#my therapist said I should try writing again but she didn't say what so I fully blame her for this

[darnedchild]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that Colin Bridgerton is a breast man, specifically the breasts of one Penelope Featherington.

Poor boy has dreamt of doing the most obscene things to and with her delicate bosom, distracting things, things he should be utterly ashamed of... Would be ashamed of if he thought there was the smallest chance that Penelope wouldn't welcome each and every touch.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that Penelope Featherington longs to run her fingers through soft brown hair, specifically the hair of one Colin Bridgerton.

Poor girl has dreamt of wrapping his beautiful locks around her fingers, of dragging her nails against the sensitive skin of his scalp until his eyes close and his lips part in a barely audible moan, of grabbing a handful of hair and pulling him into her demanding kisses until he willing surrenders to her passionate demands... Should feel embarrassed by her wanton desires if she weren't absolutely certain that Colin would willing fall to his knees before her at the first gentle tug.

[harrysfolklore]

yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”

the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios

read little bitch here

"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"

"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."

"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."

From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."

"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."

"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.

"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"

"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"

"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"

"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"

Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."

You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"

"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"

"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.

"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.

"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."

"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."

You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.

"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."

You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."

Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."

"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.

"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."

"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."

As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.

"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."

"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."

Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."

"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."

Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.

Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."

Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"

Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."

"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"

"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"

"YN, no!"

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?

[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]

Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.

dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader

Your Summer Dream [masterlist] by @swiftispunk It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Creep it Real! by @swiftispunk I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.

*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues

**speaking of daddy issues...

stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader

Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty by @cockslutpadalecki i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠

Bad Girl [part i of many] by @seventeenpins he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.

boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Lost in the Dark [masterlist] by @iamasaddie i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.

Thigh's Out AU [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.

father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader

Pink [masterlist] by @netherfeildren holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.

Help, I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.

***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡

dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader

Session 1 by @elvinaa i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).

sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader

Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2) written by @atticrissfinch It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.

tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader

Honeyed [masterlist] by @softlyspector This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌

chiro!joel miller x fem!reader

Say Yes to Heaven by @pascalisbaby i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵

frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader

The Old College Try by @proxima-writes i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼

ceo!joel miller x fem!reader

Sex on Fire [masterlist] by @macfrog i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤

mafia!joel miller x fem!reader

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".

pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

I Know it When I See it [masterlist] by @bageldaddy 🔥🔥🔥 that is all.

maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader

Maintenance Man [masterlist] by @gracieispunk toolbelt. say less.

slasher!joel miller x fem!reader

Slasher [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩

as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.

but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!

now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)

dividers by @saradika

[backtothefanfiction]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell | TF!Boys Mafia AU~ Part ONE

Summary: When Phoenix comes home to find her fiancé banging some other girl, her whole life changes seemingly overnight. Forced to go back and live with her Dad, she's about to be dragged into a life with the men her Dad is indebted to.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (Mature Content), Dark Mafia Romance Au, setting things on fire, swearing, dead parent, debt, mental health issues, brain tumour, broken family, anger issues (female rage), AFAB OFC, objectification of the female body, pyromania, little bit of theft (smut to come)

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: I didn't need to have yet another idea for a story. I also didn't need to write it straight away, but I recently read Den of Vipers and figured I could do something better featuring the Triple Frontier boys. I don't know how many parts of this there will be, or how regularly this will ultimately be updated, but I thought I'd share anyway. Smut will come, featuring all four guys this time. This will use an ofc but apart from the hair, there aren't too many descriptors. This will also be written from multiple characters points of view throughout to keep things interesting. Enjoy!

ONE

PHEONIX

My fingers itch as I grip the steering wheel tighter. I should have worn gloves, I say to myself as I drop one hand from the wheel and rub it vigorously against my torn jeans, hoping the friction from the denim will- at the very least- satiate the itch left behind from the lighter fluid long enough for me to get to the next gas station, so I can stop in and wash my hands properly.

It was reckless of me really- the whole damn thing. My brothers taught me better than this, but then again, everyone said I had a temper that was only second to Archie’s in my family- so I’m really not that surprised. People say my Dad used to be equally hot headed before he got remarried to Marina and took over the club, but I’ve still yet to see it- even after all the shit me and my brothers have pulled over the years. It’s like after our Mother died he just gave up. But I don’t blame him. I would too if I lost the love of my life to a fucking disease like that. I had barely known her anyway, so I didn’t really notice all that much when the brain tumor turned her into a “literal monster”, as my older brothers used to so fondly call her when she was on one of her rampages.

I’d always said that my only real memory of her was when she tried to burn down the house by settling alight to the curtains in their bedroom. I remember we all stood out on the front grass as the smoke billowed out of the windows and mixed with the night air. Archie stood on my right holding one of my hands, E.Z stood on my left holding the other. Maybe that’s why I’ve always had a thing for fire myself. Messing about with lighters, setting things on fire- all so I can try and understand that night… At least, that’s what a therapist would probably say.

My Dad tried to make me go to one once, after I ended up burning down the whole science block at my school at 16, but alas, that never happened. Which is why I’m probably still using fire as a coping method after all these years.

My phone is blowing up by the time I reach the nearest gas station. I scan the messages from my brothers over quickly as I pull into the lot.

Deano: Heard what you did, I’d say he fucking deserved it.

Archie: Dad is pissed. Gonna try to calm him down before he does something stupid.

E.Z: Seriously, Phe, again! Dad is gonna be so pissed.

Leo: Just heard about your latest work, props little sis, I think your balls might be even bigger than Dean’s.

Rolling my eyes, I shove my phone in the glove box as it begins to buzz again. Uhh, I really don’t want or need a lecture right now about how I should or should not have acted upon finding my fiance in bed with another woman. Did I over react… by some people’s standards- maybe. But did I also live out every woman’s fantasy of dousing the bed in lighter fluid and striking a match whilst they were still in the bed… yes- yes I did- and do I give two fucks about any repercussions? Absolutely- fucking- not. Because there won’t be. Never have been. My Dad works for some of the most powerful men in the city- and I’m not talking about the Governor or the Mayor. No- someone will send some money over to keep them sweet and in a couple days time, everything will go back to normal.

I scrub at my hands with the shitty cheap soap in the tiny cubicle inside the gas station to the point the giant rock, still on my finger, almost slips off and down the drain. It’s the first time I’ve thought about it. I’ve been wearing it so long, it’s just an extension of my hand at this point. What am I gonna do with it? I mean- it’s worth a fucking fortune. Freddie was fucking loaded after all. None of it fucking his mind you. His Dad was a close business partner for the same guys my Dad worked for. Let’s just say, crime pays and his Dad has made so much money over the years working for Santiago Garcia and his crew, Freddie has never had to lift a single finger, let alone do a days work, to get what he wants.

I grab a handful of shitty paper towels, drying off my hands and the ring, holding it up to the fluorescent bathroom light. Uhhh it wasn’t even my style. I hate diamonds, they’re so basic and boring. Give me a massive fuck off ruby or saphire anyday. 

Still unsure what to do with it, I tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans before assessing how I look in the mirror. It’s like waking up from the weirdest dream and not recognising yourself. I look at my blonde hair in the mirror, the plain white t-shirt covering my breasts. I look like one of those young Barbie, trophy wife wannabe types. Where did the color and fun go? He drained it all out of me.

In college, when I met Freddie, I had pink in my hair and always had on something bright. At least my ripped jeans still have some character. 

Exiting out back onto the shop floor, I grab myself a large bag of cheetos and a cherry icee- that's as big as my head- from the machine in the back. As I place the large bag of cheesy puffs on the counter, I take a large sip of my drink, before placing that too on the counter, reaching for a pair of bright yellow heart sunglasses on a display next to the cashier.

“What d’ya think?” I ask the portly man behind the counter, who’s polo shirt doesn’t look or smell like it’s been washed for at least two weeks with its armpit stains and ranch dressing smear on the front.

It’s obvious he’s trying to come across as if he’s not checking out my whole body as he looks at me, but his eyes scan lower than my face, falling on the V neck of my t-shirt and my breasts for a hint too long. I flash him a sickly sweet smile as I take the sunglasses off my face and hook them into my shirt where his eyes seem to linger instead. “How about now?” I ask.

He quickly clears his throat as he looks back to the register. “Uhhh, yes- Yes- I think they suit you, yes.” he rambles and I can’t help but laugh. Men like that were always so predictable.

I reach for the icee taking another sip and try to school my features when I get brain freeze. “With the sunglasses,” he says, “16 bucks.” I sigh, but fish a couple notes out my back pocket and hand them over, just as my eyes land on a lighter covered in black and white harlequin print. My fingers instantly reach for it.

I turn the lighter over and over again in my fingers before flipping the top of it open and striking up a flame, my eyes getting lost in its amber glow as it sways hypnotically back and forth. It instantly takes me back to not 20 minutes ago and Fred and the girl’s screams, as the bed covers went up in flames and they both shot out from underneath them as he screamed about how much of a psycho I was. 

The ding of the till draw brings me back to the present and I flick the lighter closed. “Oh, and I’m taking this as payment for you oggling me.” I smile at the balding cashier, as I pocket the lighter and grab my bits off the counter.

I can hear him calling after me, “HEY, COME BACK HERE! YOU NEED TO PAY FOR THAT!” but I just laugh and take another sip of the slush and place the sunglasses back on my head.

As I walk back to my car, I notice a bum, sitting in the shade of the wall at the back corner of the station. As I look at him, I can feel the weight of the ring in my back pocket, dragging me towards him. Hey, the ring might not have changed my life, but it doesn’t mean it can’t change someone else’s life.

“Hey.” I say, lifting the yellow sunglasses on top of my head so I can meet his eyes. “Catch.” I toss him the ring. It sparkles as it hits the afternoon sun and I know from the look on his eyes as it makes contact with his fingers, he feels like he just won the lottery. “Pawn it. Get whatever you want with it, I don’t care.” I say as I begin to turn away from him and back to my car.

“Uh-thank you.” he says at first in shock, “Thank you.” he says again, a little more confidently now.

“Don’t mention it.” I shout back to him as I unlock my car with a chirp and climb back inside. 

I open the bag of cheetos, taking one and popping it in my mouth, before dumping them on the passenger seat and reaching to open the glove box, taking my phone back out.

7 more texts from my brothers and 5 missed calls from my Dad; with a final text saying:

DAD: Get your ass home. NOW!

Well, that does it then. I guess I’m going back to the old family home.

I start the engine, shuffling through the radio stations until I find something I like. When I hear the opening riff for Britney Spears’ Toxic, I stop and whack the volume all the way up. My tires screech as I speed out of the forecourt. I sing at the top of my lungs all the way home.

☆

I’m not through the door five seconds when E.Z is trying to usher me back out again. He’s always been the softer one. Third born. The middle child. Always overlooked, but still always trying to appease everyone.

“Dad is pissed.” He says, when he meets me in the foyer. After Mom tried to burn the house down, the place got remodeled. My Dad had to sell his soul to the devil to do it, but it meant we got to stay in our family home. Well, sort of. 

