#we googled the quotation for this one friends

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven...”

Literally the entire text of Paradise Lost bc Project Gutenberg rules

Reblog for a larger sample size!

[lunar-dawn]

Julius: About Reinhard (LN)

*No idea which LN volume this is from, (this photo is not mine and it’s buried in my camera roll) but the character cut off on the page im 95% sure is Elsa :)

note: the words in quotations are direct quotes from the machine translation. I used DeepL and google translate in order to get an idea for the text, so my summary may not be 100% correct!

The first part is about Reinhard and Julius’ first meeting and Julius’ feelings about it (nothing we already didn’t know about how it went— though Julius considers Reinhard his “most equal” friend).

The second part goes more into depth about Julius’ current feelings about Reinhard.

*Julius recognizes that Reinhard’s life hasn’t been easy, though Julius has never asked him about it in depth.

*Julius wonders if Reinhard (wording is a little confusing) ever finds it difficult to keep on going because Reinhard has never given him any indication that he struggles in that regard, though he understands that Reinhard probably has times of distress and wanting to quit.

*Julius wishes that Reinhard will one day be able to confide in him, and he almost hates his own “immaturity” for Reinhard’s inability to do so.

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter One: Tequila Sunrise

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!OC (Cecilia Anderson)

Summary: Meet Miguel O'Hara, a rugged bareback rider who could have had it all, and Cici Anderson, the spirited daughter of a stock contractor trapped in a toxic relationship. When fate brings them together for a dance, they see each other again and again.

Word count: 7,133

W: language, drinking, some locker room talk (but not by Miguel)

Ao3 link here

A/N: Anything that is italicized within the quotation marks is said in Spanish.

I didn't have wifi for almost a week and we've been dealing with one thing after another in the new apartment, but chapter one is finally here. And how did we get here? Basically, I read several rodeo romance books and thought "fuck it, cowboy Miguel" and now here we are. If you want to be added to the taglist you can comment or fill out the google form here

Miguel pressed the end call button and stared at his phone. 4:17. The afternoon interview and autograph sessions were done, but it was too early to get ready and too late to nap in his truck. He got up from his shaded spot outside with a grunt and started to look for Peter. Knowing him, he was probably near the concession stands looking for a vendor selling pizza. 

Sure enough, Miguel spotted his friend tucked away to the side, melted cheese hanging from the corner of his mouth, and his baby, Mayday, strapped to his chest. He laughed silently to himself and acknowledged his friend with a tip of his hat.

“How’s Gabriel? He doin’ okay?” Mayday leaned forward to get a nibble of pizza, and Peter moved it away at the last second.

“He said he was probably going to order a pizza for dinner, and I said that’s fine as long as he doesn’t make that a habit everytime I’m out of town for a competition. Don’t exactly have the money to support that kind of habit.”

“True, but the kid deserves a treat every now and then.” To prove his point, he gave Mayday a bite of cheese. “Don’t tell Gwen I did that, she made me swear not to give our baby junk food.” 

Kid. At 25, Miguel didn’t think he would be looking out for a kid, much less his kid brother. At least Gabriel was fifteen now, so Miguel didn’t feel the need to hire a babysitter, but on his first weekend away he found himself checking in frequently. Peter spoke again, not concerned by Miguel’s silence. 

“He doin’ okay now? Last time I saw him he still looked really down, which I get it, y’alls mom died just a few months ago, but he didn’t laugh at a single one of my jokes.”

“Eh.” It wasn’t one of his favorite subjects, and he didn’t like dwelling on it. He knew Peter meant well, in his own way, but he would rather stand in silence. “He’s getting there.”

“And you? Are you getting there? She was your mother, too, you know.”

Debatable. “Let’s just say I had a different experience than Gabriel and leave it at that.”

“Alright,” Peter put his hands up defensively, “I can hear it in your voice, you don’t want to talk about it, so we won’t talk about it. But you need to talk about it, or it’s going to eat you up from the outside.”

Miguel grunted, signaling the end of the conversation. He stood with his arms crossed and a resting glare — that couldn’t be hidden behind sunglasses — weighing his options. It would be time to get ready soon, dressing in all his layers, checking his equipment, and stretching, but for now, he people-watched. 

Rookies milled about, either walking with too much confidence and not enough experience to back it up or wide-eyed hoping not to land in the dirt tonight. Families, wives, and girlfriends made their way to the seats to beat out all the fans who would be let in soon. The buckle bunnies would show up when the gates opened, hanging onto the fences to get a glimpse of the cowboys. 

Two women walked past, but every five steps they took they were stopped. Bareback, saddleback, and even bull riders approached them, some desperate and anxious, others dripping with charm, but all walked away disappointed. 

“Who��re they?” Miguel asked, gesturing with his chin rather than pointing.

“Who? Oh! You mean Barbie and Jessie from Toy Story. Those aren’t their names, of course, that’s just what I call them because that’s who they remind me of.”

He looked them over carefully with the nicknames in mind. “Jessie” referred to the redheaded cowgirl, plaid shirt and jeans to boot, with a hat pushed high on her brow. She stood with her hand pressed to her lower stomach as if she was cradling a barely there bump and checked her watch. “Jessie” gently nudged “Barbie” with her foot.

And “Barbie” was, well, Barbie. Dressed all in pink, with heels rather than boots, makeup done to subtle perfection, an easygoing smile, and batting her eyes. But she wasn’t a traditional Barbie, no, and he appreciated the difference. Her blonde hair wasn’t straight; it fell in ringlets across her shoulders. And she wasn’t built like a Barbie doll, with perfect proportions and a slim waist, no, she was plush and soft, something he could hold and squeeze. She was better than Barbie.

“They’re Andersons,” Peter continued, “Barbie is Cecilia, Jacob’s daughter, and Jessie is actually Taylor. She married Nick about a year or two ago, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, there should be another Anderson by the end of the year.”

Andersons. Everyone in the rodeo knew the Andersons' names. They were one of the major contractors for the shows, supplying the horses and bulls for the cowboys to ride. Jacob and Nick could often be seen wrangling the horses, helping shuffle them around to and from the chutes, but Miguel would have remembered seeing Cecilia before. 

Miguel clicked his tongue and slightly tilted his head, watching a pair of riders approach them. “And I take it they’re all trying to sweet talk them to know more about the ride they drew?” She reminded him of a princess holding court.

“Yup. And of course they never say anything to keep things equal, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.”

She quickly and easily dismissed the two rookies with a light laugh, tucking her blonde curls behind her ear. They stomped away cursing her name, but she paid no attention to them. Miguel chuckled, remembering when he was young and headstrong. And now? he thought, he wanted to try his luck. 

Miguel straightened his back, tugged on his jeans, and slicked back his hair under his hat. He better look decent if he was to present himself to the stock princess and plead his case. 

“Miguel O’Hara,” he offered his hand, and she took it. Her hand was soft and small in his, her nails a delicate shade of pink, and he looked in her dark blue eyes. She was tall, but still short compared to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Her voice was saccharine sweet, dripping with honey. “Cici Anderson, and this is my sister, Taylor, but I think you already knew that. To what do we owe this pleasure?” 

“I thought I would join the masses trying to get a reading on their ride.” His hands rested reflexively on his hips, subconsciously emphasizing his gold stallion belt buckle. Miguel was damn proud when he won it. He caught her eyes flick appreciatively, and he smirked.

“Is that so?” Taylor asked. “And who did you draw?”

“Fate.” Miguel scrutinized their reactions, and their shared sly glance told him more than their words would.

“We really can’t say…” Cecilia trailed off, smiling apologetically with wide eyes, “You understand?”

Her sympathetic look drove him crazy. If it was an unlucky draw, he wanted to prove her wrong. “Is that so? Then how about a bet?”

Taylor rolled her eyes, but Cecilia was curious. That was the foot in the stirrup he needed to give him a lift. “What kind of bet?”

“If I get 90 points or higher,” she raised her eyebrows in amusement, “then you owe me a dance, Cecilia.”

“And if you fall short or fall off? What do I get then?”

He narrowed his eyes, his brow pinching together. This was his trump card. “I’ll leave you alone, and I’ll tell all the other riders to leave you alone from here on out.”

Taylor snorted, “That’s a good deal.” 

“You’re on, Miguel.” Cecilia smiled like she already won. “I guess we’ll see tonight.”

“You will,” he promised with a wink. 

Miguel tipped his hat to them to leave, and as soon as he turned away another cocky rider approached. He stopped the man and leaned in close, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he growled, “leave ‘em alone.” Intimidated, he backed off.

Peter covered Mayday’s ears to ask “What the hell was that?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “If I get 90 points or better, I’ve got a date tonight. If I don’t then I stay away.”

“What the hell was that?” Taylor whispered harshly in Cici’s ear. “You have a boyfriend, what are you going to do if he wins?”

Right. She may have let herself get carried away talking to Miguel. She never should have agreed to his bet but felt confident she would win.

Cici rolled her eyes. “He’s riding Fate. Sure, she’s a good horse, and he could score eighty points, but he has to be smart. She’s young, so he needs to set his feet and pick her up or she’ll move out down the arena. There’s no way he’ll beat ninety points.”

