook/a-constellation-of-roses Favorite Quotes: "Fortune telling isn't a science. It's an art. And sometimes art is messy." “When I remove my hands from my face I see that he’s grinning too. That scar pulls at his eye, and that’s when I realize that it only does that sometimes when he smiles, not every time. I don’t know why, but this seems important." “Scars tell a story, even when we don’t want them to.” "How do I stay active when I have frequent bladder leaks?" "I can run away as easily as I have all the times before. I slipped up going back to the starlight. I won't make that mistake again." “It’s both beautiful and frightening to feel like you’re being seen, truly, for the first time.” “All I know is that it’s the good memories that cut the deepest, because those are the ones where you remember what you’ve lost.” “I earn my money now. I don’t steal it. You don’t steal from a town where you mean to put down roots.” “I’ve been invisible for months at a time while I was drifting, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone make me feel that way on purpose.” Review: A Constellation of Roses by Miranda Asebedo is such a good book. I really enjoyed this one. Trix McCabe is a 17 year old girl who is gifted with being able to pick pocket without ever raising suspicion. She has been living in a motel ever since her mother left. She pays for this motel with cash every week. Her life is not great. It isn't even good. Drug addicts and johns visit this place all the time. The last thing that Trix feels is safe or loved. Everything is better than being back in the foster system. One day Trix is picked up by the cops and she has a choice to make. She can go to jail or she can move in with her long lost relatives in the middle of nowhere. Trix chooses not to go to jail. On top of everything these women has magical gifts. Trix has no idea what she got herself into. I thought the magical realism in this book was so good. Asebedo did such a great job with this concept of secret special magical gifts. This story has a lot of raw emotions and I really needed that in a book right now. I felt like this was such a beautiful story that focused on family and forgiveness. Trix has such a heartbreaking story and I am glad that Asebedo was able to tell it. Even though this book handles several heavier and difficult issues, Asebedor handled it was grace. I thought she did a great job making sure there was still hope in the book. Plus the humor helped. I can't get enough of this book. You should definitley check it out. Excerpt: Chapter 1 My hand slips into the woman’s gaping purse like it’s my own. Fingers nimble and sure on her wallet, I brush against her as if I am just impatient to get through the crowds of people milling around in the Eastside Mall. It’s not hard to do. Everyone here is in a rush to get to the next big sale. That’s why I always pick this place. And because it’s lightly patrolled by burly security guards who stand idly outside upscale department stores and watch for the wolves among the placid, woolly shoppers. My touch is only the softest graze against the woman; she doesn’t even notice. Before I can inhale a full breath of her expen- sive perfume, I’m gone, her billfold in hand. I stuff it into my beat-up bag and lose myself in the throngs of people. This is the third wallet tonight, and by the glimpse of the designer insignia, I’m guessing that I can retire for the evening. I only need enough to cover the week at the motel and maybe something to eat a couple times a day. I steal just enough to get by. No more, no less. I follow the stream of other shoppers as they trickle out of the mall, but when they go to the parking garage to load up their Mer- cedes and their BMWs, I pull on my hood and walk into the wind. It’s barely September, but lately the evenings are cool enough to make me hope I remembered to turn the radiator on low before I left the motel. One of the security guards making the rounds in the parking lot briefly scrutinizes a girl with a black hoodie and ripped jeans and says something into his walkie-talkie, but I don’t worry about him. You see, I’ve got a gift. Once I watched a movie about this little boy who could heal people with his hands. They said he had “a gift from God.” I’ve never seen God, and from the few times I prayed with the pious foster mom whose husband whipped me with a belt when I spilled juice on their new carpet, it became clear to me that if there was a God, he didn’t see me, either. But my gift is okay, too, regardless of where it came from. My hands are