The whole left side of the house needed rebuilding, which meant they got to extend it out a bit more. We lost the basketball court the boys liked to play on, but it meant they finally got their own rooms so they didn’t mind. 

“I know.” I say to E.Z, waving my phone in his face with one hand, while I take a sip of my icee with the other. 

“Give me that.” He says, snatching the drink from my hand, the contents within the straw almost going everywhere as he rips it straight from my mouth. “This is serious Phe, Andy,” Freddie’s dad, “has already been on the phone making threats. You know how important he is for the business. He’s threatening to cut off the club’s supplies.”

“And….” I shrug, before reaching to take back the large cup in his hands. He merely moves it further out of my reach. “Look, I’m sure the guys who own the place have other connections he can use.”

“You sure about that?” My brother presses, raising his eyebrows and looming over me.

“Oh come on, you telling me those four wannabe goodfellas bozos, haven’t got some other dipshit on their payroll to import and export shit for them off record to help keep club costs down.” 

E.Z’s face is a picture. Eyes wide, face serious. It’s clear from his expression and his mouth that keeps gaping like a fish as he tries to get a word in, that he thinks I should shut up. “What!?” I hiss at him, but as I’ve been ranting and raving, I haven’t heard the second set of feet that have made their way through the front door into the foyer. E.Z’s face turns pale as he looks behind me to the figure and back.

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account.” A forced casual voice comes from behind me.

I turn my head and follow the voice to one of the most gorgeous men I have ever laid eyes on. All tanned skin and dark curly hair, a smattering of grays mixed in- the only hint to his age. I frown as a familiarity falls over me, but I can’t quite place from where. “I’m sorry- do I know you?”

He slides his fingers into his trouser pockets, his foot tapping slightly as he looks me up and down. “Oh you know, I’m just one of those bozos who’s now having to help clear up your mess.”

Before I have a chance to respond, my Dad and Archie step out of his office at the end of the hall. “PHEONIX!” My Dad’s voice bellows and I blanche, maybe that anger isn’t as far away as I thought. 

I turn away from the stranger in his Armani suit by the front door, to my Dad, flashing him my sweetest smile. “Hi, Dadd-”

“Uh- No!” He says, holding up a hand to stop me, “Don’t you dare-” He stops as he spots the other gentleman in the foyer. “Pope.” He says, his demeanor growing lighter as he greets the man who actually owns his ass.

“What kind of name is Pope?” I hiss to E.Z under my breathe, but he just nudges me to shut up.

“David… Archie…” Pope nods his head to the two men. “Shall we talk in your office.” He says, nodding back down the hall behind him.

“Uh- yes. Yes.” My Dad says nervously, turning his body to indicate for him to follow him back, before shooting me a stern look, telling me to behave and that this was far from over.

“Pheonix.” Pope nods to me as he passes, a faint smirk in the corner of his mouth and a look in his eye that I could only describe as fascination. But it quickly disappears again as he turns back to my Dad.

As the door to my Father’s office closes, my brother begins to ferry me towards the stairs. “I’d get up there and stay out of trouble if I were you.” He warns. 

I roll my eyes at him before I slip the yellow, heart shaped sunglasses, down over them with annoyance, snatching back my icee, before I stomp upstairs- as usual, out of sight, out of mind.

~

POPE

“Mr Garcia, I am so sorry for my daughters behavior. I really had thought she’d grown out of this,” David Leacher says, as I sit myself down in one of the leather armchairs in his office. “And I never thought she would do something like this that would put your well balanced business in jeopardy.”

I fain disinterest about the subject, because really, it doesn’t actually bother me all that much at all. Sure Andy is a bit pissed now on behalf of his son, but from what I hear, if you’re gonna go sneaking around behind your soon to be Mrs' back and she finds out, you kinda get what your asking for. To be fair, I gotta give the little lady props; it takes real guts to dump lighter fluid on a guy and strike the match, regardless of the consequences. 

“… I just don’t know what to do with her.” David says, slumping back in his chair behind his desk with a large glass of bourbon in his hand. 

“And this is why I never got married and had kids.” I say, giving him a tight lipped smirk. There’s an awkward pause between us, the only sound in the room, the ice clinking in David’s glass as he takes another nervous sip, his hand shaking slightly in anticipation, waiting for the slap on the wrist he thinks is about to come. “Look David, I’ll get to the point, Andy wants compensation for the money he’s already forked out for the wedding.” David puts his drink down and begins rubbing his temples as if this whole ordeal is giving him a headache. 

He sighs, turning to me, an earnest look in his eye, “Pope,” he says softly- imploringly- “you know I don’t have the money for that-“

“I know.” I say, cutting him off. “That’s why, we’ve decided to franchise Medusa’s. We are going to acquire two more clubs, you’ll get a pay rise and oversee all three venues, to help cover the costs. We get more money coming in through the clubs, you get more money to pay off Andy- everyone’s a winner.” 

The look of relief on David’s face is a picture. “Oh thank you, Pope- uh Mr Garcia.” He says, as his whole body seems to let out a very long breath that he had been keeping tight in his body, probably since the first call he got this afternoon about his daughter’s antics. “Thank you, thank you.” He seemingly pants.

“Look Dave, you’re a good guy- a loyal guy-“ I say honestly, “you work hard, you run Medusa’s well. Profits have been up 30% since you took over. I’m not gonna jeopardize that over some silly tiff between a couple kids.”

“No, no… thank you.” He says quietly, acknowledging my words as I continue to speak.

“Whether this had happened or not, we were going to come to you with this proposal this week anyway. Help you pay off your debt to us quicker too- you know.”

“Yes… thank you, Pope. Thank you.”

“Very well then.” I nod to him. “I’ll call Andy, let him know everything is settled.”

“Thank you, Pope, thank you.” He says again. 

David is a good man- a loyal man. He runs our most popular club well, but it was a real shame how soft he had gone in his old age. Ever since he lost his wife, he’s never been the same. Then he married that wannabe wag Marina- who does nothing but spend the rest of what little money he has coming in after he repays some of his debt to us- and walks all over him. Back in the day he had really made a name for himself bare knuckle boxing. They used to call him The Reaper because he could knock a man out with a single blow that brought a man close to death; but nowadays he’d barely hit a fly. This was yet another reason I never settled down and did the whole wife and kids thing- it made you soft.

Still didn’t stop his little girl from being as tough as nails and crazy to boot- but when the only female role models you had growing up were a Mother with a brain tumor that made her- to be polite- unhinged; and then Marina, it's no wonder she’s ended up as she has. She bounced around three different boarding schools in her teens. By the third school- after she had burnt down the science block at the second school- we had to write a fairly hefty donation cheque, in order to get her in. Just another number added to David’s bill to be repaid.

Although he had initially approached us looking for work in order to pay off his wife’s medical bills and then to redo the house after she had burnt half of it down, most of the money he’s borrowed from us over the years has been for Phoenix. Frankie, Will and myself have spent many a night around the table with a drink in our hands speculating on why he continues to bail her out and put himself in more debt to protect her. We’ve long come to assume it’s probably because of guilt. That she was robbed of a proper Mother. Cursed to have a weak Father. If she had been my kid, I would have tossed her ass out on the curb a long time ago and told her to deal with her own shit if she wanted to keep behaving the way she has over the years.

To be fair though, after she met Freddie, we thought she’d finally straightened out- or at least she had become Fred’s problem and he was dealing with it. She stopped going to the clubs. Started wearing more grown up clothing that matched her age. Began running with Freddie and his older friends. But I guess it was only a matter of time and you know what they say- a leopard never changes their spots.

I’m halfway to the door, ready to leave, when David stops me. “Umm, Pope.” He says tentatively. I slowly turn myself back to him, ready to hear his request, even though he’s in no place to be making requests right now after I’ve just bailed his ass out for the fifteenth time. “I was just wondering…” he continues hesitantly, “seeing as Phoenix and Freddie are no longer together, she’ll probably need an actual job of her own now…” I can almost feel myself rubbing at my temples, knowing the question that was about to come out of his mouth. It’s the same question that had come when all of his son’s came of age and needed a job… but this time is different- and we both know it.

Phoenix isn’t like her brothers. Where they are able to be mature and step up and follow orders, she most definitely can not. I’ve seen enough of her school reports over the years to know what kind of employee she’d be. When David had asked about getting the boys jobs, it had been a no brainer. Each one of them had a build similar to their father in his hay day, perfect for a bit of muscle and extra protection in the club. But a job in Medusa’s for Phoenix would be behind the bar- and I know for a fact she’d sooner pour herself shots of liquor and dance on that bar than stand back and serve everyone else whilst they had a good time.

I already know I’m going to regret this when I finally climb into my bed at the end of the night, “She gets one chance.” I say. “One chance.” I hold up my index finger to him for emphasis.

“Thank you, Pope. I promise she won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I mutter to myself, my thumb and forefinger rubbing at my eyes in both irritation and exhaustion, as I finally leave the room. I give Archie a brief nod of acknowledgement as he sees me back out to my car.

I'm about to climb back in when he says, "I know you didn't have to do that, but he needed that, you know. He needs that hope that she'll be okay."

I only give him a nod as I look up to the row of upstairs windows and back to him, "We'll see." I say. "We'll see."

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

if you wanna be tagged when the next chapter goes live, let me know in writing. and if you like this, don't forget to reblog and share with more people and give them a chance to like it too.

[a-regular-ol-pill]

I kind of got distracted and made a ff about sons of the forest instead of continuing the request.. My false. I'm so sorry i should have continued writing about the request fml. Here's the ao3 link, but if you want to read here. Here you go!

Day 30

"You're not going..?!" Your voice was nearly drowned out by the swirling blades of the helicopter, but it was loud enough to be heard by everyone. Virginia turned to the Mercenary, brows slowly furrowing as Kelvin notices how you froze mid step to go inside the chopper. The Mercenary shook his head, turning back and heading towards the orange pack he's been carrying around since the crash. Meanwhile, the Son and Father went ahead to board the chopper.

Timmy LeBlanc beckoned you inside as the chopper slowly raised, but deciding to stay, you pulled your feet down and turned towards the surprised Kelvin. Your fists clenched as the chopper slowly flew away, and you walked towards the Mercenary. He was already facing you, awaiting the punch. What he didn't expect was you silently taking your own pack and carrying it on your bag. "You're not gonna-."

"Don't tempt me. I am pissed enough." You cut him off. Footsteps resounded behind you as Kelvin, with his cheerful aura, brightened up the situation a bit with an eager smile. For a moment, you nearly forgot that he had lost all hearing. Speaking of which, the sides of his face.. it looked like the blood had long dried. "Didn't you say you'd take care of his ear?" You asked, turning to the Mercenary. He nodded in reply. "I did. I just didn't clean up the blood."

You flicked your mini flashlight open and went to Kelvin's side. Your hands made him stay put as you inspected the inside of his ear. Mercenary said the truth, he just didn't clean the blood. Virginia suddenly started backing away and pointed at something near the bushes. The Mercenary took his axe out as you swiftly cleaned up the sides of Kelvin's face. Missing the adoration in Kelvin's eyes in the process. Planning to join Mercenary in fighting, though, when you turned back, it was just one of the curious cannibals. You sighed in relief. A breeze flowing past the group as it approached.