“What’re you two gossiping about?” Cici’s cousin, Gwen, plopped herself down beside them. She had plenty of time before she needed to dress and stretch for the barrel racing events, and she knew what it looked like when her friends were up to no good. 

Cici sighed and started to explain. “You know the bareback rider Miguel O’Hara?” 

“Who doesn’t?” Gwen’s eyes bulged out of her head. “Not only is he drop dead gorgeous, but he’s majorly talented, too. Some people say he could’ve won at the finals last year if he hadn’t dropped out.”

Taylor set her chili cheese dog aside, a pregnancy craving, and interjected. “Which is total bullshit by the way. It's a ten day competition and he left on day six. There’s no telling how far he could have gotten. For all we know he could have been bucked off before the whistle the following day.” Satisfied she made her point, she took another messy bite. 

“As I was saying,” she gave her sister-in-law a pointed look and handed her a napkin, “he introduced himself-”

“-Saying it was a pleasure to meet her.”

“And he was curious about the horse he drew to ride tonight. I couldn’t tell him anything, of course-”

“-of course.” Gwen giggled and rolled her eyes.

“But he must have read my expression because next thing I know, he’s betting he’ll get ninety points or more on Fate.”

“What does he want if he wins?” 

Cici sighed deeply, knowing this was the part that made her a fool. “He wants a dance…” She saw her cousin’s shocked expression and immediately tried to make it sound better than it did. “But if I win, which I know I will, he promised to leave me alone and get all the riders to stop pestering us for info.” 

“I don’t know, Cici. Sounds a little too good to be true to me.” Gwen shrugged, wanting to be supportive, but still doubtful.

“And what are you going to tell Josh?”

Right. Josh Miller, her boyfriend since sophomore year of college. They both pursued business degrees and met in their prerequisite courses. After graduation, he landed a job in the city while she started working for her father, making their relationship long-distance for the last two years. It was tough sometimes, but any relationship worth having took work.

“I’m not going to tell him anything because there will be nothing to tell,” Cici proclaimed confidently.

“And it would royally piss him off,” Gwen grumbled. 

Sometimes, Cici grew tired of defending him to her friends, but she always put on a brave face. After five years together, she liked to think she knew him better than they did. “Try to see it from his perspective. He lives three hours away, we don’t get to see each other often, and then I dance with some other guy. Who wouldn’t be a little jealous?”

“Jealous enough to track your location and call you when you go somewhere without telling him?”

“Jealous enough to curse you out over the phone?”

“Jealous enough to give you the silent treatment and then gaslight you into thinking you’re the jealous one?”

“Jealous enough to keep you from even hanging out with us outside the rodeo?

“Ugh, enough” Cici huffed, “he apologized, didn’t he? If that’s enough for me, it should be for you.”

Both girls stayed quiet knowing they pissed her off. But to them, they saw it as trying to help her. They could lead a horse to water, but they couldn’t make her drink.

***

Cici jokingly referred to the national anthem as the cue for the bareback riders. Traditionally, it was the first event of the night and came after the flag bearers and the grand entry. She felt the familiar twinge of excitement, a quick beating of her heart, as the lights dimmed in the stadium. Everyone stood for the opening strains of the anthem, including Cici, and she watched the flag bearers come thundering out.

Her father and brother were by the chutes, and Gwen was getting dressed and stretching, so it was just her, her mother, and Taylor in the Anderson section of seats. She thought about just a few years ago when they would be gathered together to watch Nick compete in the bareback rides, but a knee injury bucked him out of riding. He started working more seriously for their father then, helping him now that he was getting older. 

She spotted Miguel sitting on top of chute number three, waiting for the right time to settle onto Fate’s back. He wore starched jeans under his simple tan leather chaps, and a blue and red shirt tucked into those jeans highlighting the narrowness of his waist. Looking down the chute, his pale hat covered his face, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. Miguel rolled his shoulders back and forth, trying to release some of that tension.

The first rider had a good, clean time. Nothing remarkable, no flashy spur strokes, but controlled sweeps. A solid run that earned him 75 points. The second got overconfident, and when he reached for her neck he found nothing but air. His foot swung over the horse’s neck as she dropped her nose, ducked back to the left, and launched him ass over heels.

Bareback riding was one of the more finicky and dangerous events of rodeo as the best rides straddled the thin line between going big or going home. Judges wanted to see long, flashy spur strokes, but riders needed to stay centered and get their boot heels firmly planted in the horse’s neck before its front feet hit the ground on the next jump. The harder or the fiercer the horse bucked, the bigger the score. The rider was rewarded for opening up and taking chances unless he fell over that line and lost control.

The first cowboy played it too safe, and the second fast and loose.

“Coming out of chute number three…” Cici’s pulse quickened, “Miguel O’Hara!” The chute gate banged open and the crowd roared when he came out on Fate. He would only have eight seconds to do ninety points or nothing.

With her first move out of the chute, Miguel’s legs snapped straight, his heels planted solidly in the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. Fate responded by dropping her head and kicking high. For the next two, three, four jumps, Fate barely moved from the spot as Miguel lifted her straight in the air, his spurs rolling clear back to his rigging. His fringed chaps beat like the wings of a bird, daring them to go higher and higher.

“Holy shit,” Taylor murmured beside her.

The buzzer sounded at precisely eight seconds, and the pickup men closed in, setting Miguel safely on the ground. Overhead, the big screen replayed the ride in slow motion. Miguel stopped walking to the chutes and turned to watch. Cici wondered if he was mentally calculating his score like she did. 

“The judges have awarded 92 points to Miguel O’Hara, easily making him the top scorer of the night! Let’s see if he can keep that title before the end of the night.”

Taylor leaned over so Cici’s mother couldn’t hear. “Looks like you’re going dancing tonight.”

***

Cici watched from the side as the press swarmed Miguel at the end of the night. They all wanted to get a snappy quote from the highest scorer, and he greeted them with a pretty smile. Miguel locked eyes with her as he spoke, and blood rushed to her cheeks. Thank God she wore enough makeup so he couldn’t see.

“I guess it was a good turn of Fate,” he winked at the camera, but she knew it was meant for her. “I had to convince her a little, she’s young and shy of course, but she responded well to me.”

“How appropriate is it that your first horse back is called Fate?” Journalists never could resist a good story.

“I’m hoping it’s a sign of good things to come.”

“We hope so as well. Thank you, that was Miguel O'Hara, everyone who’s just tuning in, top scorer here tonight in Fort Worth.”

Cici spoke to several camera crews as well, giving the perspective of a contractor. Miguel waited until the journalists cleared out and the cowboys and cowgirls left to talk to her. He walked with extra pep in his slightly bow-legged step, a certain swagger in his hips. 

“It seems like Fate wanted you and I to dance,” he quipped. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Cici rolled her eyes. “But seriously, good job out there. I thought she was an eighty at best, and you proved me wrong. Not many can say that.”

Miguel looked at her seriously, a little furrow between his brows. “Thank you.”

“Now about that dance…” his dark brown eyes lit up when she mentioned their dance, a flicker of gold across the smooth darkness. “I know what you’re thinking-” 

“-Uh huh, and what am I thinking?”

“I know cowboys like you, and you all think the same thing.” Cici made it a rule not to date cowboys. “If you give me enough drinks, if you rope me into one more dance, then I’ll go back to whatever motel you’re staying at, or even in the cab of your truck, and not call me in the morning like you promised.”

“Ouch,” Miguel pouted, “been burned by the rope before?”

“Nope, and I never will. I have a boyfriend, and I don’t date cowboys.”

He looked her up and down, from her high heels to her pink headband, his eyes lingering somewhere in the middle. “That’s a damn shame.”

“You can have one dance,” she held up her finger, “at a bar of my choice, with the understanding that it will lead to nothing more.”

“Why bother then?”

She looked him square in the eye. “I won’t have it said that Cici Anderson doesn’t fulfill her bets. If you want your dance, you’ll meet me tonight at Lone Star.”

“It’ll be later tonight,” he stumbled over his words, “I need to shower and change before I go anywhere.”

“Don’t worry. Did you think I’d go dancing in these shoes?”

Miguel showered and shaved back at his motel. He didn’t want to smell like horse and dirt when he showed up. He rifled through his suitcase, wishing he packed a better selection of clothes and settled on a simple black button-down shirt, clean bootcut jeans, and his least dusty pair of boots. Looking in the mirror, he ran a handful of gel through his hair and spritzed himself with cologne. 

He struggled to find a spot in the crowded parking lot, but he found one in the back corner. Miguel hesitated to cut the engine and get out. What if she wasn’t there? What if he made a fool out of himself? She already told him it wasn’t going to lead to anything, but he wanted his dance. He earned it. 

His watch buzzed on his wrist, alerting him of an incoming call from his brother. He smiled and answered. Miguel could hear Gabriel crunching chips and playing a video game in the background, and it grated on him.  

“Fucking kid. You better not be gaming and snacking again because I am not taking apart another controller because you got crumbs stuck in it.”

Gabriel paused mid-chew, talking over the food in his mouth. “What happened to hello? How are you? My name is?”

Miguel laughed and sighed, reminding himself that Gabriel was fifteen. “Hello? How are you?”

“Better now that you’re asking. Thanks for the pizza by the way. I’d save you the leftovers, but there won’t be any.”