swift, undetectable. I was born a thief. I’m sure there are more people out there like me. Some strange twist of DNA giving us gifts like perfect pitch or immor- tal cells or quick hands or even healing ones. I don’t think I was chosen or found worthy. I think I’m just damn lucky. Sometimes for fun I like to watch the security-camera footage at the bodega next to the Happy Host. I wander in the aisles, loading up, barely a shadow on the screen above the register, just someone in a hoodie with her hands firmly in her pockets. No one sees a thing. Ever. I catch a city bus on the next block, careful not to meet the eyes of the other commuters as we make our way to the west side of town. Sure, most of these people are the unseen—the busboys, the cleaning ladies, the trash collectors. But a few are thieves and pickpockets like me, and they’re on their way home, some licking their lips and others licking their wounds. I want to blend in with the unseen. Nothing in my bag but minimum wage and an empty lunch box, not stolen rent money. Instead I stare at the sturdy shoes of the older couple sitting across from me, their clasped hands resting between them on the vinyl seat. I get my sketchbook from my bag and begin to draw those hands with stolen pencils. Sketching my surroundings is something I’ve done since I was old enough to notice the shadows moving from the small split in the curtains of whatever motel room I was living in, some desperate admiration for the way dark and light give depth and meaning to everything. I use short, scratchy strokes to show the way the couple’s fingers intertwine, nicks on the knuckles where the dry, red skin has split. There’s something beautiful about the way her hands look as rough and cracked as his, so you can’t tell which hand belongs to which person. I like the bus because it makes me feel connected to other people, sharing their stories, even if only for a little while. But eventually, I always remember that I am still alone, and I close my sketchbook and watch the street signs for my destination. I get off at the dark stop two blocks away from the Starlite Motel. Keeping my head down and walking quickly, I ignore the voices and laughter from the doorways and the parking lots I pass. I don’t want to buy anything, and I’m not selling, either. As I get closer, I see that the motel sign says NO VACANCY, which means that the ladies who are my neighbors are probably working. Mom used to work with them sometimes, too, when we lived here. Until she said she was going to get a pack of cigarettes one August afternoon and never came back. That was a little over a year ago, in one of those brief, hopeful lulls when she said she was going to get clean again. I’ve been a lot of places since she left, but I keep drifting back here. I guess because it’s familiar. When I get to the Starlite, there are a lot of cars in the parking lot. It’s Friday, and men do stupid things with their paychecks. I stop at room 7 and, looking over my shoulder, I pull my keys out of my pocket. Once I’m inside, I immediately lock the door behind me and do a quick inspection of the room. I am alone. Mel, the night manager, has kind of a soft spot for the kids who live here, and that’s why he lets me rent a room even though I’m by myself and not eighteen. There aren’t many of us at the Starlite. Me, Charly, and the Quinter twins. Charly shares room 11 with her mom, and Janie Quinter, barely older than me, and her twins are one door down in room 12. The twins are little, though, and usually Charly watches them when their mom is working. Shane used to live here, too. I dump the wallets out on the queen bed. The coverlet is a faded floral print, and it sort of matches the brown carpet and the yellowed curtains. I thumb through my haul, checking every pos- sible pocket for cash that might be hidden. I peel out carefully folded, clean bills. That’s what I like about rich people. Even their money smells better. There’s three hundred seven dollars. Sighing in relief, I clutch the crisp cash to my chest. It’s enough to pay for another week at the Starlite and food for a while. Not a bad night at all. I take half the money and cram it into the jar I keep in the toilet tank, careful to screw the lid back on tightly so my stash doesn’t get wet. No one ever thinks to look in the toilet tank. They always look under the mattress, in the top drawers of the dresser, the cupboard in the corner. I shove the other half of the money into my pocket to pay the rent. The stolen billfolds go in the metal trash can I’ve designated as