"They're friendly." You spoke up. Turning your head towards Kelvin and finding him mildly curious himself. "Yeah.. we should get back to a camp right now. It'll turn night soon." The Mercenary had unarmed himself and started walking towards a certain direction while looking at the GPS. You groaned. He had a bad habit of leading the way and then hopelessly making the others in the group lost.

Virginia and Kelvin both shuddered at the realization. So you got their attention and tied a cloth between the three of your wrists. A system you're used to doing whenever you suspect that the Mercenary will go on his own again. Sometimes, you felt like you're babysitting a bunch of curious puppies. But you won't tell Virginia and Kelvin that. You aren't sure how they'll react since it's like an insult but not at the same time.

Day 35

Collecting wood and giving them to Mercenary was an exhausting task all things considered. You should have finished collecting wood by noon because of Kelvin, but somehow, three brutes swarmed you and made you drop all your logs in the process of trying to escape. The brutes were killed by Virginia, but after she did. You were scolded harshly by the Mercenary. Though you argued that he could have helped while you and Kelvin were collecting what he requested. Getting to scream at him was a relief.

You have lots of thoughts that are buried under your caring aura, and that screaming was just one of the many, many reasons you want to just beat him up. You had been advised by your therapist to write your troubling thoughts away, but your flimsy pencil can only write so much before it turns into a stub! Besides, you need it to speak to Kelvin, otherwise. He'll be.. lonely— The thought made you blink. Why did you think of that just now? Nevertheless, you wanted this frustration gone somehow. The only source of relief was murdering the cannibals.. it was night. It was dangerous.

But it was better than being tempted to murder your comrade. With that mindset, you excused yourself from the camp and wandered the forest, desperate to find something to pour your frustration out onto before finding a blind mutant tied to a pole. You stabbed it through its head and chopped it down. Dragging it away from the cannibals as you began slicing away at the mutant. A disgustingly weird grin on your face with tears filling up your eyes.

Blood began staining your clothes as you continued your merciless tantrum. Only when it was in pieces did you come to your senses. Nearby leaves of bushes has been stained with blood, the grass even has bits of organs on it. Seeing it really made your stomach coil, and you bounced back from your position over the diced up mutant. You became hyper aware of the blood on your skin, and you started brushing it off. When you felt like you couldn't, you rushed back to a river you knew nearby and dived in. Crying out in relief and a sign of another part of your mental health cracking.

Virginia, having been worried about your long stroll, followed your tracker and found you crying in a river. The water barely pushed you, making you seem robotic— like a rock as you stayed there sitting down. She called your name, earning your attention as you swiftly stood up. Realizing that your clothes are now soaked. Sure this happened before, but this was your last pair of clean clothes. The rest were up on a rack drying in the camp. You'll have to beg the Mercenary to give you some.

You grimaced at the thought. One time, the man gave you burnt meat. And the other time he gave you barely enough bones to make bone armour. Oh! And another thing! He had pranked you by giving you the raw head of one of the cannibal brutes. So yeah, you had a bad experience with him alright. "Do you have any spare clothes?" You asked, turning to Virginia. She lightly shook her head but pointed back to your camp. What surprised you is that, she wasn't pointing at the Mercenary. She was pointing at Kelvin.

You couldn't recall Kelvin having the ability to carry things around. Much less, actually have things because the Mercenary often steals from you. "Uh.. are you sure he has extra?" You asked. Virginia nodded and beckoned you back to camp. Meanwhile, looking around for any potential attackers. Blind mutants were slowly becoming common around the area, so you'd set up extra protection around your camp. Getting in was a bit tricky now that you might accidentally activate a trap and will have to rebuild it again.

"Do you need a towel?" The Mercenary asked you. You nodded and slyly watched him take out a towel and hand it over to you. "I'm not gonna fuck with you." He said. You deadpanned at the man as you used the towel to dry off your clothes. Opting to just get it dry and change as soon as your other clothes dry as well. "Still, you've fucked with me plenty of times." You argue. Drying your hair and standing near the campfire and spotting Kelvin running back with sticks. You frown. "It's late at night! Don't you know you can give Kelvin a break more often than 'once in a while'?" You scolded, the Mercenary, completely ignoring what you said, grinned upon having a mischievous thought. Instead replying to your previous argument with; "And I assume you haven't fucked Kelvin yet?"

Your throat dries as Virginia coughs to distract herself from what he just said. "I'm right, then." The Mercenary looked between you and Kelvin before walking over to you, alarmed, you were about to take out the blade you used to cut up the mutant before the Mercenary wrapped his arm around your waist. Suddenly confused, you looked at him with your mouth slightly agape. This sent off the wrong message, as Kelvin's smile twitched a bit and a few sticks fell from the pile he was holding.

The sound caught your attention, and you quickly lit up once you saw him. You pulled away from the Mercenary and wrote on a notepad; 'Do you have spare clothes?' You showed it to him, and although he didn't react for a few moments, he eventually nodded and gave the Mercenary the sticks he was holding. Virginia gave you a look, but you missed the reason why— The Mercenary was just being an asshole.

Kelvin went inside his tent when you followed, you waited as he shuffled around inside. You had the respect to not try to peek inside at least. Unlike the Mercenary.. that's why Kelvin preferred you giving orders to him than Mercenary. Though he may argue that Virginia is the most respectful since you do shout foul languages when you get pissed off. Kelvin smiled at the recollection. Then it fell once he found the clothes he was looking for.

Will you go back to the Mercenary wearing his clothes? He doesn't know. And he wasn't fully sure that you liked him either. But the close physical contact he saw? That was enough proof for him that he doesn't have a chance. You sighed in relief once Kelvin crawled out of his tent and mouthed a thanks to him after he handed you his clothes. You invited him to stay near the campfire and went to your tent to change. Kelvin's clothes felt warm in a way, and you savored it before going back out and sitting next to Virginia. She gave you a look yet again, but you only furrowed your brows before she gently shook her head and turned back to the fire.

You leaned on her shoulder and subtly lift up the collar close to your face. It was soft. Really soft.

Day 43

"Fuck, fuck!" You shout, dodging an attack from the Fingers mutant and jumping back from the attack it tried to land on you. You were out of shot gun bullets and Virginia had run away to ask for help. So you're alone, trying to fight this shit of a mutant while being awaited by cannibals who were watching. For entertainment or to get the creepy armour, you weren't sure. "Just fucking die already!" You took out a bow from your backpack and shot at the creature, it spew whatever goo it had towards you. Thankfully, you avoided it. But a spear to the shoulder surely caught your attention.

The spear went clean through and you could see the other side if you just look to your left. That gave the mutant enough time to charge at you and grab you with its fingery excuse of a maw. You struggled against the mutant, dropping your bow and crying out for help as it took you to a nearby cave entrance. Your heart was pounding and your face was scratched as it squeezed its way through the opening that barely fits it. It spewed the weird substance onto you in the process, making you disgusted and nearly throw up if it didn't run past a group of blind mutants.

You held your breath and cried out at the impact when it dropped you. Your stomach felt like it was pierced before you felt the thing grabbing at you. It forced the spear out of your shoulder. The pain was agonizing before you felt it bite on your shoulder. But suddenly, it went limp. Nearly crushing you with its weight and forcing the wound on your shoulder to hurt even more. You didn't even know the thing had a mouth sizable to your shoulder!

The weight was pulled off you before you were able to turn around and see your saviors. You were surprised to see Kelvin kneeling down to hug you. The Mercenary not far behind as he killed the remaining blind mutant in front of him. "Did you lose too much blood?" The Mercenary asked, running over to inspect your shoulder. Kelvin meanwhile, pulled away and looked surprised to see the wound on your shoulder. "Not really, no." You answered, reaching up to cover the wound.

"Lets get back to camp so we can see if the bite had any effect on you or not." He paused and looked over at Kelvin. Who was still focused on the wound on your shoulder. You tapped Kelvin's hand to get his attention and motioned to the exit. He quickly got the hint and helped you up as the Mercenary lead the way for you. Virginia was waiting outside, and she looked relieved when she saw you. She also helped you walk all the way back to your camp. "Did you know? Kelvin was the one that shot that arrow." The Mercenary suddenly said, catching you off guard and nearly making you trip. That had an impact as your shoulder hurt from you suddenly lunging forward.

"Very funny. I'm probably infected here and you're still mocking me about Kelvin." Though, what he said next surprised you. "I'm not joking. He chased after Virginia when she motioned that you were fighting a mutant alone." It warmed your heart a bit knowing that Kelvin cared for you enough to follow Virginia. But saving you..? That was totally out of the blue. He was never seen in combat nor was he brave enough to fight a mere cannibal. He would only point them out and run if they start to attack..

The wound in your shoulder started to act up, so you shut up for the meantime once you reached your camp. You couldn't help but steal glances from Kelvin though. He looked shaken up and was also stealing glances at you too. Because of the back and forth glances, you were distracted enough to not be in pain while Virginia patched you up. Your shoulder ached after she finished, it was obvious by the way your hand was constantly shaking. "Where'd the Mercenary go?" You asked, trying to stretch your arm, only to pull back with a soft wince. Virginia shrugged, looking around before deciding to stand up and take a stroll. You were left alone with Kelvin. Normally, you'll just write on your notepad. But not today.

Not like you could write anything anyway. You'd rather just be with Kelvin rather than speak to him. His company is more than enough to bring comfort to you. You stood up and moved to sit next to him. Missing the look on his face as you leaned on him and closed your eyes. The soft breeze every now and then filled the gentle silence, and a few leaves tickled your skin as it flew with the wind. You barely notice the way Kelvin's body is shaking from nervousness. He used to love talking about his feelings, but now that he can't speak, he's been finding it hard to try and act on it.

Tears began welling up in your eyes, but you held it in. Heart heavy from the situation that had just happened. It took a huge toll on you than you'll soon realize is bigger than you can ever imagine..

Day 50

One funny thing is that you'll never admit to being scared of the cannibals. But now, standing over a brute that has been brutally gutted out by a mutant made you want to puke. More and more mutants had began coming out from the caves, and seeing sights like this left everything to your imagination. What murdered this person? Their guts are shining out in the sun like it's no one's business! And mutants don't leave their victims like this! They eat them! Unless they're killed during the process..

Gosh, your thoughts are running so fast to the point where you can't even understand what you're thinking yourself. You look away from the gruesome sight and head towards the mountains. Suppressing your running thoughts and emotions as you hunted a few deers for their skins. You left the ones that had their young though. You were nice enough to do that. Were you even nice in the first place? You faintly remember trying to abandon Kelvin because he became a liability. But the Mercenary forced you to come to your senses! In short, he was the nicest one out of all of you. You had no right to have been calling the Mercenary an asshole after all this time.

You're slowly losing your mind pondering about these things, you slowly stopped walking and subconsciously stopped by an abandoned cannibal camp. You sat down on one of the logs and thought until you feel like your brain can explode at any moment. You felt impending dread, you felt guilty and worse of all. You're falling into insanity. You were always warned not to fall into it at any cost, but it feels like you're not given a choice. You're being pushed into the edge and you were on the brink of tripping.