“Well with your taste I’m not worried. You probably put pineapple on it.” He grimaced at the thought of it.

“I did, and it was delicious. Now are you gonna tell me how you did or keep me in suspense?”

Miguel kept an eye on the parking lot, wondering if Cici was already there, waiting for him or taking her time to get ready. “Top scorer of the night, and I wasn’t sure when I watched a couple of the other guys.”

Gabriel laughed, and for a moment Miguel thought about how his laugh changed. He remembered Gabriel’s giggle as a baby. “You were moping around here for a week, nervous to even go, and look.”

“Maybe it was fate,” Miguel snorted, “that was the horse’s name.”

“Ha ha, maybe, but it was you, too.” There was a pause, neither brother was sure what to say to the other. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Well, I'm sitting in the parking lot of a bar right now, so I think I'm going to celebrate a little.”

“A little? You have free reign right now. I’m home, fed, and know not to open the door for strangers. Go nuts.”

Miguel spotted a baby pink BMW convertible pull into the lot, and he knew without seeing any faces it was Cici. No one but the princess would drive that car. Somehow, she found a parking spot near the door and wasted no time pulling in. He watched her check her hair and makeup in the mirror, turning to her friends for confirmation. Satisfied, she cut the engine and left, not bothering to put the top down given the drought. 

“Hello?” Gabriel let the “o” drag out, “You there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. But not for much longer,” he grumbled. 

“Have fun, be safe, don't make me an uncle before my time!” Gabriel ended the call before Miguel could call him out. He thought about sending him a text, but he didn’t even know what he would say. Instead, he waited a few minutes before entering the bar. Too soon, and it would look like he waited for her, and he certainly wasn’t doing that.

Lone Star was like every other bar rodeo goers frequented, and it wasn’t the type of place he expected a princess like Cici Anderson to frequent. Parts of the floor were sticky as he walked, letters flickered out on neon signs, and a jukebox played old country songs. He ordered a beer on tap from the bartender, wanting the foam on top that he couldn’t get from a bottle, and retreated to a dark corner. 

Cici sat at a high table, one half booth and one half chairs, which made him think of an island. Taylor sat across from her, and a friend sat beside her. He thought he recognized her from the barrel racing, but out of uniform, he couldn’t tell. Cici laughed with them, little creases by her eyes and her head thrown back. He wanted to know the joke so he could make her smile like that. 

Her friend whispered something in her ear, and she turned ever so slowly and subtly to the side to look. Cici spotted him, hiding by a collection of decorative license plates mounted on the wall, and smiled. She bobbed her head up to him in greeting. He tipped his hat to do the same. Miguel made no move to join her, so she beckoned him with her dainty little manicured hand. How could he refuse?

“This is nice, you’ve got your own little spot-” He pulled back one of the chairs.

“-Stand,” Cici’s friend directed.

Miguel frowned, looking at Cici. “What?”

“You have to stand. All men who approach the gals table have to stand. They can’t sit down; they have to stay on their toes, ready to leave if they piss us off,” she clarified. 

Damn. He didn’t realize describing it as an island was so accurate. “Can I at least set my beer on the table, or will you make me hold that, too?”

“Hmm,” she pretended to deliberate, “you can set your drink down, but if you touch the food you’re done.”

He put on a thick southern drawl, “Yes ma’am. I understand.”

“Good, I’d hate to see you kicked out. 

***

Miguel was a good sport. He stood, occasionally shifting his weight from one foot to another, but he never complained. He didn’t want to risk being voted off the island. As promised, he never laid a finger on their food, no matter how tempting the loaded fries, mozzarella sticks, and buffalo wings looked, and he tried to listen more than he spoke. But he just couldn’t help himself from getting into trouble. 

It started when he watched Cici walk to the bar for another drink. Miguel told himself it was to make sure no creeps hit on her, but he was the one thinking about how her ass jiggled in that baby pink dress she wore. Each cheek must be more than a handful, and he wanted to feel her spilling over his fingers.

But, she has a boyfriend, he reminded himself, and she doesn’t date cowboys.

Cici took a sip of her drink before she left the bar. She nodded once to herself, pleased with the taste, and returned to the island. Miguel looked at her drink, wrinkled his nose, and asked, “What is that?”

She grinned mischievously. “Sex on the beach. You want a taste?”

He pressed his lips to the lipstick mark she left on the rim of the glass. It was fruity and sweet, almost overwhelmingly so, but he tasted something bitter too, lying just underneath. So perfectly Cici.

“I should’ve expected the princess would have some fruity little drink,” he teased.

Cici rolled her eyes. “My fruity little drink has more kick than your little beer.”

“If you want something with kick, you should be drinking tequila.”

Gwen talked through a mouthful of mozzarella stick. “Is that a suggestion for shots? Count me in!”

Cici looked at him with challenge and trouble in her eyes. “If we’re doing shots, then Miguel, you need to take two to get on our level. Those beers aren’t gonna cut it.” Miguel never could resist a dare. After all, it was a bet that brought him there in the first place. 

He spoke to the bartender to get four shots — one for Cici, one for Gwen, and two for him — and another Dr. Pepper for Taylor. Miguel tapped his knuckles against the bar and looked over his shoulders as he waited for them to be poured. A group of guys at the bar were too rowdy for his taste, and they certainly weren’t slowing down when the bartender served them another round. He ought to keep an eye on them. Bull riders with money burning a hole in their pockets and more alcohol in their veins than blood were trouble. 

Gwen wolf-whistled when he brought back the drinks, making him blush and tip his head. Miguel lined up the shots on the table, the glasses tiny in his hands, and he passed the soda to Taylor. She hadn’t asked for a refill, but he saw her cup was nearly empty. 

“Cheers”, they all said as they clinked their glasses together. They tapped the bottom of the glass against the table before drinking it. Miguel set his aside and moved his second in front of him. 

“Cheers,” he smiled wolfishly before repeating. 

“Now we’re even.”

The ladies finished off the last of their appetizers, and Miguel caved and ordered wings after looking longingly at them for the last half hour. Cici switched to strawberry lemonade for the time being, not wanting to get too drunk, but enjoying the slight floaty feeling. 

Miguel got up to get another beer, and she noticed him talking to the bartender longer than it would take to say “Another Modelo, please,” and Cici wondered what he was up to. He returned, careful not to lean on the table and upset it with his size, and he sipped his beer. The Shania Twain song faded, and when a piano flourish started to play, Miguel half grinned, confident but trying to hide it. 

“I think it’s time for our dance, princess.”

Cici deliberated for a moment, recognizing the song and trying to remember the name of it. “If you think so.” Miguel offered his hand when she left the bench seat, and she tried not to think about how his hand dwarfed hers and his rough calluses against her soft palm.

He led her to the center of the makeshift dance floor where several couples paused, unsure how to dance to the song. One of his strong hands snaked toward her waist and the other held her hand. They stood close together — another step and they would be pressed chest to chest — and she wondered if her head would fit under his chin. Cici stood tall, especially in the heels Josh didn’t like her to wear, but Miguel stood taller. 

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered, “and try not to step on my toes with your heels.”

Cici reached up to rest her unoccupied hand on his shoulder. The muscle flexed and twitched under her delicate touch. She didn’t mind his hand on her waist, he kept a respectful distance between them, and if anything, it helped him guide her. But she couldn’t ignore how warm his hand felt against her. 

“Did you have to request Dos Gardenias?” Cici’s foot followed his, carefully avoiding his toes as he pleaded, and matching the song’s tempo with her hips. 

Miguel was a large, sturdy man, but just like in his riding, he could move lightly and gracefully. His lips twitched as they turned, “I’m surprised you know the song.”

“I’m full of surprises, but evidently so are you.”

He raised his arm and adjusted his hand so Cici could spin out. She did, letting the dim light of the bar shimmer across her satin dress. Cici caught Taylor and Gwen’s wicked grins and raised brows when she spun. She ignored them, knowing they would have plenty of time to talk. 

Miguel quickly responded, increasing the cadence of their dance. “I like surprises, and I like surprising people.” Sweat dotted his temples and his hairline. Cici wondered if he felt the heat growing between them, and she reminded herself the air conditioning here could barely fight the Texas heat.

She slipped her hand back in his, his fingers curling against hers. “It’s a good thing those go hand in hand.” Cici tilted her head up. 

The words never left his mouth, but his molten eyes spoke for him. Almost as if it was Fate. The final chorus of the song played through the cheap speakers. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. Miguel’s voice was soft, but his eyes turned playful, a subtle twinkle in the deep brown. “Do you trust me?” Cici nodded, trying not to show how breathless he and the dance made her. “Fuck, pretty, I need to hear you.”

She meant it when she said, “I trust you.” 

“Good.” Miguel’s grip on her tightened. One hand held her waist while the other her back. Cici stretched her arm across his broad shoulders, and she let herself be supported by him as he dipped her.

They stayed nose to nose as her back went parallel to the floor, close enough to kiss, but Miguel never did. Cici felt his breath ghost upon his lips. She smelled the tequila and beer, but underneath it something cleaner, fresher, like his minty toothpaste and soap.

Cici trusted him not to drop her or cross her boundaries, and he respected her wishes. Miguel held her there for three seconds, but it felt longer when she admired his face. She had never been this close, and now she could see all the subtle imperfections. A cut by his lip, the sharp points of his canines, the lines etched on his forehead, and the dark marks under his eyes. They made him human. 