the burn trash. There’s a small outdoor grill behind the Starlite, and I burn everything but money. I’m not stupid. Credit cards, IDs: those are traceable. I only take the cash. Marie leaves the bot- tle of lighter fluid out there. Who knows what the young, pretty maid burns, but I’m not alone in my activities. My stomach growls. I check the small clock that hangs above the kitchenette area. Calling it a kitchen is a little extravagant when it’s really only a hot plate and a bathroom sink with a dish drainer next to it. I should’ve stopped at the QuikMart to grab a bite on the way home, but it was late, and I knew I should get back before Mel started playing cards with the old man who lives in room 2. Once they start drinking, it’s hard to say if my rent will make it into the till or into the game. I hesitate by the door. I don’t want to go all the way back to the QuikMart, so I do something nice for myself. I order a pizza. Not a cheap one, either. I order one of those deluxe ones from Sal’s, the kind that leaks grease through the cardboard so it leaves stains on the coverlet. I can live off one of those for a couple of days. Then I leave the motel room and lock the door behind me. Hood up, head down, I make my way to the main office. “Trix! Hey, Trix!” The sound of my name seizes my shoulders and urges me to run before I recognize the voice. Charly. “Hey,” she says, jogging up beside me. “Thought that was you. Rent time, huh? Mom just sent me to pay for next week, too.” She holds up the wad of cash so I can see it, the cheap gold rings on her fingers glinting in the lights from the neon NO VACANCY sign. “Don’t flash that around,” I hiss, watching the two guys leaning on an Impala in the parking lot. I don’t know if they’re staying here or waiting for someone, but I don’t want to catch their attention by looking like we’re two easy marks. Charly shrugs and stuffs the money in the pocket of her snug jeans. “What’s the fun of having money if you can’t show it off?” she asks. “Anyway, what are you doing tonight? Can I come over?” “Aren’t you watching the twins?” I ask. “No, Janie’s sick, so she’s not working.” Charly’s a year younger than me, but there’s a tightness in her face, a hardness that makes her seem older. I don’t know; maybe I look that way to other people, too. “You can come over if you want,” I tell her, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’ll blow me off. Anytime a boyfriend texts, she bails on plans with me. But tonight, I could use the company. I haven’t spoken to another person in nearly a week. Just me in a crowd, me in my room. Just me, alone. Sometimes drifting can be lonely, and it would be nice to feel that somebody cares I’m here. So I add, knowing it will sweeten the deal, “I’ve got a pizza com- ing.” Charly grins, revealing the large gap between her front teeth. “I’m starving.” We both go into the empty motel office, the small bell on the door alerting Mel and Room 2 Old Guy in the back room that we’re there. Mel lumbers in and leans on the front desk, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got the week’s rent for room 11,” Charly says, holding out the wad of cash. Mel takes it, making a face at the crumpled bills. “Tell your mama to stop leaving her shit in the only working dryer,” he grumbles. “Yeah?” Charly says, crossing her arms. The motel has a tiny laundry room with two machines that are out of order more than they’re working. I just wash my clothes in the sink. “Why don’t you fix the other damn dryer, Mel? And since we’re bitching, tell Marie to stop stealing my stuff when she comes in to change the sheets.” Mel grins. He likes spunk. “Room seven,” I tell Mel, handing him my money and avoid- ing the argument altogether. “Another week?” he asks, as if he’s surprised. This will be my second week in a row here. I know I should change motels again, but this one feels safe to me. I guess it’s because Mom and I lived here for three years before she left, which makes it the longest time we ever lived anywhere, and the closest thing to a home. The picture I drew with stolen charcoal pencils on the day we moved in is still on the wall, still hidden behind the generic framed picture of a palm tree on a beach that hangs in every room at the Starlite. “Just one more,” I tell him. “Tell Marie I’ll pick up clean sheets tomorrow. I can change them myself.” Marie’s okay, but Charly’s right: that girl’s got sticky fingers. I would know. “Sure, kid. You going to be in your room tonight? Check out the free movie channels. Some kind of promo from the cable