A ruffling from the nearby bushes caught your attention. Usually curious cannibals hide in bushes, so you decided to ignore it. Opting to continue your mental breakdown until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You screamed and quickly backed away, blinking and suddenly feeling embarrassed upon seeing Kelvin behind the log— A natural response considering you were losing your mind. "It's just you." You spoke, not really to kelvin but to yourself because.. well. He couldn't hear you. You went to reach for a notepad before remembering that you only brought hunting equipment so your back could rest.

You looked at Kelvin with an apologetic look. He just brushed it off and sat down on the log, tilting his head at you curiously— Silently asking what's wrong. He's always reminded you of an obedient dog, and here it's in full display. You slumped your shoulders and sat next to him. Getting a feeling of deja vu as you leaned on his shoulder. You've done this before, the only difference is that you're not that injured anymore. You slowly start to doze off, finding comfort in Kelvin's presence.

Meanwhile, Kelvin is looking down at you, arm twitching to wrap around you as he subconsciously does. A pair of arms wrap around you as you two sat in silence. You, slowly finding relief in your state of mind. Even if it's just a brief moment.

In the distance, Virginia is walking towards the abandoned camp, spotting you two on the log. Hugging. A smile made its way onto her face when Kelvin leaned down. She didn't see what he did, as he had leaned down so close to your face that the bushes she was hiding it blocked the view. But she did know that when Kelvin pulled away, your face looked flushed. Eyes closed and you not daring to open them. It was a shame you didn't open your eyes, you would have seen Kelvin's biggest smile at your reaction.

"What're you doing-?" Mercenary was quickly shut up by Virginia as she pulled him down into the bushes, you looked over upon hearing the ruffling but saw nothing. Kelvin looked over to where you were looking as well before taking your cheek in his hand and nuzzling the side of your face. Successfully earning back your attention and making you hug him once more.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Cuddle The Angel

Summary: Vaggie has been very stressed lately and doesnt know how to cope with it. To avoid accidentally discovering unhealthy coping mechanisms, Charlie suggests she try age regression!

Notes: This is a chapter series!

Vaggie's stress levels have increased ever since they defeated heaven and Charlie found out about her being an ex-exorcist. Charlie saw this. She knew about her "secret" panic attacks in their room. She knew about the nightmares Vaggie had almost every night. It was really worrying. She seemed to want to prove herself to everyone and be at her service at all times, as if they weren't in a mutual relationship. Charlie hated this. She loved Vaggie and didn't want her to feel like she had to constantly show her love without getting any in return.

Vaggie had started to stay up and skip out on sleep the third week after the battle, when things got really stressful for her. They were busy all the time, training for when heaven comes back, coming up with ideas, and taking in a few guests. Even though Vaggie would be exhausted by the end of the day, she would huddle up in the library and do more research about the exorcists and heaven, trying to see if there was anything she might've missed or didn't know about.

The fourth week was when her eating habits became worrying. She would often fall asleep in the library and miss breakfast. But when it was lunch time, she would completely forget, too worried about shit going on. Then she would snack almost all afternoon before having dinner with everyone. It didn't seem healthy at all.

When Charlie had to help Vaggie through a really bad panic attack, she knew she needed to intervene. One night, while Vaggie was away in the library again, Charlie decided to write a few coping mechanisms they could use to try to help vaggie reduce her stress levels.

There was this one thing that Charlie wanted Vaggie to try. In hell, there was a certain town for people called "littles". They were people who used age regression to relieve stress, cope or relax. Charlie had actually visited the place a few times and it was really adorable to see all the littles and their caregiver's. She had kind of wanted to be a caregiver ever since.

So, one day, Charlie visited the little town to get some guidance on what she should do. She went to the "new Caregivers guidance" center in the town. When she walked through the door, she was surprised to see none other than Rosie!

"Oh my stars, is that Charlie?" Rosie said once she spotted her.

"Rosie!" Charlie hugged her. Rosie was like a mother-figure to Charlie. She would always talk with her whenever she had concerns about Vaggie or was just not feeling good about herself. She was truly a better mom than Lilith was. She would give her a shoulder to cry on when she couldn't go to Vaggie or Lucifer.

"What brings you around Little Town?" Rosie asked. She was there because she worked as a therapist for caregivers part time.

"I have some...concerns about vaggie and wanted to try age regression with her but i don't know what to do," She replied.

"Alright, well come sit down! Let's talk about it," the Cannibal gestured over to her office area. Charlie followed her into it and sat down on one of the couches.

"So what's the matter with her?" Rosie asked once she sat down.

"Vaggie has been...really stressed lately. Like, she's burning herself out kind of stressed. She recently had this really bad panic attack where i almost had to call an ambulance because she couldn't feel her limbs and fainted before waking up 5 seconds later. I wanted to suggest age regression because i heard it really helps and i've kind of wanted to try being a caregiver. But the thing is, I don't know how to get started," Charlie explained.

Rosie listened to her rant and thought about her reply for a second.

"I think it's a good idea. Just remember, she may not be entirely open about it. Many littles have started out embarrassed by it and that may be her. But I say try it anyway. I have a book somewhere about Caregiving, lemme find it," Rosie got up and started browsing through her bookshelf before pulling out a book. She handed it to Charlie with a smile.

"This should give you all the guidance you need. There's a little shop a few buildings down from here. I'd recommend getting a bottle and a sippy cup, a pacifier, a few coloring books, and maybe a few diapers. If she ends up enjoying regressing, then you can always return to get more stuff," Rosie insisted.

"Okay, thank you, Rosie, I'll see you later!" Charlie said with a burst of inspiration. She skipped out of the office and down the streets and went over to the little shop. As she picked out some items she thought Vaggie might like, she read a couple pages of her book. It was pretty good and simple to understand.

When she returned back to the hotel, she hid all of the little gear in her closet so Vaggie wouldn't notice it right away. She didn't want her to get confused if she wasn't educated on the topic.

She sat on her bed and read until she finished the book. Once she got the general idea of how to act when caring, she took some deep breaths, getting ready for this talk with her girlfriend. She took out her phone and texted her that they needed to talk in their room.

Vaggie entered their bedroom soon after, the eye bags underneath her eyes were massive.

"You wanted to talk?" She asked.

"Yes! Come sit, honey" Charlie patted the bed next to her. There was an awkward silence as Vaggie waited for her to start.

"So, I've noticed how stressed you've been lately-"

"I'm sorry," Vaggie interrupted her.

"No! Don't be sorry, sweetie. Just let me finish," Charlie held her hand, "you've been stressed lately and that's not okay. You haven't been taking breaks and it's been worrying me. I wanted to suggest something that may help this,"

"There's this thing called age regression, do you know what that is?" She asked.

"Mhm, I know a little bit," That was partly true. She knew what it meant and kind of wanted to try it out anyways but was a little scared to what Charlie would think about it.

"Well, its a coping mechanism where a person regresses mentally back to a younger state of mind. It's perfectly fine to use. It's not weird or something anyone should be ashamed of."

Vaggie refused to meet her eyes with Charlie's. So the princess gently cupped her cheek and forced to feet their eyes.

"Would you like to try it out?" Charlie finally asked. Vaggie hesitated before sighing and nodding. It genuinely sounded like it would help. She had been feeling very stressed and knew it was supposed to help.

"Great! Lets get started,"

[naranjapetrificada]

I came to this hellsite to talk about gay pirates and my therapist, and my next therapy session is still a few days out.

The problem is that I still need to finish processing In Favor With Their Stars, and it only raises even more questions about things that engaging with the show and its fanworks have prompted discussions with my therapist about recently. Why I didn't think to avoid fiction guaranteed to raise existential questions in the middle of a prolonged moment of IRL existential turmoil is beyond me, but here we are.

(it's not beyond me, I seem to have an unconscious drive to test the limits of my emotional regulation and resilience that makes it incredibly difficult to avoid looking into an abyss, even knowing the second half of that Nietzsche quote.)

It's remarkable (and appropriate) that this fic has received the kind of attention and discussion that it has, but that has left me feeling like so many others in the AO3 comments: what could I possibly say that hasn't been said dozens of times? I guess the only "unique" things I can offer on it is the Therapy Stuff it brings up. Also profuse apologies to my therapist that yes, we do once again have to talk about fanfiction that wrecked me, why it managed to unlock things that nothing else in my 3[redacted digit] years of life ever had, and what questions it's left me wrestling with.

Namely:

Why does the question of Stede's personhood makes me feel compelled to try to resolve an ethical debate that people who have spent their entire careers studying AI and consciousness and self-concept and science fiction will never agree on?

Also related to compulsion: what is that drive to engage with devastating media like wiggling a loose tooth?

Why do I assume I'm being judgemental just for asking myself if Ed's "happy ending" could actually be read as incredibly, distressingly lonely in some ways depending on how one feels about the origins and nature of Stede's consciousness?

How will Stede survive without the very of-biological-origins Ed? Will he want to? Should I actually write that fic I had an idea for that would wrestle with that question?

Why in the world is so much of my experience in this fandom wrapped up in grief? I can't seem to shut up about it.

How do you decide if the strong feelings art provokes in you are something you need to unpack or are just part of the experience? Especially as someone whose response to beauty is to cry with the same intensity as when she's crying over actual emotions?

Anyway thanks @mxmollusca for the emotionally fraught questions I can't stop mulling over right now and for the profound beauty of the story that provoked them. I may not be able to distinguish between potential reasons it all made me cry but I'm still so thankful for the chance to shed those unidentifiable tears regardless.

And thanks to everyone else out there making OFMD stuff too. I've never been part of any other fandom with this level of skill and creativity, nor with so many creators doing so much good work. If there's something in the water it must be the source material.

[canonicallyobserving911]

WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

FANON speculation for season 7

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!” 

Chapter 10 will be posted soon.

I’m excited to finish writing Chapter 10 because a lot is happening and there's still more to come. At the end of Chapter 9, Buck and Eddie were trying to cope with everything that happened during and after Jonah's criminal trial. At the end of day two, Buck had a major panic attack, he asked Eddie to get him out of the courthouse and Eddie drove them home instead of taking Buck back to the loft. Then Buck scheduled an emergency therapy appointment with Dr. Copeland and later that night, after Chris and Buck were already asleep, Eddie spent time trying to decide if he should make an emergency appointment with Frank instead of scheduling one with his new therapist, Dr. Theresa because Frank's a trauma therapist and she's not. He was strongly considering it since both him and Buck were faced yet again with additional ramifications from the shooting.

___________

Here are two snippets from chapter 10, i.e., one for Buck and one for Eddie.

___________

Buck

“Let me show you a picture of my husband and our son.”  He says as he struggles to pull his cellphone out of his pocket.  “My grandson bought me this doohickey thing-a-ma-jig and if it wasn’t for him setting up the Face uh… face um…”  He looks at Buck and asks, “What do you young folks call it?”

“Uh... Face ID.”

“Yeah… that, then I wouldn’t know how to get into this thing to get to my pictures.”  Rhett scrolls through the photos app and after he finds the one he’s looking for, he holds his phone up so Buck can see it.