The song ended, and Miguel brought her right side up. Blood rushed to her face, fueling the flame she felt. She excused herself, and Gwen and Taylor were quick to follow. Cici left Miguel on the dance floor with his hands in his pockets.

“Did you grab my purse?” Her voice shook.

“Here,” Taylor thrust it into her hands, “I have to pee again.”

“Baby still kicking your bladder?” Gwen asked, leaning against the double sink counter.

Taylor spoke from the stall, unashamed with her family. “Yeah, he better be one hell of an athlete with all this kicking.”

“Or a dancer, he could be a dancer,” Gwen teased.

Cici rifled through her purse for her touch-up makeup. Immediately after grabbing her powder, she dropped it and searched for the brush. She would feel better, calmer, and more composed once she fixed her makeup. 

Taylor laughed. “Both would be nice. What about those football players who do ballet for their training?”

“Or the riders who do yoga to stretch?” Gwen chimed in, “It’s time to think beyond traditional gender roles.”

Cici dropped her lipstick, lucky the purse caught it instead of the floor. “What is wrong with me?”

“Oh, are we talking about it now? I’ve been waiting all day to talk about it.” Taylor washed her hands in the sink next to her, exaggerating her facial expressions in the mirror. 

“I told him I have a boyfriend. He knows this. He respects this. But he still makes me feel so-”

“Bubbly?”

“Jittery?”

Feverish. Charged. Wanted. Protected. “Something like that,” Cici sighed, leaning in to re-curl her eyelashes.

 Taylor dried her hands and stayed in front of the mirror, leaning on Cici’s shoulder. “He’s hot. It’s only natural. And now that you’ve fulfilled your bet you can tell him to fuck off if you want.”

“True,” Gwen held the fragile pink bottle of perfume for Cici, “we can always kick him off the island.” 

But Miguel didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out so cruelly. It was not his fault she felt this way. She simply needed to control herself and remind herself of her boyfriend she loved very much. Cici sent him a text saying he could call her later, or she might call him because she missed the sound of his voice.

“Are you ready?” Taylor rested her hands under her growing bump, something she did more often by the week.

“Almost,” Cici took the perfume from Gwen’s hand and spritzed it generously, “now I am.”

Miguel watched her hurry off, her friends following close behind, and he tried not to let it sting him. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, and he wanted to reach out for her. He picked up his beer from the table and stalked off to the pool tables, ready to do as he said and leave her alone. Their deal was finished, and he earned his points and his prize, but he felt hollow. 

The rowdy bull riders he saw at the bar congregated around the tables, and they invited Miguel to play. Typically, Miguel did not enjoy their company, but he thought in their inebriated state he could get away with “mhm” and “uhuh” until he was sober enough to drive back to his motel. They commended him on his straight shot and his ride, and he muttered quiet thanks, trying not to draw attention to himself.

It did not take long for them to change the subject, discussing the various girls across the bar and who they thought they had a shot with. If their game was like the way they played pool, they would be alone. Miguel stayed silent, not wishing to be part of their conversation. 

But, of course, they had to drag him into it. “What’s up with you and Anderson? You going back with her tonight?”

“She looked like putty in your arms. If you’d’ve kissed her I bet you’d be fucking in the bathroom right now.”

“Watch your mouth,” Miguel growled. He bent over the pool table, crouched like a panther ready to pounce. 

“What dude? It’s not like I’m into her or anything. She’s not my type, too heavy, but hey, if that’s your thing then go for it.”

“You can always hit it then quit it.”

“Or, I mean c’mon, she’s an Anderson. Use that to your advantage.”

Miguel stood up straight, tapping the pool stick on the wooden floor. “I told you the first time you disrespected her. You continued.” His voice was as rough as gravel. “I won’t tell you again.”

They muttered their apologies, but Miguel knew it wasn’t him they should be telling. It was Cici, but she shouldn’t know what they said. It would only make her sad, or upset, and Miguel didn’t want to do that to her. He looked for her across the bar, at their island. He saw Gwen and Taylor, but he didn’t see Cici. Miguel wandered off to a high two-top table, sipping on a Coke, and tapping his knuckles against the slanted, sticky table. 

He assumed she would be right back, powdering her nose or whatever ladies did, but he still didn’t see her. Miguel hoped to say goodbye and goodnight before he left. He settled his tab with the bartender, and he asked for the Anderson tab too.

“Are you sure?” the bartender asked. With multiple cocktails and appetizers, it wasn’t as cheap as beer and soda. Earlier, he split the shots between them, but it all came out the same in the end.

“Yeah, and when she asks for it, give her this copy of the receipt.”

He signed at the bottom, leaving a generous tip, and flipped it over. Thank you, he wrote, and on impulse, he scrawled his phone number too. With one final glance at their island, and still not seeing her, he decided it was time to head out. 

Miguel found Cici out in the parking lot. She leaned against her car, holding her cellphone to her ear, and she kept her head down. Cici didn’t see him, so he stayed by the door to listen.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled between her words, “I know you don’t like it when I hang out with them, but they’re my family. What do you want me to do? Not see my family?”

Crickets chirped and the music from the bar spilled outside, filling the awkward silence while she listened to the person on the other end of the line. 

“You’re right, Josh, I should’ve told you I was going out with them. But it was a special occasion, last minute, and-”

Josh. Her boyfriend, he guessed, and he must not be a cowboy because she doesn’t date cowboys. Miguel wondered what Josh was like. He must be jealous, by the sound of it, and controlling. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined your night… I love you.”

Cici ended the call and tipped her head up to the sky. The stars twinkled above, the moon finally came out to play, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. She took deep breaths in and out, wiping away tears with the tips of her fingers. Then, she looked at the door and jumped.

“Fuck, sorry, you scared me.”

He knew better given his size and stature. He knew people crossed the street when they saw him coming, clutched their keys tight, and never let him out of their sight. In the dark by the door, his shadow intimidated. 

Bashfully, Miguel stepped into the light. “You don’t need to apologize to me. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped there.” Silence crept between them, keeping them an arm’s length apart. Miguel uncrossed his arms, and Cici stepped closer. “But, for what it’s worth, it sounds like he should apologize to you.”

Cici exhaled, shuddering, and tears welled in her eyes. Miguel didn’t know what he should do, but he knew what he wanted to do. Protect her. Comfort her. Hold her. But, that’s not his place, he bitterly reminded himself. Josh, the one who made her cry, should be the one consoling her.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him closer than when they danced. Her head notched under his chin, fitting them together like two broken puzzle pieces. He sniffed her addictive floral perfume in her hair and memorized the press of her soft body before she could pull away from him. Miguel barely heard her whisper into his shoulder, but he did. 

“Thank you… just, thank you.”

He took one last look at her, shining under the mix of starlight and parking lot floodlights. Cici’s eyes were glassy, her hair flattened from the heat, and her makeup smudged, but there was something intimately vulnerable and gorgeous. Miguel walked away before he could say something stupid they would both regret. Something like… Your boyfriend sucks. You deserve better. I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Let me treat you better.

He shook his head as if he could shake all those thoughts from him. The more he thought about her that way, the stronger those feelings would grow. It was better to drop everything now, keep to his word, and leave her alone. 

Miguel sat in his truck, unsure if he should drive back yet. Was he drunk on her or the drinks? If it came to it, he could sleep in the cabin or the bed of the truck. He kept a pillow and blanket tucked under the passenger seat, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. He set a timer and closed his eyes. He’d be sobered up when it went off and could drive back to his motel. 

With his hat over his eyes, it was dark enough for him to doze off. But before he did, he swore that if he closed his eyes and focused, he could smell her perfume, feel her weight in his arms, and hear her laugh and say his name.

Fuck, he was in trouble.

Next chapter

taglist: @Kay.dot @tojishugetiddies

[unch4rtedwxters]

y'all i was clearing out my downloads folder on my computer and i found a word file just titled "Document13"

so naturally i opened it

i have no memory of this file btw

well maybe faint ones? idk

i definitely wrote this in fifth grade bc at my old elementary school, we used google stuff lol

i love Gazing at my friends

what a sentence. *applause*

the grammar in here is so good. great even. might i say,,, incredible /very much sarcastic lol

this is only the second paragraph btw

there's three pages of this

the rest will be under the cut bc. boy. there's a lot here.

isn't it so amazing when your bags get plopped into mini candy bars instead of the candy bars getting plopped into your bags?

😭😭

i-

HELP WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY

fifth grade nyota i'm staring at you too what the sweet and sour fuck is this

wh

what

hm. maybe, dearest young ny, the owners of the house ✨weren't home✨

i'm crying what is this conversation

H E L P

not the dialogue tag (is that what it's called?) inside the quotation marks 😭

M U M M E R I N G 😭😭

what thought?

what thought?

why are the wind chimes clenched

what does the rain have to do with anything

what happened to the dog???

Someone

past nyota girly i agree. don't throw stones at the window of the probably haunted house.

click clacky

what is this grammar i'm genuinely gonna die

what the f

WHO IS HE?!?!??!??????? THE BOY NEXT TO US WHO CEASED TO EXIST FOR A HOT MINUTE????

i'm going to combust how do i even react to half of this?? what is this guy's body shape???

WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS POOR KID

MUMMER STRIKES AGAIN 🔥🔥🔥

oh?

yeah i don't know what He's doing either

OH MY GODS??????

i mean yes you're good people but. holy duck.

WOOHOO GUYS WE MADE IT :D

i am deleting this file immediately.

i have one question.

what happened to that dog from the beginning??

[strangersteddierthings]

hi so sorry if this is weird but it seems like you have a lot of followers and I was wondering if I could ask y’all if any of you know this fic I’m trying to find (I made a post about it on my st sideblog but I’m afraid no one will see it)

it was steddie and I think eddie was stuck in the upside down and it turned out billy, barb and all the other people that died upside down related deaths (including the children) were alive there. I think billy, barb, bob etc were included

I think at one point they hotwired a bus to get around since there were so many people

it’s almost 1:30am and I’ve been looking for like an hour and a half and I’m getting desperate, I’m usually really good at finding lost fics through search words and quotations on google but this one is eluding me

I haven't read or know of a fic like this so I'll post and see if anyone who follows me knows it?

However, I did search Ao3 and found a fic that matched this premise but isn't marked Steddie and isn't complete.

Taken Too Soon by Funky_Ralphie_362 Summary:

"When Barbara Holland died that night in 1983, pulled into the Harrington family’s pool by a creature she thought scarier than death, that was that. Death was an irreversible thing that no one could escape, and time was something that was fixated in their world. No one could just turn back time to make Nancy Wheeler hear her best friend calling out from the Upside Down, nor could you turn back time to make Steve Harrington hear the same. You couldn’t turn back time and convince Barb to leave her best friend to go to the little get-together on her own, and you certainly couldn’t reverse time to bring the life back to her eyes." This fic strays away from the idea of only Billy and/or Eddie surviving in the Upside Down, and it adds the idea of everyone who had an Upside Down-related death surviving. This focuses on Barb at first, and then we get to see everyone show up as they 'die'! Will Include: Barbara, Bob, Billy, Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, Jason, and Eddie.

A good place to try and find fics is @steddieficfind, if you also want to send this ask there. You might have better luck finding it (:

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Writeblr Positivity Tag

I was not technically tagged by @winterandwords but I'm still grabbing it from the open tag, and leave it as such :)

1. What motivates you to write?

If I don't do it, no one else will write what I want to see.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

Gonna pick the lines that finished a 300k words project spread over 2 novels and 2 novellas :D

“But are you?” he asked after a moment, a hint of uncertainty on his face. “Happy, I mean. Is this how you imagined it?” Merridy looked from the airy, creme-white curtains to the shimmering rainbow glass shards, and out the window, where in the distance the ocean sparkled in the sun. She raised her gaze to Damien, his eyes fixed on her as if nothing else mattered. “No,” she whispered. “It’s better.”

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

We all know how obsessed I am with Damien, but another char that makes me happy is Riordan. I mean — how could a char I introduced as "fancy boots" not make me smile?

Between all the sad guys and tragic backstories, he's just happy and kind (and a bit naive and rude :D), with a nice family, a good life and some fun quirks. He's absolutely the friend Merry and Damien needed.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Finishing. Finishing a chapter. Finishing a book with the last little piece fallen into place. Finishing formatting. Just. Being done with something. I am constantly haunted by the fear my interest might vanish before I am done, so being done is... awesome.

Also then I get to make my friends cry then, so that's that.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Sadness :)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Writing can be so very lonely. Spending hours upon hours putting silly little words into a silly little document, no I can't show you anything because I am not done, but listen to me talk about my char you don't know so you don't understand anything about what I am saying.

But here, we all understand the struggle and share the excitement.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Uh. Nothing really exists. I used to write in txt files, now I am in google docs so I can share more easily, which means I have at least a basic spell check now (which is nice, but also no google, I'm not talking about his sons.)

I guess InDesign (some shitty version from 2007) and Calibre are closest - I use them to format my books for printing and as ebook. Calibre is a rock star. InDesign is also the only program I've found so far that correctly fixes straight quotation marks in existing text when pasting in.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I am a sucker for tying all stories together in some way — recurring characters and places through standalone books, stuff like that. A lot of it is conveniently put on the back of the Order of Fire. It's an order dedicated to gathering and preserving knowledge. They have citadels all over the place, they need scientists, scholars, mercenaries and housekeeping staff, they can connect people from different parts of the world when I need it.

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

I don't know. There's so many reasons for a "rough patch", and every single one requires different advice. For example, "take a break" would be the worst thing I could do right now.

Your story is worth it. Only you can write it. Yes, even if it takes time. Yes, even if similar ones exist. Yes, even if it contains unpopular tropes. Yes.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

I have a list of my fav works here and I appreciate everyone who ever read my stuff and left a like or comment 💜

But as for support, @alittlewhump @verkja and @starlit-hopes-and-dreams are single(triple)handedly keeping my sanity up. I've found my people in more than one way, and I will stick to you like chewing gum you stepped into. I love you.

Template below the cut:

1. What motivates you to write?

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

[m0thkiller]

i usually don't do tag games but they've tagged me a couple times now and i meant to n never got around to it tagged by: @type6reverb last song: Femtanyl - GIRL HELL 1999. Femtanyl fucking SLAPS i've got the whole Chaser EP saved directly in my phones files so i can put it on while i'm out without fucking around with premium apps or paying in cell data.

favorite color: changes. anything in a light pastel is good but i really light faded greens or yellows or purples specifically. especially when an accent to some darker even more muted color

currently watching: nothing, i don't rlly do TV shows and none of the internet ones really interest me

last movie: the first half of Dune, was hanging out with a friend before work the other day and while i was there we had it on for background noise (we've all seen it so didn't rlly care that wed miss most of it)

currently reading: Basic Principles of Marxism-Leninism: A Primer by Jo Ma Sison. my bf bought me a couple of foundational theory books and we read quotations of mao together and this is one of em i chew on every couple of days (i'm a very slow reader) sweet/spicy/savory: all three at once, kimchi ramen with brown sugar is simply the best food no questions, pack it up boys it don't get better than this relationship status: mono with my boyfriend, pettybourgeoisculturalreform. reaching heresoon the 8 month mark i think. we live several hours away so we don't get to see each other as often as we want but love leaps all barriers current obsession: between fixations at the moment. I just made a new blorbo for a SWRPG campaign coming up but that's like a year away

last thing i googled: see next question currently working on: my bfs birthday is coming up and im making *something* for him but i have to keep it a secret for now because he'll see this post :3

[duncan-rohanne]

so ‘the invisble life of addie larue’ is a book, alright. i wanted a single, non-series, book for my vacation but since i’m sick, i binged this monster in day and a half. and...  i understand why booktok and booktubers love this, the writing style is pretentious as fuck, it’s like, i know the author is dark academia girl, i don’t need to google her, i know she is. on the other hand i don’t mind, it’s a vibe, i think this book is meant to be enjoyed in the autumn evening, somewhere cozy with hot cocoa. unfortunately, it’s almost summer and i’m on cough drops.

this is my review, with spoilers. buckle up. i went off.

three main character. addie, miss main girl. henry, “the boy” and luc aka lucifer. the devil.

i very much appreciate luc. he is a straight up cunt. no darkling-like motives to even delude himself that he tries to do good, no no, he is just a freak. which is great, i like him and i hate him. but as everything in this book, he lacks depth. with him, i could forgive it for the sake of mystery. addie is fine, i like her with henry but she is fine. problem i have with her that she lacks agency, she has no goals, no plans until the very last page. yes, she is an invisible girl but damn it girl, do something, be something, anything! henry tho... yes, hello, it is me, who when she sees self destructive boy, i’m like ‘yes! that one!’ his pov is by far the most interesting one but

i hate the fact his addiction and depression are treated like something that can be fixed by love. which is crazy because it is said that it can’t be, he is literally suicidal because of his ex-girlfriend, he makes deal with the devil just “to be loved,” cue 200 pages later, he is fine because he experienced “love.” (yes, the quotation marks are there for a reason, hold up.) i don’t even think this was intentional by the author but i had that feeling and i did not like it. point is, henry strauss didn’t need addie. he needed a therapist. which he didn’t get and as far as i remember no one even suggested it.

speaking of addie, she is a human who no longer feels like human, who craves human connection and in the end she is like eh, it’s fine. this was nice 12 months break in my 300 years of living. and that’s fine but i feel like we should’ve leaned into it more? where is some introspection? where is some soul searching? anything addie, give me anything, don’t be just standing emoji! you are main character ffs!

i already lost my shit over the generic love triangle. which is and isn’t true, it’s painted as a love triangle but no one is actually in love. luc doesn’t know what love even is. addie just wants to be seen and not be alone and henry is in the middle of depressive episode. and yet, it’s all painted as dark and sexy (luc/addie) and fluffy (henry/addie) and again - that would be fine, if addie and henry weren’t openly bi and luc immortal god. i’m sorry, why are we doing this? what is the reason??? i’m bi (myself) and i love representation as much as anyone else, and i am also a big fan of bi/pan people portrayed in straight relationships because that’s just how it usually ends up but it doesn’t erase the sexuality itself, so when i tell you there is absolutely no reason whatsofucking ever to write this “love” triangle as m/f/m relationship, i mean it. why is henry not a woman is beyond me. why is not luc’s and henry’s relationship explored at all is beyond me too.