company.” I shrug. “Yeah. No big plans.” Or any in recent months. Charly and I wish Mel good luck with his card game, and then she leaves me at my door to go down to her room. “Let me grab something to drink,” she says. “I’ll be back in a few.” I unlock my door and go inside, carefully locking it again behind me. If I know Charly, she’ll be bringing back a red plastic cup nearly full of vodka she swiped from her mom, and a few cans of soda to cut it with. The guy who fills the vending machine by the front office has a thing for Charly, and he’s always leaving cans of Sprite or Coke by her door like they’re bouquets of flowers. Surprising me given her track record, Charly gets back before the pizza. I know it’s her from the way she kicks the door with the toe of her worn-out sneakers because her hands are full. “Open up. It’s the police,” she bellows, knowing it will terrify all our neighbors. Laughter peals outside the door. Charly never could keep straight-faced during a joke. I peer at her through a crack in the curtains, just in case, before I open the door. There’s a few muffled thuds and then some swearing from the room next door when they realize it’s just Charly out there. She whisks inside with her arms full of exactly what I thought she’d have. When Charly’s mixed us drinks with the cheap plastic cups from the kitchenette, she spills her guts as we lounge on the hard bed, the television turned to a comedy on Mel’s free movie chan- nel. She and her mom are on the rocks again, and she has to dump Dante because he’s still cheating on her, this time with some rich girl on the East Side. Nothing is good anymore, she says, not like it used to be. She twirls her hair as she talks, sips carefully from her drink before she drops her next words. “Let me come with you next week.” “What do you mean?” I ask her, taking a slug of the drink and wincing at the burn. Charly was a little heavy-handed with the vodka, which doesn’t surprise me now that I know she wants something. “You never stay here long anymore. Not like when your mom was still around. I know you’ll leave again. So take me with you.” She looks down into her cup. “I want out. I’m tired of living with my mom. I’m tired of the johns hanging around, and babysit- ting every night, and just living in this shitty motel.” “So you’re just going to drop out of school and hit the road?” I ask. “Why not? You haven’t gone to school regular since your mom left.” I read once that when you lose an arm or a leg, sometimes you get phantom pain, this ache where there’s nothing left to hurt. That’s what it felt like, since Mom walked out. I know she felt like she could never forgive herself for all the things that had happened between us, and maybe she could never forgive me, either, but somehow her absence hurts even more than having her here. You can’t forgive someone if they never come back to you. It wasn’t that I didn’t like school, it was just that I had lost interest in books and tests and tardy slips when Mom left and what small foundation I had crumbled apart. Also, you need a guardian to enroll, and I’d sworn off those about six months ago, after I’d run away from my last group home. “You going to get a job? Or am I supposed to be your sugar mama in this scenario?” I take another swig of the drink and let the vodka sing in my bones, willing it to drown out that phantom pain. “I’ll find a way,” she says. “If Shane was here, he’d help me out. He was going to get us out of here, you know. He promised.” I know she means well when she brings him up. I know she has as much right as I do to say his name. He was my boyfriend for only a year before he went to prison, after all, and Shane had been Charly’s brother all her life. But it stings anyway. I set my cup down on the nightstand and slide off the bed. I go into the bathroom, shut the door, and sit down on the edge of the grimy bathtub. I only need a minute. I haven’t talked about Shane or Mom for a long time. It’s easier that way. I hear Charly standing on the other side of the door. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled. “I shouldn’t have brought him up. We just haven’t talked about him in forever, and I thought you were probably over him by now.” There’s a soft clink of her rings against the knob, but she doesn’t turn it. When you live in a motel with paper-thin walls, you learn to respect boundaries. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. Even if you’d been with him, it wouldn’t have ended any different.” I hear the scrape of her rings as she pulls her hand away. The truth is, I am over Shane. Or I think I am, anyway. Mostly now I feel guilt when I remember him. My gift would have protected him if we had been together when everything happened. But even Shane didn’t really believe me back then. It was luck, he said, when I tried to convince him. I stand up and flush the toilet like I’m not a coward hiding in a motel bathroom. There’s a knock at the door, three times, quick and insistent. Charly calls, “Pizza’s here!” “Wait! Look before you open it!” I shout, flinging open the bathroom door. But it’s too late. Two uniformed police officers are standing outside. “We’re looking for Trixie McCabe,” the younger, female officer says, her hands on her belt. “There’s no Trixie here,” Charly lies easily, starting to close the door. “You have the wrong address.” The other officer, an older man, puts up a hand to stop her from shutting them out. He stares at me where I stand dumbly in the frame of the bathroom door, the toilet still running behind me. He’s seen me already, and slamming the door or running isn’t going to make any difference now. I hear swearing and slamming, other people in the Starlite getting out before the cops come knocking on their doors, too. The older cop holds out the same photo the foster homes always use when I run away. Long dark hair, light-olive skin, and gray-green eyes that glare angrily into the camera. “Miss McCabe, we’re going to need you to come with us,” he says. About the Author: Miranda Asebedo was born and raised in rural Kansas with a love of fast cars, open skies, and books. She carried that love of books to college, where she got her B.A. and M.A. in English, with an emphasis in Creative Writing and Literature. A Seaton Fellowship recipient, her short fiction has appeared in Kansas Voices, Touchstone, and Midway Journal. Miranda still lives on the prairie today with her husband, two kids, and two majestic bulldogs named Princess Jellybean and Captain Jack Wobbles. If Miranda's not writing or reading, she's most likely convinced everyone to load up in the family muscle car and hit the road. Author Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16987401.Miranda_Asebedo Website: https://www.mirandaasebedo.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/MirandaWriteNow Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mirandawritenow/ Giveaway:  Prize: Win a copy of A CONSTELLATION OF ROSES by Miranda Asebedo (INT) Starts: 5th november 2019 Ends: 19th November 2019 Photo Credit: Alexis Bestwick  Fan Art / Photo Credit: Elvishness a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: https://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2019/09/tour-schedule-constellation-of-roses-by.html November 18th The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Welcome Post November 19th Bookish Looks - Guest Post Books and Blends - Review Book-Keeping - Review + Favourite Quotes The Reading Corner for All - Review Book Blog London - Review + Favourite Quotes November 20th Wishful Endings - Guest Post Here's to Happy Endings - Review + Favourite Quotes Belle's Archive - Review + Favourite Quotes We Live and Breathe Books - Review What's She Reading? - Review November 21st NovelKnight - Interview onemused - Review Dazzled by Books - Review + Favourite Quotes Avid Reader - Review Booked J - Review November 22nd A Book Addict's Bookshelves - Guest Post Confessions of a YA Reader - Review + Favourite Quotes For The Love of Fictional Worlds - Review Morgan Vega - Review + Favourite Quotes bewitchingwords - Review + Favourite Quotes November 23rd Book Rambler - Review Sometimes Leelynn Reads - Review + Favourite Quotes The Clever Reader - Review + Favourite Quotes To All The Books I've Read Before - Review + Playlist biblioxytocin - Review + Favourite Quotes November 24th L.M.Durand - Interview The Shelf Life Chronicles - Review The She Revelation Book Blog - Review + Favourite Quotes emily the book nerd - Review + Playlist The Heart of a Book Blogger - Review + Book Aesthetic Instagram Schedule: November 18th FFBC Tours TUABFC November 19th Bookish Looks Book-Keeping The Reading Corner for All Book Blog London November 20th Wishful Endings Here's to Happy Endings Belle's Archive November 21st NovelKnight onemused Avid Reader Booked J Dazzled by Books November 22nd Confessions of a YA Reader For The Love of Fictional Worlds Morgan Vega November 23rd Sometimes Leelynn Reads The Clever Reader biblioxytocin November 24th L.M.Durand  The She Revelation Book Blog emily the book nerd The Heart of a Book Blogger The Shelf Life Chronicles