“See… this is me and my son.  Now that picture is about 50 years old and I was a lot younger than I am now. My son had just turned 13 and I was 31 I think..." He trails off then looks up like he's counting. "Yeah, 81 minus 50 is 31, that's right, I was 31 years old. The picture is in my phone because my grandson, he had it… well I don’t know what he did to make it show up in that thing-a-ma-jig but… it’s in there so I can show it to people instead of carrying pictures around in my wallet like I used to in the 1970s.”

Buck takes the phone, examines the picture, smiles then says, “He looks just like you.”

“Aww, thank you… everybody says that but you know what?”  Rhett says as he leans in like he’s about to tell Buck a secret.

“What?”  Buck asks.

“He’s my son and I love him dearly but biologically… he’s not mine. Alexander is my husband's son because he was married before we met but...” He shakes his head. “she died.”

Buck’s eyebrows go up so high, they almost touch his hairline.

Rhett sees Buck’s reaction, then he leans over, uses his elbow to bump Buck's arm and says, “Biology doesn’t make a family kid!”

Almost immediately Buck remembers the way a lot of people have said he looks like Bobby and Chris looks like him but until now, he hadn’t really given it too much thought because he didn't want his heartbroken. But after listening to Rhett share his story of how he found love and the way he made a family with the man of his dreams; he's starting to realize all of it means something.

Where is Buck?  Also, who is Rhett and why is he telling Buck about his life?

_____

Eddie

One of the firefighters uses the battering ram to open the door and after it's open, they step aside so Bertie and Eddie can enter the 9-1-1 caller's home.

“Hello?”  Bertie calls.

“I’m in here.” A voice from farther inside the house replies.

Bertie and Eddie follow the sound of the woman’s voice and when they make it to the kitchen, that’s where they find her.

After she sees them, the patient says, “Oh, thank you for coming.  I’m here alone and if it wasn’t for my alert necklace, I fear... no one would have ever found me”.

Bertie looks at Eddie then she looks at the patient.  “Maam, can you tell us your name?”

“Loni… it’s Loni.”

“Ok, Loni can you tell us where it hurts?”  Eddie asks.

“My back.  I slipped in some water I spilled… I thought I mopped it all up but I must have missed it.”

“It’s ok, we’re here to help.”

Bertie looks up at the two firefighters who just walked in and asks, “Could you two please get us a backboard for her.”  Then she turns her attention back to Loni.  “You live here alone?”

“Yes… I have for the last 50 years.  After my husband died, I figured I’d never find love again so I bought a new house and moved all the way out here for the peace and quiet because I like it.”

Bertie raises her eyebrows and Eddie notices it.  Even though they’ve only been working together for a couple of days, it didn’t take long for him to learn that Bertie speaks her mind.  That’s why he’s sure she’ll say something about Loni after they transport her to the hospital.

Who is Bertie?  Why is Eddie partnered with her and what is she going to tell him after they drop Loni off at the hospital?

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 -Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 -After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are part of the foundation when a couple builds a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - Will be posted soon.

__________

I’m enjoying writing this fic because it’s giving me the chance to unravel the mess that was the 6x18 ending for Buck, Eddie and Chris.  Also, it’s taking them places the show refuses to go including Buck finally having a mental breakdown and Eddie being there for him the same way he was there for Eddie in season 5.

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading

Read chapters 1 - 9 are already available on AO3.

No pressure tagging: @spotsandsocks and @shortsighted owl. (My apologies if you've already posted.)

[carmillatism]

since ao3 is down: carmilla fic @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Sometimes A Mom Is Just A Goth Vampire Lesbian From Outer Space And That's Okay

For Dr. Carmilla Appreciation Week: Mom Monday

trigger warnings for implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, implied/referenced parental abuse, and light self-hatred

note: i will be posting this (and other fanfics for this week) on ao3 once it is up and working again. just don't want to wait any longer for this fic. first time posting a fic on tumblr as well, just so it's known.

fic under the cut

"So, how was your mother?"

"Oh, starting with the hard-hitting questions, huh?" She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She scooches around on the chair before giving up. She stares.

"I mean there's no other way to start it, is there? You didn't give me much to work with, so…" Carmilla narrows her eyes.

"Watch it. Just because you're giving me therapy, doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." She tries to add a hint of humor to her voice because she knows she doesn't mean it. Really. …Well, she kind of does. It's weird. That's why she's in therapy.

She sighs before leaning back in her chair, folding into herself. "Well, I guess she was fine. She wasn't as bad as my father; that's for sure."

"I'm not going to ask you about your father as we aren't here for that, don't worry, but you said 'not as bad'. What does that mean?"

She sighs, frowning slightly. She really was going to divulge this information to a stranger then. "She wasn't actively bad, really. She just allowed so many things to pass. She never really tried to stop anyone from doing anything. She was so passive, so easily used by people who just wanted to hurt her- her kids- me. She wasn't good in that way."

"And that passive response can be just as bad as the people who actively hurt you." She cringes at that.

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh, okay. How come?"

She pauses, thinking about the question. Well, she did help her sometimes. …Sometimes. "She… um, well, she helped me on occasion. She taught me how to take care of myself, make food. She sometimes helped me with my studies."

"So, the bare minimum?" The question is innocent and she knows they're trying to help, but that statement snaps something in her. The very fragile dam of emotions she built about that topic crumbles. It was never that strong anyways.

She always knew what her mother did wasn't the best. That was why she was here for the Gods' sake. But she hadn't ever thought about it in that way. Her mom had barely done the bare minimum and yet she still praised her so much… She did the bare minimum and much worse so often that Carmilla just felt like she had to praise her just for doing something… kind, that she should do. She praised her for doing what all mothers should do for their children.

She couldn't stop it. She felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes. A few started to leak out. She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box laying on the table next to her.

"I never really thought about it in that way, but… yes. If that. She did the bare minimum sometimes, and other times- most times- she didn't. She just let me get hurt and let my father hurt me with not a care in the world. And she never really apologized, more so made it about herself than anything else. She didn't focus on me that much, and if she did, it was because I messed up somehow."

Her therapist looks down at their paper before scribbling on a pad resting in their lap. Tears are streaming down her face, but she's surprisingly calm. It was almost relieving to get this out.

"And this… you mentioned that you wanted to talk about being a mom…?" Her head perks up at that and she stares at them for a moment. Did she write that down…? Oh. Right. Curse her past, emotionally volatile self.

"Oh, I guess. It's just I was wondering about how I am as a mother. I try to help a lot; I do. But sometimes it just doesn't come out right. I feel like I make situations worse when I try to help." She cringes and looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

"And what do you do to help them?"

She thinks for a second. There was a lot, she thought. Maybe… too much? She should probably mention the things she did that usually made her Mechanisms worse, though.

"Well, a lot of times I would think their mechanisms were acting up and making them feel bad, so I'd take them to the lab and get them the help they needed."

Her therapist frowns, writing something down on their paper. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. This is a safe space for her to talk about herself. She won't be judged. …But even so, she couldn't stop herself from judging her own words that came from out of her mouth.

Her therapist looks down at their clipboard, tapping their pen against it, thinking. "And what did you do to help?"

She frowns, thinks. Was it really helping? Did she actually help them? Or was what she did something that only made them worse? "I would usually perform surgery on them…" Her therapist seems to have to hold back a reaction. "I'd get to the root of the problem, their mechanism, and make sure it was all up to date and working well."

Her therapist hums thoughtfully, and she stiffens before relaxing. Her therapist leans a bit forward, chin in hand. "And were their… mechanisms really the problem?"

She stops at that. Were they? She had always thought that it had to have been something with the mechanisms that were making them feel bad. They usually worked just fine, but they were still experimental tech that hadn't been used before. She just always assumed that it had to be that. The mechanisms are the clear reason, so what else could it be?

"I mean, yeah." She stops. Well, actually, a lot of times when she'd knock them out, get into their mechanism, they would be just fine, running smoothly. So if it wasn't the mechanism then what was it?

The therapist takes her silence as a cue to add, "Did there seem to be a common throughline for why they needed help? What signs were there?

"Well… they seemed okay at first. Usually right after they were mechanized there was understandable fear and confusion, but they'd soon come to find a routine. They grew comfortable on the ship. I'd take them in to check on them, their mechanisms. I think it was only after that they seemed to get worse. Did I scare them about their mechanisms too much? Did I make them worried? They always seemed so scared and worried, sometimes defensive."

Her therapist just continued to look at her, a sad look on their face. Did she say something wrong? No. No. The therapist wouldn't judge her for that. She was just judging herself too harshly.

"I mean they would usually be fine before I took them back. I'd watch them from the other room, and they would seem fine. They would talk, play games and music, and destroy stuff sometimes." She thinks fondly about those memories before continuing. "And then when I would walk into the room with the news that I needed to double check their mechanism, that's when they would get scared. They'd always back away, beg me not to take them back. I can't believe I scared them so much about their own mechanisms." She looks up to the therapist to see if they have anything to add. They just stare at her before motioning for her to continue. She does. "But… well, even when I didn't bring up surgeries, treatment, or their mechanisms, they would get scared like that often. Almost all the time. It was always when…"

Her hand flies to her mouth before she can utter the next part. A noise between a strangled yell and a cry parts her lips and she instinctively pushes her hand harder against her mouth to stop it from getting out.

Her therapist smiles sadly, nodding just slightly.

She… was the problem. They were always scared when she walked in. They were always fine right before. They always got scared when she entered. They were scared of… her.

That… she can't believe she could do something like that, make her own kids so scared of her. That was… insane. She thinks morbidly to herself that it's almost as insane as making people immortal. It was insane just as much as it was true. Her therapist had only confirmed it.

"How could I… How did I never realize?"

Her therapist looks at her hard for a moment, and she thinks she can truly see them for the first time. She's actually focused on who they are. They're a real, living person that she's just spilt her guts to. "People can get stuck in their own head sometimes. They think what they're doing is the right thing because that's all they've ever known." Tissues barely made a dent in the tears streaming down her face. They were silent, however. Acceptance could hurt just as much as any pain. "You can think you're doing the right thing, but the right thing for one person can be the wrong thing for another. Kind of like the opposite version of 'one's man treasure can be another man's trash'."

So that's why they always seemed so scared. It was her. They were scared of her. She thought she was helping them with those surgeries, with mechanizing them in the first place, but she wasn't… She had never even thought she could be the problem.

"How could I be so bad…?" Her body was a coiled wire. A coiled wire, ready to be let go and lash out at anything and everything. But, well, not anything nor everything. She just wanted to lash out at herself.

How could she fix this? This wasn't something you fixed with a handsaw, anesthetic, and some morphine.

"It's hard. It's hard to know what you're doing, especially when you never had a good example to begin with." Oh. Oh that- That makes sense. "What you did was bad-" She cringes at that but nods. It was. "-but bad things happen and people do those bad things. But that doesn't always make them bad people. Even if they were once bad, they don't have to stay that way. It's not up to you to decide if they forgive you, but you can, either way, decide to be a better person." Oh. That was nice. She… She could be better. She had all of eternity to make things better. She could do that. She could, at least, make things better than they once were. That was a promise.