i haven’t mentioned the side characters yet because honestly, just like with the main trio, there is not much to say. bea is best friend lesbian. she is nice. great. robbie is ex-boyfriend. he is cool. great. muriel is weird younger sister. awesome. addie met some one night stands that i forgot as fast as they did forget her. (there is a cat named Book, which is probably the best thing about this.... book)

i am actually really angry because this piece of literature had potential. it didn’t even need to deliver on all fronts, just one would be enough. i could ignore the weakass plot for deep and interesting characters. i could ignore the underdeveloped characters for the chemistry they have with each other. i could ignore the lack of it for exploration of darker themes. i could ignore the darker themes failing for representation of queer relationships. this book has all of that but it’s all just hinted. it’s a tea spoon of this and pinch of that - you are not making mojito out of this, honey!

here is the thing, i can actually recommend this book. yes, after i totally destroyed it in six paragraphs. this is a book that is meant to give you a vibe, immortal love story with dark stranger vs human love with antique bookstore owner. (my eyes rolled back so hard just writing this line.) if you want just that and cozy up by the fireplace when leafs starts to fall down, it’s perfect. go for it. you will probably love it. i knew going into this that this isn’t the book for me. i am way too cynical, way too critical and beyond fed up with enemies to lovers bad boy/good girl relationships. so all of this is just a rant of someone after reading the thing they never like.

5/10 if you are me. 8/10 if you are probably anyone else.

[avese23]

I read this three times and still can barely see how you missed the point so terribly and normally I would correct you kindly but this is not an academic space and this is about the honor of lesbians so claws open, friend.

OP didn’t mention sex. OP mentioned women. I didn’t mention sex. I mentioned lesbians.

Only you brought up sex. You saw the word lesbian and your mind jumped to sex. Put your angry typing thumbs down and examine that.

Now either you’ve blocked me, tuned me out, or maybe you’re still reading. Comprehension, that’s sexy of you. We can work with that.

OP from reasonable assumption, was discussing the phenomenon of people who primarily drift toward male characters but have internalized misandry beating them out of shape cuz how could anything masculine be positive? We need to feminize him. Here warps the misandry into misogyny as you see tumblr users turning “post your favorite female character” posts into “well, he’s a woman to me.” Hence frustration, especially because often times character traits seen as charitable and tropable in male characters are received with annoyance or hatred when seen in female characters. If you’re still paying attention, what’s your favorite color? Hence OPs point.

I, picking up on this context, could see where OP is coming from. The internet do be misogynistic. The internet also struggles with shame around liking men. A lot of spaces are one skip away from transmisogynist rhetoric, it’s concerning. Anywho, as someone who rarely sees this problem off the internet I offered a positive to the vent.

A little tongue in cheek but also great fucking advice. Because if you’re sick of people putting male characters on a pedestal there’s nothing like a lesbian to reinstate your faith in feminist approaches to media. Not because they have “temporary desires” (also what are you smoking?? cuz I get that I’m demi but you’re the first person aside from cis men named Brad I’ve heard call any feeling toward a woman a temporary desire.) but because however sick the average person might be of the gender gap in media, lesbians are more sick of it. Google “heteronormativity,” talk to anyone about the exhaustion of having men thrown at you when you’ve dedicated yourself to a lifestyle based on who you are as a person that specifically centers women. As people. Cuz lesbians are people. Repeat that for me if you’re listening.

Regarding the quotation you’ve put…(which, no clue where you got that from? Like genuinely did you reblog from the wrong post by mistake? If so feel free to delete this and block me cuz this would be very funny content if the dignity of my fellow dykes. Like I was upsetty for a second but this is the second most amusing tumblr mix up I’ve gotten so no hard feelings) you seem to be under the assumption that I don’t like lesbians?? Or that people who lesbians aren’t attracted to cant like lesbians?? Which is weird cuz lesbians are objectively cool af. And my ace gf is a lesbian who I’m very attracted to so…again I don’t know where you’re drawing your sparks from.

Tbh I don’t blame you if you haven’t gotten this far. My brain is on tired mode and your response was so off target that this is less even about responding to you and more my adhd hyperfixating on close reading your text in some futile attempt to see what straws you were grasping. I haven’t had time to get to my sociology tbr and I don’t have an essay due till next week so this was genuinely engaging for my brain. I can’t solve the puzzle of what mistake you made but maybe you have so rejoice to that. OP sorry this is on your post I do not know where they came from but I think I’ve shooed them off lol.

Anywho. Why are you still reading. Despite my greatest efforts I am not a lesbian. I’m an equally sexy dyke but not the same kind. Now go befriend a lesbian! This person is stalling for some reason but you don’t have to. Go talk about how Kylo Ren would have been more engaging if he was written as a woman. Go talk about how Faith Lehane deserved better. Go talk about how Harrowhark is trying her very best and needs a hug but please ask before touching.

And remember the three tenants:

1. Be respectful to lesbians. Implying they’re only about women for the sex is a harmful homophobic stereotype. Also if it were true my besties would be dating but we have a bookclub group chat where they perform literary analysis over fictional instead of flirting. Maybe this poster shouldn’t talk to them if you’re gonna be offensive. They’re busy reading.

2. If you want a meaningful relationship with anyone using terms like “temporary desires” is not a way to do it. “Oh but I don’t do that romance or sex stuff” ok but you can try doing the empathy and common sense stuff. Other people won’t find your dismissal of their sexuality “a flex.” It will make finding friends hard

3. If you’re having trouble explaining a point…maybe the point isn’t ready to be out yet. Don’t embarrass yourself by butting into a conversation that’s nothing to do with the frustration in your head. If you don’t like explaining things, or drawing off of actual sources, go to twitter. This might not be the site for you. There are a lot of lesbians here (ooo espooky) and women who know how to read (eee scary) and like to befriend each other (le gasppp) it can be a lot 😔 <- this is irony btw

"he's like a woman to me!!!" not true because if he was a woman to you you wouldn't give a fuck about him

[seraphim-soulmate]

nov 11, 2024

whoa just remembered that I tried to reach out to my ex (from highschool who I dated when I was 13) and was met with her husband emailing me back instead (I guess he's reading her emails 😬) who slings a an insult at me that could have been written by a 12 y/o 🫠

cw talk of an abusive relationship below

Note: as you read this, pls know I'm aware he's being manipulative, my notes and clarifications are just for me since there's no point in responding to his latest email but I'm setting the record straight for myself. also I use indentations and colors to indicate the difference btwn my messages and his.

first he emails me referring to her only as his "wife and mother of [his] child" and says it's a problem for us to "catch up" (he put it in quotation marks and I'm not sure why, just checked and I didn't say that in the emails I sent her either so ... ?) simply because we dated. in highschool. when I was 13. we still spoke on occasion after that, but I moved to a different country so we got estranged. Anyways, back to his email! He also says I tried to kiss her when I last saw her and that this is an issue bcs they were dating at the time, and is a "huge red flag" and a "clear violation of boundaries". I have not seen her since 2017 (shout-out to google calendar for keeping entries back that far) and I'm pretty sure they started dating in 2018? in any case, the keyword here being "tried to", but I honestly don't remember what we did the last time we saw each other so he could just be lying, seeing as it was 7 years ago. He then tells me to cease attempts at communication with her.

I respond, expressing that I'm confused as to why he's the one reaching out to me rather than, you know, the person who I emailed, and point out that she's a whole ass individual human being (not just his wife and mother of his child) and that it's weird that he's making decisions about who she can or cannot see. I clarify that I'm only trying to meet up with her platonically and that people who have previously dated, can in fact be just friends. I also address the kissing allegation (??? I can't believe that's a phrase I'm writing), saying that the last time I saw her being in 2017, I don't remember if they were dating at that point. I finish by saying that considering the amount of time that has passed, I assumed meeting up with her in a friendly manner would not be a threat to their marriage. I nevertheless propose that if it would make him more comfortable, I'd be happy to meet up with the both of them. Admittedly, I went a bit hard in my response bcs the situation was simply put, insane.

In his response, he lets me know that my "accusation" that he controls her and reduced her to her marital status was offensive to him (aw boohoo 😢). He then changes the narrative and instead of this being his own request, actually it's my ex who doesn't want to see me. He dismisses my clarification about the kissing situation by saying that it doesn't matter if I remember it or not (which... isn't really what I said but ok). so I guess that wasn't that important to him despite it being a main reason in the first email as to why he doesn't want her to see me. As for my proposal to meet up with both of them, he says, "I have no want to meet you as to me you are simply a nuisance."

Which. Who speaks like that. Who says that to another human being. I've known his wife for longer than he has and I'm just trying to find a solution bcs the apparent problem before this was that he was uncomfortable with her meeting up with her ex, which is also insane and controlling, but hey I want to see her and I'm willing to compromise.

I ignore all the clownery in his message and say it's fine if she doesn't want to see me, but is there a reason she couldn't tell me that herself? I finish by saying I don't understand his involvement if this was all along actually between her and I.

He responds. He RESPONDS. with one sentence.