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2019/11/aconstellationofrosesblogtour.html

[shitneytears]

taking stock of where I'm at

long ass ugly ass post but I'm just thinking about a lot of things rn so I'm just gunna vomit it all out here and deal with it………. never

if you know me irl feel free to read this y'all know I'm an open book anyway idc.

I need to go to a dentist p bad now, my teeth have been fine my whole life like pretty straight and healthy jus a lil stained but thats fine whatever I'm not after hollywood white anytime soon; but atm I'm noticing they look like they're slowly moving and starting to misalign and look BAD and i want to deal with it before it gets too bad. I don't mind if i have to have braces (even tho i cant afford that l o l) but i DONT want braces on for next summer because if i have to graduate and have my grad pic taken with braces in i will fuckin end everything i cant i caNT have that. Also i want a hygienist to scrape all the shit off my entire mouth and like, polish and blast it back to neutral bcus even when i am cleaning my teeth atm they're just… they never LOOK clean which is starting to……… get me down??? not rlly but its just another thing I'm thinking about.

my DIET fuck ME. It was fine when i started it and it was a LOT of hard work for me to try some new foods but I've done it and proud of that, like iKNOW thats a huge step for me! but now the initial novelty is worn away I'm very very over it. I've learnt there are some veg i don't mind eating, but they're not \GOOD/ they're just there, and id always rather cook a recipe without them, the things that are new that aren't veg are the only things I've tried that id want to adopt into my actual normal eating habits??? like I'm enjoying sushi, sea bass, and steak too! (yeh I've never had steak before I'm fucking poor we don't buy nice meats so fuck off) couscous is very dependant on what you add to it but hey it is good sometimes! carrots are evil and sweet potato is just not the same as normal potato its nowhere near as good stop pretending sweet potato fries are good they're weird. I like yoghurt lots and should buy it more often tbh. anyway its just another thing I've got to think about and I'm TIRED of having to think about so many things

on a related note to that, it is having good results! i am loosing a lil bit of weight and can see a difference and I'm enjoying seeing my arms and legs looking a little more defined even after just 3 weeks!!!1! but my workouts are starting to have a lot less energy and I'm finding it VERY hard to find the mental and physical energy to drag myself to the gym at the moment. I mean i also do rlly miss going with michael bcus those few weeks were like the gym golden times honestly. so much fun.

i keep just sleeping, then spending like 3 hours slowly dragging myself to the gym nd doing breakfast and stuff and getting back home with my food for the day to cook off. its just. a lot. then i tend to just sit on my phone doing NOTHING until going to bed… I'm just so sleepy and low energy its shiIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTT

The house maintanence is ridiculous too, we are so nearly done, i NEED them to replace that awful carpet and ill be good, its become such a huge mental block for me i cant SETTLE in my own home because its not quite done yet which is yet aNOTEHR task

dont ask me about my dissertation don't ask me about it i want to work on it but i feel like I've got no time even tho i clearly do its just something i cant face when I'm this low on energy truly

men are all evil idiot babies so jot that down

helping nathaniel in london is still fun and even tho it takes a whole day away from my own life I'm really enjoying it and its a positive in this GLOOMY time!

i am SO grateful for the energy I'm getting from rebecca in this time honestlyyyyyy laughing and getting coffee with her so often is getting me THROUGH and my convo with amy last night uhhhhhhhh i miss me graphics buddies

i wanna be back at uni making work again, really bad, and i don't want that to end! and also balancing my work with my studies is gunna be hard but i wanna get back into my roles on the board and hopefully course rep again.

i just wish i wasn't so POOOOOOORRRRRRRRR, honestly its such a real thing being in uni and going through this experience I'm very clearly not from the same place as most of these people and I'm doing the very stereotypical gay thing of having to EXCEL in EVERYTHING to prove I'm worth being here whilst some of the other richer people can just waste away their days and squander the whole degree its so frustrating they have that sense of entitlement to their space here when 100000 working class people would happily take that place and work harder with it.

having to be UR OWN male role model is exhausting but i gotta keep going, even if i need a 4 month break, gotta keep pushing as hard as possible all the time, because i gotta prove to my family that studying art wasn't a waste of money and time and i gotta be the positive male energy my brothers need so bad that i didn't have.