"I… Thank you. Thank you very much."

Her therapist nods. "Of course. It will take time, but you can become better. You can do it for them. Just… give them time and space right now. Rushing into it will just make things worse. And… don't be scared to reach out to help on how to become better. People are working every day to better themselves. I'm sure there's many people who would respect your endeavors and could provide advice. People do fucked up things, but that doesn't have to mean they're fucked up people."

That was… Maybe she understood why people went to therapy.

Her tears had stopped rolling, thankfully having stopped before she got to the end of the tissue box. She was… glad she went here. It was a lot to hear that she hadn't been as good a mother as she had thought she tried to be, but it was nice to have confirmation that she could get better. She could do better. So much better. She could be a better mom.

She smiles and nods at her therapist and they smile back.

And… since the session was coming to a close, she could ask the therapist a question. Maybe for a little more comfort. Mostly just because she was interested. Damn that cat curiosity killed.

"Do you think the mechanisms see me as their mom?"

The therapist thinks for a second. Yeah. From what I know, I would say so." They stop, then, contemplating something. "I don't think of you as my mom, though." Oh, WHAT? Come the fuck on.

She frowns before arching a brow at that, staring him down. "...Marius, now, why would you say that?"

Marius shifts in his seat uncomfortable, clipboard still in hand, but he has stopped tapping his hand. Carmilla laughs to herself and thinks they're more weary of the gun they have on their hip, now.

"Well, I mean, you just really didn't make me like the rest, you know? You didn't make Tim, Raph or me." Marius looks at her and Carmilla looks anywhere but him, just to rile him up some more.

She looks to her left then right before pursing her lips at him, looking slightly disappointed. Marius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They seem to want to throw their hands up in the air, before thinking better of it.

"Doc, come on. You're more like a family friend than anyone else. You're like someone who pops in sometimes to see what's going on." Carmilla feigns anger at that, and Marius sighs even deeper this time, resting their head against their hand.

"Oh, so I'm just a family friend, am I? I make almost all of you, and I'm just a family friend. I see how it is, Marius." She hangs her head downcast and sniffles a bit for emphasis.

Marius closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. They open their eyes again, and level a stare at Carmilla. "Carmilla, it's just that Raph was more the one that made me and I still don't know you that well. Like, the others are definitely your kids, but I'm- we're- just not." Carmilla notices that whilst exasperated, he doesn't seem to be stressed, moreso playing along with her. But either way, it is nice to hear where the two of them stood in reference to her. She still didn't know the two that well.

"That's docteur to you, Marius." Marius gives an exasperated sound before finally throwing his hands in the air, clipboard flying to the floor. "And, I mean, would you consider Raphaella your mom?"

"What? No!" Marius' face has turned into a grimace. He looks somewhat sick.

Carmilla hides a smile, trying to keep the conversation as serious as possible. She arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Well, then, being made by someone obviously doesn't make them your mom."

"Well-" She cuts them off.

"So me creating you obviously doesn't matter here. I think it should be more about the fact that I take care of all of you and make sure your mechanisms are working just fine. Plus, I cook for you and help you when you're feeling down. And! I do that all in a motherly way." Carmilla looks proud of herself. Marius looks… confused. "So why are you so hesitant to call me mom when it's clear that's what I am to you?" She was actually a bit curious at the answer.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me! Also, wouldn't this break some type of rule in therapy if I was treating my mom since you 'are' my mom?" He's really against calling her his mom. Interesting. Either way, Carmilla isn't worried. She'll make them see she's their mom soon.

"You're not an actual therapist, Marius. If you were, you wouldn't be giving out therapy on a ship in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a license and some of your therapy sessions wouldn't include se-"

"Hey! Low blow! You don't always need a license from some big industry to be able to do something." He's red in the face but laughing good-naturedly, and Carmilla allows herself a giggle.

"You quite literally need a license to be a therapist, Marius." Marius rolls their eyes at that.

"Oh, well, I guess that means you aren't a doctor anymore because your license surely has been taken away after breaking the hippocratic oath so many times."

Carmilla's mouth drops open and she has to stop herself from blurting out a laugh. Yeah, she could get used to this Marius kid.

"Oh, Marius, you're grounded for like 3 years now."

Now it's time for Marius' jaw to drop. He stares at her, bug eyed. "You literally can't do that! You're not my mom!"

"You may not see me as your mom, Marius, but that doesn't make me any less a mom in general, so I can most definitely ground you."

"How can you even ground me on a ship, light-years away from any planet?" Marius actually looks somewhat worried.

She thinks on that for a second and then says, "You're going to be stuck in your room for 3 years, then."

"TIM!"

Dr. Carmilla glares at Marius, tapping her foot against the floor. Of course Marius has to try and use someone else to support his bullshit claim. Can't back it up on his own. She hears Tim running towards them and rolls her eyes when she sees Tim pop his head in through the door frame.

"Uh, what's up?" She asks, before looking between Dr. Carmilla sitting in an armchair and Marius holding a clipboard, glasses on his forehead, and wearing clothes that seem more business casual than his normal outfit. This was some type of therapy session then. Tim looks behind him before looking back in the room, furrowing his brows and squinting slightly. "...If you're having a therapy session, I can just… leave…" She starts backing up, seeming to not want any part in whatever Carmilla and Marius were doing.

Marius holds up a hand out to stop Tim. "No, no, nope. The therapy session is over and I need to ask you a question." Carmila sighs, looking between Tim and Marius. Marius always had to cause a scene (which was another reason why they were her kid).

Tim comes back to the door frame, but steps a bit back and out of the way, apparently scared of what he's about to be asked. Marius would either want her to come practice some type of fucked up form of therapy, or pretend he was a Baron. Which Marius really seemed to think he was even though it was obvious to Tim that Marius didn't even know where Britain was in the first place. And Carmilla, she would probably just stare at her eyes. For a long time. A long long time.

"Uh, ask away, then-"

Marius barely allows Tim to get their sentence out before asking, "Would you say Dr. Carmilla is my mom?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. Why are they wondering about the schematics of moms…? Why couldn't they just be normal and murder people? Why talk when you can… oh, she doesn't know, explode a couple planets.

"Tim." Her head snaps to Marius and her goggles zoom in on their face. He looks… serious? Well, as serious as Marius could be.

"I mean I don't really know how to answer that-"

"Tim, just answer their question so this conversation can end." Carmilla just stares at him, tired.

"Uh, well, probably not, then." Carmilla exclaims and Tim cuts her off before she can say anything. "I mean! You didn't really make him nor have you been around him for that long, so…" Tim stops, thinking for a moment, tapping their chin for added effect. "I guess you're more like a stepmother."

"A STEPMOTHER?" Carmilla yells and Tim shrugs. Marius is laughing, doubled over.

"You know, she has a point, Doc." Marius says through tears of laughter.

"A POINT? I'LL SHOW YOU A POINT, MARIUS VON RAUM-"

"HEY. CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET AN OLD-ASS TV THEY LOOTED TO WORK PROPERLY." Jonny's muffled yells can be heard from the common rooms.

They all shut up, looking between each other, barely keeping back laughs. And then they're all in hysterics: cackling, sobbing, hiccupping, rolling over themselves as they try to gain any semblance of control over their bodies. But they just can't stop, the absurdity of the conversation– the situation– making them lose it.

And Carmilla, there, in that moment, as she's shaking from laughing so hard, realizes something. Maybe Mom was less about the title, itself, and more about the experience the word describes.

[jess-le-mess]

Feedist Kinktober - Day 23

(Prompt: Bonfire Bash 🔥)

[Content notes: Fat cis woman main character; thin cis woman love interest; f/f relationship; food/eating; mention of weight gain; short scene of erotic feeding and physical affection]

[Author's note: I wrote this back in September, before the word "dipshit" started trending due to Current Events, but it really is a good word.]

Bonfire

"Fiction writing challenges are stupid!" Luke huffed.

Emma clicked her tongue. "No, they aren't! The mark of a true artist is being able to place restraints on creativity and create something of value! Of beauty!"

He just laughed. "Restraints? What are you, a cop? People should just write what they want without someone telling them what to write! All I'm saying!"

"What do you know about anything? You're a cis white guy! You're, like, categorically a dumbass"

"Ooh, ad hominem, the last refuge of an asshole."

Emma, my girlfriend, and Luke, my best friend's partner, do like each other. Really. They were both English majors in university, and anytime we get together to do couple stuff, they get like this.

After university Luke went on to become a lawyer, and Emma owns a bookstore so in some ways she feels like she's still "grassroots" and true to her English major roots while Luke "sold out."

I try not to take any sides in this battle. I was a Business major. I work for a bank. I love romance novels. I have no dogs whatsoever in this literary squabble.

Jasmine, with whom I've been sitting next to this entire time, just watching the bonfire Luke and Emma had started for us, squeezes my hand and smiles at their bickering. "Love them."

I wrinkle my nose in agreement. "So so much."

We're at her family's cottage for the weekend to celebrate the Fall Equinox, hoping for one last burst of summer before the chill of October fully sets in. We've got snacks, plenty of blankets, and good company.

Emma pulled a joint out of her pocket, lit it, took a puff and then handed it to Luke who took one too.

"Listen," she said, "I am just saying that people use writing to connect with others. If you participate in a challenge like that, you can connect with others. Find your tribe and shit. It's not all about being, like, Books Van Gogh or whatever the fuck."

Luke nodded. "Sure, but longer work is more meaningful. It comes directly from your heart, and good writing is always a reflection of the soul. When you write what other people tell you it's like selling out, but you don't get paid; kinda pathetic, isn't it?"

Emma snorted. "Yeah, says the lawyer. Come on man, just admit you don't know shit."

Luke grumbled.

"I think any writing can reveal something of ourselves. We're all works in progress, Luke, and any writing is good writing. You put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard or whatever, you're saying to the world 'Here I am. Love me.' And, like, that's beautiful, holy shit."

He thought about that, took another drag of the joint, and nodded. "Maybe so, maybe so."

Jasmine and I just shared a glance. It was kind of funny how similar we were, even down to our taste in partners, both of us apparently having a thing for kind of snarky lit snobs who think they know everything. Considering I was already almost thirty when we started hanging out, I felt pretty lucky to have found her.

We'd apparently actually been coworkers for some time before that, but Jasmine never approached me and I didn't know she existed.

I'd been thin my whole life, more or less, until I started seeing Cyn, my most-recent therapist. She helped me work through my issues around food, and my body to the point where I could at least accept allowing myself to feel pleasure. And building up my self-love allowed me to work through my fear of weight gain. And so once I gave myself permission to just live my life and do what I want nature took its course and I began to gain weight.

One day I was eating lunch, and processing my ambivalence at having to size up in my favorite jeans again while eating tacos from the truck across the street, a short, chubby Indian lady in a floral blouse appeared and slid into the seat next to me.

"How's lunch?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Good?" I replied, mouth full of food.

"Mm-hmm. Anyway, we should hang out sometime. If you want? I don't know how this whole 'making friends as an adult' thing works but, like, I have a good feeling about you, if that's not too weird to say. I feel like maybe we'd get each other, or something."