"Being her husband means I take out the trash, thank you for understanding"

You know, like a normal person? Like a grown married adult man with a child speaking to another adult? So he entirely dodges the question. Hmm wow I wonder why someone wouldn't actually answer as to why their partner is unable to speak for themselves!!!!

I ignore the fact that he just called me TRASH (????) in my response and ask AGAIN, why she couldn't tell me that she didn't want to see me, if she asked him to intervene and I politely say I'd appreciate it if he could answer my question earnestly (you know, instead of just calling me trash).

he responds (I only just now remembered this whole thing happened and just checked my emails for it and hadn't yet read his response). "[She] doesn't want to reply to you and I don't want you to keep attempting to contact her. Simple, even you should be able to understand that. The fact that you keep insisting for more answers and keep prying further tells me that I am correct in my assessment of you."

So he still doesn't really answer 1) why she couldn't tell me herself if she apparently didn't want to see me 2) why he got involved, if it was just that she didn't want to see me. As I understand it, if you don't want to talk to someone, you just don't respond and they'll get the hint. You don't ... send out a messenger to say "I, as her husband, don't want you to see her bcs you dated in the past and tried to kiss her" when you simply don't want to talk to someone. Also, "even you should be able to understand that"??? ok so I'm also stupid now?? My "insistence for answers" and "prying" is literally just asking him to give me an answer bcs he HASN'T ACTUALLY DONE THAT.

So that was the "conversation" I guess! You'd think a controlling man would be able to keep his story straight but I guess that's also part of it- suddenly changing the narrative makes someone doubt themselves. I can see how someone could easily be reactionary and unintentionally derail the conversation to something he's comfortable with rather than him having to engage with the topic at hand. He is good at pissing people off for sure, which would make most people derail a conversation (and therefore not get their question addressed) or stop engaging out of frustration.

Like bro, obviously I know that if my ex were asking him to message me on her behalf, she would help him write what to say and not refer to me as trash. Actually knowing her, it is blindingly clear that he's being weird, manipulative, controlling her and none of this is coming from her. It just sucks that she's in this situation with this awful guy and she hasn't managed to make a clean break. God, I really hope that she finds the courage and material support to leave him. Interacting with him through an email was exhausting, I cannot begin to fathom what she must have to endure on a daily basis.

[keshetchai]

Okay hold up this is. I think some context is needed here.

1. I explicitly mentioned translational censorship of the Talmud. There was no "need I remind...?" I literally up front addressed that. That issue was part of why I explained the value of having the Talmud freely online meant antisemitic false quotations can be easily debunked as fake. It's not a perfect solution and the problem shouldn't exist, but that is part of the thinking, yes. Having it free online means you can quickly debunk bullshit.

[ slight edit here bc this is what I was remembering in reference to this:

The two childhood friends had lost touch for many years, but reconnected over a “shared frustration” that the Talmud and other important Jewish texts were not accessible online.

“At that point, if you were to google the English Talmud, you would find pdfs from the Soncino edition published in England, you would get an anti-Semitic website and you would get a partial 1918 translation,” Foer told the Forward. “That by itself was kind off pathetic.”

You Can Now Read the Whole Talmud Online for Free, Forward. 2017. This mention of half the search results being antisemitic garbage is repeated in a lot of stories about Sefaria's founding and public donation of the Talmud in translation.

Oh and I was also recalling this Tablet article about it which quotes Einstein. He doesn't say "make it palatable," he says make it accessible to fight lies, basically.]

2. Wait wait wait. Do....you think Sefaria is made by Christians?????

This Sefaria?? https://www.sefaria.org/texts

I'm so deeply deeply confused where you got this idea that I was referencing any kind of Christian website when I explicitly named Sefaria. There are multiple Jewish websites which contain the Talmud text online, Sefaria is just the biggest, best, and most comprehensive Jewish virtual library with the most robust platform for educators.

I was a beta tester for Sefaria's app. Nothing about that website is Christian. Sefaria is the same website op screenshot to illustrate what they meant.

Their about page includes statements such as:

Sefaria is a nonprofit organization dedicated to building the future of Jewish learning in an open and participatory way.

And:

For the Jewish people, our texts are our collective inheritance. They belong to everyone and we want them to be available to everyone, in the public domain or with free public licenses. Whether it’s copying a page of text for your classroom or downloading our entire database for research and new projects, you’ll enjoy unfettered access to the canon.

The original founders are Joshua Foer, and Brett Lockspeiser, both of whom are Jewish. Lockspeiser was one of Forward's top 50 most influential American Jews.

Sefaria exists precisely because as you said, Jews value education.

"Ideally it would have been shared with you."

Okay but: My rabbis use Sefaria and pass out Sefaria sheets. So the odds are high this would've still been the method I was told in? And maybe I was told and forgot. Yes, we have a copy of the Talmud in the library at shul, but Sefaria is infinitely more portable and easier to cross reference.

Lots of people can save hundreds or thousands of dollars to invest in a personal and complete Jewish library including the Shulchan Arukh and Talmud for home study, but I am not one of them. Instead I use the $0 Jewish virtual library that everyone from academics to Jewish educators to rabbis to idk...Jewish camps — uses.

Also i really love how antisemites are like "the talmud is a secret text the jews hide from us that teaches them how to cheat christians" when the talmud is freely publicly accessible in its entirety and is like "does it count as something going from the private to the public domain if you throw it from your window into somebody else's window and it never touches the ground" and "Rabbi Yochanan said that Rabbi Yishmael, son of Rabbi Yosei, had a massive cock. The size of Rabbi Yochanan's cock was smaller than Rabbi Yishmael's, but the exact size is up for debate. Both sides agree that it was pretty huge, too, though."

[solarbatterystorage]

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Continue reading...

[loeoclerk]

Best solar company

solar panel have become a critical way to generate renewable energy. As more and more people wake up to environmental concerns and switch towards sustainability, solar power is a promising alternative for generating electricity for both homeowners and businesses. Selecting the best Solar Companies Boulder entails a complicated process in which you need to look at various factors.

It’s critical to thoroughly assess a solar installer in order to map the ideal one for your needs. But, with hundreds of solar companies available, how would you choose? Let’s start with some tips for how you can identify the best and the perfect solar company for your solar investment.

Get Multiple Quotations from Solar Companies

For solar installations, different Solar Companies Boulder charge varying fees. Some companies even compete with each other over prices. And for charging fees, the simple and most straightforward method is by charging over cost-per-watt. You may obtain a better sense of price and a baseline to evaluate the top solar companies by receiving various quotations.

Choose an Expert Company

The company you put your faith in for installing a solar panel system should hold expertise in the field. If the solar company has cleared its certification test and has at least two years of hands-on experience in solar or a similar industry, is up to the standards. The Solar Revolution experts are qualified to fully evaluate your home to maximize your return on investment by switching to solar.

Check Out Reviews, Testimonials, and References

One of the best ways to understand what it’s like to work with a company is to hear from the people who already have it. Check out their reviews on SolarReviews.com and Google. Ask them for a list of customers or references. Look to businesses, friends, and family for recommendations.

Check Certifications and Experience

Have a check on the experience of the solar company as a long-term established company prioritizes their client’s requirements. Also, check their previous work records as it signifies their expertise in the industry. So, choose a company holding certifications and licenses with a base of satisfied clients.

Take a look at how we compare to other solar companies Boulder! Explore our approach to solar on our About Us page and listen to what our customers have to say in our Google Reviews.

[formalpeacaps]

2/14/24 Recap Part One

Good morning, my beautiful, wonderful chickadees, I’m back! We’re all back! We’ve missed some things, haven’t we? Unfortunately all my old recaps are gone, but don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson and now am writing all of them in Google Docs, which means that Paige can delete the entire sub, she can delete videos I’m writing about, but I will always, always have receipts, and I will continue to pop up, like a very persistent little fungus. 

Anyway, I refuse to recap Paige being incoherent in the Bahamas as a birthday gift to her, and as soon as I finished this of course Paige posted another vlog, but let’s start with last week’s vlog and work our way into this week’s, shall we?

A “florida for the winter” vlog

I don’t know “why” this title “needed” “quotations”

Nine seconds in, and 1.75 fonts. It’s all one font technically, but she changes the color and if it’s italic or not three times.

Paige is hosting dinner. Paige is wearing all black in Florida because she’s “a cold person”. I think what she means is that she’s always freezing due to a lack of body fat, but I would accept that she’s also kind of cold emotionally speaking. That seems like an accurate statement as well.

Paige complains about getting a blowout because she “never feels like herself” when she gets her hair done like that, which begs the question why she pays money to get her hair done like that. Also I find it funny that as Paige says, “when my hair looks good it just doesn’t feel right”

We’ve seen your $20 Amazon extensions, Paige, we know.

Paige makes sure to let us all know she’s sending PR slippers from Rao’s tomato sauce, because heaven forbid we don’t know she gets free things in the mail as a very important influencer.

Paige makes dinner for Tommy’s - sorry, their friends. (You can tell it’s actually Tommy’s friends because it’s all guys, they refuse to acknowledge Paige or her camera, and several of them aren’t white.) Dinner is the world’s most basic cheese board, spicy rigatoni, grilled meats, and a salad, because our girl is a one trick pony. Oh, and her single dessert (banana pudding) afterwards.