We went out for ice cream a few days after that, and have pretty much been talking regularly since then. She really helped me sort through my feelings on my initial weight gain; as a lifelong chubby girl herself, she sort of helped guide me with adjusting to life as a bigger person and I've been grateful for that.

But, like, we just have similar taste in food, books, and things like that too. She's really great.

"Hey sweetie, you hungry?" she asks softly, almost like she's scared I'm danger of starving. "I think the food should be done. Don't get up."

I watch her head over to the barbecue and start loading up a plate. She assembles a few burgers, adds scoops of some assorted dishes from the bowls set out on the picnic table, and finishes by dropping a half-dozen chicken wings on there. She then picks up a beer, cracks it open, and brings that over with the plate.

It's really a lot of food.

She presents it to me with a flourish. "Ma'am."

I take it from her, setting the beer haphazardly into the chair's cupholder, laughing. "It's a lot of food!"

I take a bit of a chicken wing and let the delicate lemon-pepper flavour hit my tongue, sending a now-familiar rush of through my body.

I moan a little, mouth full. "So good."

Jasmine giggles.

I look over at her, noticing that she hasn't yet gone to get food for herself. I point that out, but she says she's not really that hungry yet.

"You're always feeding me," I comment, as I tear into another chicken wing. "I swear you're trying to make me fatter."

She shrugs. "Oh, you know I just want to look after you. You're pretty much always hungry."

I laugh. She's not wrong. As I've gained, my appetite has increased and as I've let go of my old restrictive eating habits I've just completely forgotten what it's like to restrain myself around food. "Okay, fair."

"But also? I mean, yeah, I'm always hoping you'll fatten up more, love," she said, reaching over and giving my soft belly a rough squeeze. "You are just the most perfect fat girl there ever was. Well, other than me maybe. I just love ya, though. Never change."

I smile.

Emma, fresh off her battle of wits with Luke, comes over. "Hey babe, you doing good?"

"Mm-hmm." I eat another chicken wing, and wiggle happily in my chair.

"You got a little sauce or something on your face there," she says.

"Oh! Oops. Sorry." I move to wipe it, but she just takes my hand and pulls. I'm getting too heavy for her to actually get me to my feet, but I understand the meaning of her gesture, hand my food over to her, and then stand up.

Without a word, she leads me over to the side of the cabin, away from where Jasmine and Luke can see.

I looked at her quizzically.

"I may be a little high right now, but you don't gotta do that. It's fucking hot."

She leans forward and sloppily kisses my neck for a moment, and then finds a rhythm and begins to tenderly suck on it.

Then she takes a chicken wing off my plate, holds it up and says "Is it okay?" and then when I nod, tears the meat off the bone and begins pushing it into my mouth.

As I get through that, she looks at me again, and when I nod, holds the beer bottle up to my mouth and waits for me to tilt my head back, she holds the bottle as I swallow, forcefully holding it until the bottle is empty.

"Good girl," she whispers, feeding me the last few chicken wings and setting the plate down.

As I'm chewing, she grabs my lower belly and begins kissing all over my face. "Uhhh," she breathes. "You're so hot, god what the hell"

I'm caught up in Emma's sudden forcefulness, enjoying the moment. "Mmmm, I like this."

She's still breathlessly kissing me, touching my body all over, just randomly, desperately grabbing.

"Maybe I'm a bit high," she starts apologetically, "But god, hearing Jasmine talk about, like, feeding you, wanting to make you fatter, fuck, that broke something in me."

She bends over and picks up the plate again. Then with her hand she scoops some of what was still on the plate---mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, pickles---and pushes it into my mouth, tentatively, almost like she's not sure what she's doing.

I'm a little surprised by it, but I let the food into my mouth, let the flavour wash over me, and swallow it.

She keeps pushing food on me until I've finished all of the side dishes, and at that point I protest a bit but she feeds me the burgers Jasmine had prepared too.

When the food's gone, I'm standing there, very aware of my belly hanging forward, feeling heavy and full.

As Emma massages my bloated stomach, I let out a burp.

"Fuck," she says to herself. "Fuck."

She grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, and then yells "Yo! Jasmine! You and dipshit good out here for a while?"

From the front yard of the cabin, I can Jasmine's giggle and Luke’s faint voice hissing "She's the dipshit."

Emma just looks at me, places a hand on my belly, her eyes filled with frenzied desire.

"Follow me," she says.

[cordycepsfem]

Pageboy Readthrough, Part Eight

Previously

your reviewer had to read about EP's sex life with her own two eyes

this included the bizarre phrase "magnets sucking" which, I'm not going to lie, has possessed my entire brain since reading it

I'll be just sitting at work thinking work thoughts and then all of a sudden I'll magically hear a voice saying magnets sucking in my brain and remember why it is that 30-somethings should not be writing memoirs

anyway the rest of the chapter was about being homophobically attacked

your reviewer went off on a tangent about why Umbrella Academy Season Three sucked

we had a brief "we live in a society" moment

and then we had a much longer digression about anger being useful

by the end of it all EP owed me $64.80 (CAD) for everything I had to read with the only two human eyes I'm ever going to have

Also, I want to go off on a longer digression about this today: it finally hit me why this book is hard to read...

It's not well-written.

There's a lot of jumping back and forth between things that are happening now and things that happened previously, and then when we're reading about the now there are lots of side tangents about things that are also happening now or recently happened. There's not a straight line through a chapter.

Maybe this is what it's like in EP's head and for that she has my sincerest sympathy and understanding, as I don't think anyone's mind truly works in a linear way. But she also had, I assume, an editor or two who had the thing in front of them and could have helped but didn't. Again, this is my entire soapbox about 30-somethings writing memoirs: as a group nothing's happened to us miraculous enough to fill a memoir, and we're also not emotionally ready for people to tell us we're actually not that brilliant, so many of us would have a hard time taking direction. I don't know if EP's celebrity "wowed" whoever her editor was, and they just slapped a "You go guy!" sticker on it and sent it to the publisher, but... if I turned this in I would be embarrassed to read it back, partially for all of the embarrassing childhood things I would have shared but also because I wrote it in a way that says "linear plot line? fuck her" and expected everyone to love it.

But what do I know - I'm not on the New York Times bestseller list or anything. (Or am I? You don't know.)

Now

Chapter Ten

EP tells us about being cast in An American Crime and meeting Catherine Keener

having not seen the film nor having any idea who this woman is, let's read on

ah, yes, I remember now:

An American Crime is about the horrific abuse of a young woman named Sylvia Likens

obviously acting in this role was a lot for EP, as it would be for any actor

this part of the book is actually really tender, and I appreciate the detail EP puts into talking about how she would try to get the feeling of playing a horribly abused young woman out of her head

and for all I said about it not being written well, these two paragraphs felt absolutely solid in my chest:

(apart from the fact that a metronome sets tempo, not speed, because again, I am a very specific type of asshole, and today apparently it's "pedantic about music" asshole)

EP talks about going to a restaurant in a train car that only serves pasta and I am once again jealous

she also talks about her eating disorder, smoking, drinking, and not sleeping as her basic routine, and I am once again saddened

she dates a guy who tells her she's not gay while they're having sex (see, this is where the whole timeline thing comes in - in a previous chapter she'd already come out, and now we're back before that happened)

when EP returns to Halifax she weighs 84 pounds (38.1 kg)

here are some other things that weigh approximately 84 pounds, according to the internet:

ten gallons of water

a baby rhino

2 bushels of gooseberries

a fiberglass canoe

16 bricks

2 sandbags

anyway

EP's mom is worried about her

a therapist gives her bad advice

EP gains some weight back and then goes to audition for Juno

we learn that before EP's mom was a French teacher she worked for Air Canada but is afraid of flying

we also learn that EP's mom is the daughter of Anglican minister

EP enters a sexual relationship with Olivia Thirlby and hangs out with Michael Cera and Jonah Hill and they make music and get stoned and walk around town together

oh and also they make Juno and it is good and EP loves making it

and things are better

and the next chapter opens with vomiting so it is here I must stop for the night

[what-if-nct]

hiiii today's reminder is i absolutely do read your paragraphs like it's the morning paper,i love knowing what's going on with you and what you're thinking about. also i know these conversations are technically public but i definitely say a lot more than i would normally because it feels so comfortable. love you 💓

Hiii! I love you too!!! And yes it feels like a public private conversation. Like it's just us in a cafe together like there's people who walk by but like we're just talking. I consider all asks kind of like a huge slumber party and were just chatting and everything is pink and mean girls and Taylor Swift are playing in the background and it's chaotic but fun. But speaking of sleepover talk so the guy I'm talking to one well talk on the phone for like 2 -3 hours so often that last time that happened was in the summer and we were going to wait till later that week but he came and picked me up at 2am and we watched puss in boots and "cuddled" I remember him fondly actually. Like right in the middle of "cuddling" he called me cute. Which that is so adorable like that isn't the activity id think being cute would be possible. So that was the last time that happened. But with the current guy it's just the best vibe and fun and we laughed about raccoons for so long.

And okay I overshare obviously so in passing I brought up a few things that happened to me cause I told him earlier that day some guy was trying to hit on me and I just froze and didn't speak I was scared cause he was a lot older than me and he said is wrong for me to be talking to you which told me he probably thought i was way younger than i am. Cause I swear when I present younger it's always old men who be weird and creepy to me which is gross within itself. But I brought that up to him and told other instances that happened in the grocery store and i said im just probably being dramatic and he told me I wasn't being dramatic and only one other person has told me that she was actually the one who told what happened was really bad and she told me a few other things that happened to me were sa. But when I talk about it with therapists or other friends they're either dismissive, blame me, tell me to stop wearing short skirts, tell me I shouldn't have put myself in that situation and I just was never really allowed to process it so I feel like it's still unhealed and I still have a lot of anxiety about being alone in public unless it's somewhere that's mainly women. But hearing someone say I wasn't being dramatic I don't know it meant more than it probably should.

Oh also he said he was surprised I was so tall, so many people say that. So many people expect me to be shorter and I have no idea why. Also I'm not that tall I'm 5'8 so is my best friend and sister. But most importantly he has kept everything 110% innocent and sweet and I've never experienced a guy not immediately being interested in that. I started to feel like that was my only purpose but I think he actually likes me as a person, and my eyes started to water just as I said that. Okay I will stop here before I write a whole essay again. Oh I think I can show you what he looks like without actually posting a picture and I started watching this YouTuber just before I met the guy I'm talking about which is so weird that I just realized they look a lot alike like so much alike I had to bounce back and forth between their pictures.

The only difference is the guy I'm talking to, his face is a little softer. But the resemblance is uncanny even the hair and he dresses exactly like him. Also the YouTubers name is Seth Borden he's related to Lizzie Borden and he's a paranormal investigator.

[puzzled-pegasus]

before anyone says anything, yes I am in therapy. I just don't see my therapist till next week and I wanted to tell someone before then.

Last night I had what was probably a big nonverbal episode (which ive never had before so it was extra frightening) and my parents thought I was giving them silent treatment so they yelled at me, mocked me and called me childish and weak (I was also sobbing very loudly, probably because it was some type of meltdown, so it probably 100 percent looked like I was throwing a huge tantrum whICH I DON'T NORMALLY DO, I MIGHT ADD so I was really surprised by their reaction). I tried writing a note, they wouldn't read it, I tried gestures, nope they just mocked me and asked if I was done yet.

Later when I was able to talk again, (not before I went to see them and they laughed and mocked me and mom said "I call bs" which like girl?? when's the last time i lied about something dumb like this??? Even if I was there's obviously an issue with me having this sort of reaction to ANYTHING) I resolved the issue with my mom by telling her she was not 100 percent the reason why I had whatever sort of thing was going on and telling her what things in my life actually were bothering me. She did apologize for her and my dad's actions. She also had a narcissistic mother who utilized silent treatment and games a lot, so she has issues with that kind of thing, and I understand that made it hard to take me seriously.

But I'm still really shocked and hurt that they reacted the way that they did. Their child wasn't speaking, even when they took her phone away, and trying to communicate with notes and gestures, and fucking bursting into SOBBING THE LOUDEST SHE HAS IN A LONG FUCKING TIME when her comminucation didn't work, and they didn't think to be like "hm something is probably fucking wrong maybe we should be nice and supportive and try to figure out what tf is going on" (I don't usually say fuck literally at all but DAMN I really needed to emphasize that point)(it's also worth noting that my mom was the one who noticed I was adhd so when she dismissed and mocked me while I was showing a pretTY FUCKING SEVERE ADHD/NEURODIVERGENT THING I was really tacked aback)

I know that some of y'all have infinitely worse situations at home than I do. I'm not trying to say mine was the worst. But I wonder for those of you who are selectively mute...do most people react this way? I'm scared if I start developing selective mutism that these things will happen all the time.

Sorry this is so long btw, I just have a lot of feelings.

[donnerpartyofone]

One time when I should have been talking about how much my dead mother hated me or something, I stupidly mentioned to my therapist that someone said something annoying on one of my tumblr posts, and she went after me about what did I expect to get out of social media. She wasn't being sarcastic or hostile, she just kept asking me what were my expectations of publicly posting dearly held beliefs and opinions, or personal experiences; she asked me every time she was unsatisfied (it seemed) with my answer, and eventually we just changed the subject. I kept trying to guess if she had a specific right answer in mind; like, was she implying that I was secretly fixing for a fight, or masochistically putting myself in harm's way? Or was she trying to get me to admit that I was desperate for attention and compliments and I was just looking for them in the wrong places? I seemed to have a hard time explaining that I just love to write, that it doesn't bother me if only the same 4-5 people respond in any way, or if no one responds, and that being pestered and annoyed periodically (that is, not very often at all) is a risk I'm willing to take, but I still reserve the right to be annoyed. I'm only human, or something.

I started using tumblr toward the end of the awful abusive relationship that ate up my 20s. The guy was a crazed narcissist whose only motivation in life was impressing other people, or upsetting other people--anything that forced others to think about him and reflect back to him his personal power. He didn't do anything just because he enjoyed it, so it was very hard--actually impossible for me to describe to him the internal satisfaction I got out of writing and accumulating images for free on a free website. He didn't have the wiring necessary to understand that it was part creative process, part introspection, and part getting to know the world in a certain way. He kept asking me, "What do you GET for using tumblr? But what do YOU GET? BUT WHAT DO YOU GET?" while getting redder and angrier until we just had to stop talking about it. I eventually realized he wanted me to say, like, you get corporate sponsors. You get free shit. You get a book deal. You get famous. You get rich, people fuck you. He couldn't imagine any other reason for doing anything and he was as pissed off about the fact that I just enjoyed something, more or less privately, as he was about anything else about me.

The truth is I don't know what my expectations are. I think I know why I write, at least in part: I'm trying to be understood. I have felt misunderstood for most of my life (yes I know boo hoo), and I think that if I just keep refining and refining and refining the way I articulate microscopic experiences, then eventually it will become impossible for me to be misunderstood ever again. I became an art history major in college more or less by accident because I had no direction in life, and while it turned out that I had no particular talent for the discipline of art history (I graduated with a B- thesis that was called "a grand failure"), I learned a lot about how to verbalize extremely interior and abstract experiences, like that of perceiving art and trying to process its meaning. I usually use this for film now, my main love, which is so much about collaging sensory input to achieve a certain psychic effect, and less importantly about literal, literary-type content.

But who do I want to understand me? Very few people read my writing, will ever read it. And I have learned the hard way that you really cannot force anyone to understand you no matter how skilled you become at saying things or maintaining a paper trail; people just don't listen very well, they project, they twist the conversation into something they WANT it to mean instead of what it does mean, or very often people just want to have fights and they will refuse to hear anything that might resolve the exciting conflict they're having with you. I have had incredibly infuriating arguments about the meaning of individual common words that couldn't even be resolved with the help of a dictionary or sample sentences. Being a good writer or speaker (or listener, even) does not protect you from this.

I think that to a large degree I am trying to make myself understood to myself. I have always been very, very good at internalizing the voices of others, and this can make me doubt the content and quality of my own experiences. Against the influence of people who have disbelieved or ignored me, or tried to get me to believe things I know to be untrue, I write and write and write to submit my findings to an invisible judge and jury. They are all me. It may sound as if I am trying to prove what I believe is David Cronenberg's point about identifying with the body, or trying to debunk what I think Catherine Breillat is saying about human emotion, but secretly I am trying to prove to myself, through these incidental demonstrations of skill and rationale, that I do deserve to feel the way that I feel about the things of which I can no longer speak.

[breesays]

Confront all of your pain like a gift under the tree

It takes a lot of energy to keep it together. I had so much fun at Emo Nite on Friday, celebrating my birthday (early) with my best friend, singing to Fall Out Boy, Paramore, MCR, TSL and even Brand New (I've seen more spine in jellyfish / I've seen more guts in 11-year-old kids). It was exactly what I needed.

It was fun, but I felt just on the edge of losing my shit the whole time. I only cried a little, when they played "I Miss You" by blink-182, because that came out in 2004. Peak me and PJ. Oh, and "Memory" by Sugarcult. Just trickles. I am still having so much trouble with how sad I am. The grief feels physical, heavy.  The sobs suck the life out of me. This is stupid. He was just my first boyfriend. I'm just an ex-girlfriend. Worse, probably one whose timeline overlaps with several others. What I'm learning is that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if the relationship was credible. It's not a court case, it was a formative experience.

I went out instead of staying home alone and grieving, excavating. It felt like progress, but I know I still have complicated feelings to wade through. Lots of water metaphors lately - waves, the sea, swimming.

What does it mean, that I'm having such a hard time with this?

A breakup is immediate pain, surface pain, relatable, identifiable, categorical. A hole. A changing of roles.  This was a TWENTY year old relationship. Is he haunting me? I do feel like the time I didn't know about it (almost 3 years) was kind of a gift. There is no way I could have handled this news at the top of 2021. With a kid under two, quarantine and a bubbling identity crisis?

A weird thing I tried to figure out is - what was I doing when he was dying? What was I tweeting, what was I writing, what was I thinking? We didn't have any kind of cosmic connection, that's not what this is about. (This is what I was writing)

It's hard for me to say we were friends because that feels like an insult to the friends who were good to me. Mostly we flirted, and we fought. But I did care about him, and I wrote about checking up on him a lot. Once he asked me to check his email for him while he was traveling. It was 2003, so that's not a thing we could do on our phones yet. He never changed his password after that, so I sporadically checked his email until like, 2010, when two-factor authentication appeared on the scene. This is how I knew he was a compulsive liar. This is how I knew he did NOT have "abdominal" cancer in 2009, and that it was just a ploy to get me to talk to him again.

Should I have done something? Could I have done anything?

My therapist asked, what did he make you feel? I had trouble putting it into words, called it elemental - I had such strong reactions to him, I said. "Oh," she said, "so he made you feel alive."

And that's where the gut-punch is, right?

I'm glad I wrote down everything. I saved everything. He still lives there. I was already diving into past stuff for the book I'm writing, but now I'm a little more focused on getting the timeline right. And it's all there.

That fraction of my life feels so neon-bright. So sharp. I was so unfiltered.

I can't believe I'm still feeling this. I can't believe I'm still writing about it. It feels like a little like purging, like I'm trying to exorcise it so it exists OUTSIDE of me. Wringing it out of my organs, pushing on the bruise again and again and again until the pain is base level.

"What makes you feel alive now?" she asked.

Music.

[rin-and-jade]

it's me AGAIN, pop. actually its pop/poppie today, if you don't know her that's fine. (she's like the other side of me? idk same base different colours.)

I got a bit depressed I think, nah I think it's just rumination of my thoughts and feelings, though I couldn't tell you.

I just felt like SHIT yesterday and just sad and worthless and awful.

still feel a bit like that, but Belle took over and I feel better now.

idk, you always know what to say.

I was thinking about just the past, and I think I got triggered by stuff idk. I was making a quiz to help people with figuring out if they were emotionally abused. (like a "oh here take this it might help you figure out if you might have this idk" sorta thing.)

and I guess I was thinking a bit too hard about it, and just felt AWFUL just plain AWFUL. you never realise how bad it is until you write out things they've said to you as EXAMPLES of the abuse.

like urggg, yk?

maybe I didn't really get abused that bad, maybe I'm overreacting?

but I don't know, I just don't. it feels right, it feels like that's right in the deepest part of my heart. but it just hurts, if I ever bring it up I don't know what they'd say.

I can't word things properly, and I know I'll get misunderstood. I just want them to acknowledge that they hurt me, they tried their best but they still hurt me.

I don't blame them, I just wish they were better.

it just feels awful, one moment I forget about it. then they make their hurtful comments or call me stupid and blame me for things I didn't do and it all comes back.

idk how to even just go about it, this is why I just have to get a job. then I can pay a frickin therapist and then I can figure it out damn it.

honest to god you guys are SAINTS, thank you for listening to my bullshit.

most of he time I want to tell my friends, but I know it will just make things worse.

I'm trying to tell them about the others, or even just me. but it hasn't gotten there yet, I hope it will soon.

they care about me, and they listen. I just don't think they'd understand, but hey I should at least try right?

thanks for listening :)

What im listening to isn't bullshit bro, its about someones life. A person that i care to listen to even if this act doesn't change the whole world, but atleast it changed someone's world so that's still a win. Also the "I don't blame them, I just wish they were better." is super relatable..

If you need a friend that will not do all those things, or somewhere to go for advices if one can't afford therapy/counseling, or a place to actually feel listened to,, if that's what is needed then im literally right here infront of you.

I'll assume this as a story and if you really need some actual advices from what you had written here then you can re-ask them and i can get back to it.

If anyone really need a place to just vent and take that weight off just go right to the inbox it's always checked,, if anyone also needed a place who accept asks that involves problem solving for issues (most preferred intrapersonally) and hopes for a good and detailed answer in how to handle it,, shoot the inbox. Right now. You guys deserve to be heard and cared for get in the gang right now, like, dang.

- j