The dressing recipe takes us up to 2.75 fonts and it’s just multiple types of mustard and multiple types of vinegar.

We also get to see a new DB glassware sample and it looks so weird? It’s shaped like an upside down coke bottle, but it has mason jar threading? This makes no sense

Look, okay, hi. I’ve looked into Paige’s demographic and I know that she could release a literal dog turd but put a white hydrangea next to it and her 2,000 die-hard sorority girl fan squad would buy it and they don’t care. I understand that none of these girls whose frontal lobes have not fully developed grew up watching Antiques Roadshow with their mom. But I did and I am bothered because glassware is made into certain shapes for REASONS, design elements like threading for a lid exist for REASONS, also I can tell just by the weight and clarity of it that glass is probably mostly plastic and it would feel wrong if you clicked your nails against it. Again, I understand, I’m not the target demographic. I know no one else cares, this is a nitpick, blah blah blah. But between you and me, as someone who gets very into nerdy minutiae about material design and history, I’m bothered. Had to just throw that out there.

IT HAS LIKE A RUBBERIZED LID WITH A PLASTIC STRAW IN IT BUT THEN WHY DOES IT HAVE THE THREADING THAT LOOKS SO WEIRD AAAAAAAAAAAAH

If you’re also weird about this stuff you can DM me and we can read Bill Bryson’s At Home together and discuss this in further neurodivergent niche interest detail

After dinner is over and everyone’s gone Paige and Tommy pretend that they’re cute and into each other but as always just come across as middle schoolers trying to prove that they’re very cool and like the opposite gender now

Okay I’m calling it, it’s the same font but now it’s in yet ANOTHER color and italicized so we’re officially up to 3 fonts now. 2.99 fonts? 3 fonts.

The next day, Paige “works” (puts on her AirPod Maxes and does Woman Laughing At Salad at her screen on what we’re led to believe are business calls) and then blathers on about all her brand deals. Two things about this. One: her face is so disconcertingly shiny. Like she looks like an overly waxed cafeteria apple, or like if you touched her face it would make the new sneakers on a gym floor squeak. Why is she so shiny? Second of all, maybe because I don’t follow influencers, but I have never found an influencer who talks so much and so inorganically about their brand deals. Paige never misses an opportunity to be like, hello, I have a BRAND DEAL, did I mention there’s an upcoming BRAND DEAL, soon I’m going to have a BRAND DEAL and yet somehow never legally discloses ads in a very Mikayla Nogueira fashion. The result is both technically illegal and yet deeply inauthentic feeling so it’s like not even worth the FEC violation. My memory is faulty because I simply do not care, but considering how bad Paige is at doing the one thing she’s supposed to do, it doesn’t exactly surprise me that I think the only people Paige has worked with repeatedly over a long span of time are brands that will work with literally anyone (Mejuri, Intermissi, Revolve), Revlon makeup, Frankie’s bikinis, PJ Place, and maaaaaaybe Butcher Box and Thrive Market? Speaking of -

Not legally disclosed Thrive Market sponsorship! Paige eats three entire chips with salsa to prove she’s a girl’s girl who totally eats normal amounts. Paige claims she needs to subscribe to this company to get her Poppi fix in the boonies of “not being outside a major city” in Florida but Poppi had an ad during the Super Bowl and is in my local Shaw’s (that’s New England’s big basic regional grocery store chain, like equivalent to a Roche Brothers or Market Basket or Kroegers or whatever) AND Whole Foods, so that doesn’t strike me as… correct.

Tommy decides he wants stir fry so they go to Whole Foods and Paige makes “Asian-inspired peanut sauce stir fry”, I assume to bait me into screaming at her. [NOTE: there used to be now-deleted rant about Asian cooking that I have edited out in post production because Tumblr says it makes this text block too long and lol who cares] I don’t like being this person because the idea of “authentic” cuisine is bullshit and gatekeeping, and so if you, a normal-ass person, like your Americanized Paige style stir-fry, you can keep your Americanized Paige style stir-fry. But if you’re cosplaying as a food influencer and great chef and claiming to make the food of another culture, it’s just basic respect to actually try and understand what the fuck you’re doing and make clear to your audience where you’re adding your own twists.

Love to play my favorite game, Guess Why Paige’s Followers Are 99.99% White Sorority Girls/Former Sorority Girls Challenge

Paige doesn’t vlog for a fascinating day of filming ads and watching Tommy fish (oh no!!!) and then lays out in the sun and philosophizes on how zen and calm she is in Florida because of the weather and because Tommy’s a “super grounding person”. As she says this Tommy screams and hits her with the hose and she adds in font number four “So grounding <3”. Before Paige and Tommy go to the beach for him to surf and her to film people without consent on her drone, she rhapsodizes about citrus season and how oranges are better than candy.

“It’s eighty degrees at the beach and I’m wearing a sweatshirt. I’m probably the only girl in Florida to do this. I don’t know if you can relate to this but if there’s a slight breeze, the hoodie’s going on” - Yeah weird it’s almost like what happens when you don’t eat enough or have a proper amount of fat on your body????? You’re cold??? Even when you shouldn’t be??? Like that’s not a cute little girly thing it’s a symptom you need to be eating more???? ANYWAY.

Paige pretends to care about manatees and them getting hurt by boats but I would also bet she and Tommy go on the exact type of boats that hurt manatees all the time.

Paige body checks herself in a Free People Movement outfit (undisclosed PR from Australia!) and then they play tennis and eat… Mashed potatoes and gravy? Sure.

New font in the end credits (yellow on a puke-y olive background) which brings this video’s font count up to five.

[EDITOR'S NOTE - the second vlog I recapped is in part two, there's a character limit.]

[anothershittyaccount]

I was talking about how many times I stalked and I said my number was 4 and I mentioned a middle school bf, a high school gf, a high school hook up and her. And basically she was like add two to the list, the total is six, basically referring to the scammers. So I started asking how she would quantify stalking, like how many inquiries about a person during a certain duration and she got all huffy and then I thought about it and I was like I feel like looking up daily is ohviously stalking and looking up weekly is also stalking and even looking up monthly is stalking but basically if you look up someone every 2 months or like 6 times a year that's not really stalking. And then she kept on telling me I stalked them and I'm like Google searching somebody's name with quotations around it doesn't freaking make it stalking. And then she starts being like you just want to fight with me, blah blah blah. Anyway, came home and looked and basically I looked up india 3 times this year, all in the first 2 weeks of January and I looked him up 5 times in December, all after December 18th when we were on vacay in the islands with my family when she sent me his passport info so according to my standard that's less than 6 times a year. And then I looked up tunisia 3 times, one time this year and 2 times in December. So is Google searching someone's name stalking? I think not. Like looking at a person's LinkedIn profile is not stalking, that is a rudimentary Google search, especially if you are only doing it a handful of times a year. Additionally I feel like searching people online is a lot different than reaching out to someone's family or friends and inquiring about them on their behalf, that's fucking stalking...not a fucking Google search but sure what the fuck ever. Also I seriously burned myself in class with an oil splash so that sucks.

[theghostus]

Day 365

I'm writing this early for once. Sorry, I've been busy lately. Too much stuff going on. I miss writing my stories, though. They keep playing in my head, but not enough to make me sit down and do it.

So what's been happening?

Finally, the renovation is upon us. Mum's money is released, and a portion of it is to her CPF (just google this, okay? Not in the mood to explain everything); trying to get a contractor was really annoying. Had a well-known one come down, and it was okay, but a simple reno is expensive. The other one my friend recommended, but I didn't like his attitude. After a 4 out of 5 quotation, I settled to 1. One of them asked why they weren't chosen, and I said, "I was surprised they didn't do a site visit, " hinting the rest did. To me, if they bothered about the things they do, they would come down. Felt as though with my so-called budget, I was looked down upon. Pity her colleague would be more successful elsewhere than being with many lazy people.

Next year would be the start of a new look for my house. The feeling was bittersweet, and part of me wished what the fuck did I get myself into? I needed to find a place to crash for about 2 weeks or so. Place 2 stays relatively close to my workplace and is easy to go to, especially since I'm on the morning shift. And it won't cost a cent since they're family. However, it was hard for my mum to go to her daycare. I don't have a reply since they just returned from overseas. Place 2 is pretty much a dream come true: staying in a hotel. They have a room available, but it will cost an arm and a leg. It's easy for Mum to go to her daycare, but it costs me a ton of money on Grab.

And so that's the majority of my life. While volunteering and working, I would rather chill and sleep than watch movies (or write).

As for Le Bf, he obviously doesn't care today or tomorrow is quite a special day because he so used to be working on such holidays that he does not see the significance. I mean, even in the hospital he works don't tell me no one celebrates these things??

Sometimes, I wish he had paid me some attention. Weekends he spends on either his family or volunteering. He wouldn't meet me if we did not need to meet. Yes, I know he tries to help me around the house like he paid for the sun blockers (I paid an extra 200 for my living room), the door stopper, and the shelves in my bathroom.

Sometimes, just sometimes...I wish he's like other boyfriends. Celebrate meaningful days together.

Side note: Suddenly very late evening, I felt a sense of someone missing me terribly. It was strong enough that I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt so sad. Or maybe I saw the movie that triggered me.

Happy New Year, you filthy animals. Hope 2024 doesn't fuck us up too much.