#when i set deadlines for myself it's like i know the person who set these deadlines and ik she's a mess. doesn't matter if i flub them

[byoldervine]

Why You Should ‘Make Yourself’ Write (And How To Do It)

Most people who write for a hobby - especially the neurodivergent crowd - will write whenever they’re inspired, and many will be able to get an insane amount of writing done in one go, but then there’s a good while of writer’s block and low motivation/inspiration in between those bursts of creativity. You can see forcing yourself to write as something irrelevant to you; it’s just a hobby, so why burn yourself out forcing yourself to do it until it’s no longer fun?

The reason people say this, even for hobbyists, is so that you have some level of consistent progress; relying on random spikes in creativity or convenient hyperfocus isn’t a sustainable plan when it can either leave you burnt out after or leave you at a creative dead end for weeks or months between actual writing sessions

If you write consistently, you make progress consistently, so it’s good practice to make a habit out of using writing goals to keep you on track. Maybe you work best writing X amount of words, or maybe you prefer to write for X amount of time. Maybe you want to meet this goal every day, or maybe every few days, or maybe every week, or so on. I’m personally on 1000 words per week, and despite my autistic brain that thought I’d never be able to set and keep a consistent goal, I’ve been able to stick to it for nearly six months now. I also know people who are on 10 minutes per day, 100 words per week, 500 words every three days, 5000 words per month, etc

For me, being able to keep track of this not only means I get to see consistent progress being made, but it’s actually been really encouraging to see that word count go up so often and I’ve found that it motivates me to keep up with it. I’ve really enjoyed getting to work on this and having a minimum amount of progress per week really helps me feel like this is something real and something that’s slowly but surely going to be complete soon enough

Give it a try; say to yourself “if I want to achieve this goal, how long do I reasonably need to give myself to do it?” and have a go. After a few cycles it starts to register in your brain that, hey, you’re actually getting something done and being productive and watching that word count going up every day/week/etc! And don’t be afraid to change up your goal and your deadline if you think you’re not being challenged enough or if you’re starting to get burnt out on it - I’d consider it burning out when it’s consistently feeling less like a fun activity and more like a chore you have to do. It should still be fun!

[kbspangler]

This is the public statement from @alepresser and myself which went up at Webtoons tonight.

Now for some ranting. Just from me, not from Ale—she's innocent of the art crimes I've committed in the past, and boy howdy have I committed art crimes.

This is the first page of my first webcomic, A Girl and Her Fed. I started this thing back in 2006. (I don't actually need a head count of those reading this who weren't yet born in 2006. I'm sure you're delightful and I wish you well in college.)

And this is the last page I drew in early 2020 before I turned art duties over to Dr. Beer. It's better, right?

Well, these days, A Girl and Her Fed has pages like this:

I drew this comic for fourteen fucking years because it's a story I wanted to tell, and I thought webcomics were the perfect format for it. I didn't know how to draw. I got better through sheer obstinate perseverance and sticking to deadlines as best I could for, again, fourteen fucking years. I sought out a replacement artist when I ran into time constraints and couldn't do art plus writing anymore; I'm a much better writer than an artist, so I had no problems whatsoever kicking art to the curb.

The first time Ale sent me art that would go up on the website—art I hadn't needed to draw myself—I literally cried in relief because I had been grinding myself down for, yet again, fourteen fucking years.

So when I read comments from people who say they want to make a webcomic but can't draw themselves and therefore need to resort to AI, that little line between my eyes gets dangerously deep.

This isn't like I'm some old dude who's bitching over student loans getting cancelled after making regular payments. This is me, someone who threw raw art onto the internet like a monkey hurling fresh poo, because I wanted to make a webcomic and the art is part of the process of storytelling via webcomics! I could've (arguably should've) hired an artist right out of the gate, and that would've been part of the process of making comics, too: a partnership between an artist and a writer is also something which grows and develops over time.

For example, after Dr. Beer and I spent two years working on AGAHF, we decided we enjoyed our partnership so much that we set out to make another webcomic! It's great! It's got wonderful art and consistent storytelling! You should read it!

But turning art duties over to unaltered images generated by AI because you want to make a webcomic but "just can't draw" is, frankly, a bullshit excuse. I'm not talking about persons who are physically unable to draw due to disability—I'm talking about people who say they want to make webcomics but simply don't wanna do the art part.

Friends, if you don't want to show your entire ass in front of God and country, you don't actually want to make a webcomic.

Do the thing yourself.

If you're scared, don't be. Take the plunge. Set a goal of twenty strips and do the thing yourself. If you can already draw but can't write? Great! Write twenty strips, write forty panels, etc. You might surprise yourself. If you can write but can't draw? Great! Draw twenty panels and see what happens.

Whatever comes out of it, it's a thing you've done yourself. It's something new you've given to the world, no matter how big or small. Be proud of that. And if you need to partner with someone else to make your comic dreams work? You can do that, too! It's still a thing you've done yourself, and many projects are stronger when done together.

...but maaaaaaaaaybe hire that partner before you've busted your own ass for fourteen fucking years. That one's on me.

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

[melien]

CORNELIA ARCHER’S BC (attempt 2.0...)

I announced this BC almost three years ago but overestimated myself with the ambition and just wasn't in a good place mentally in the following months (to put it mildly), but now I feel like I've missed projects like this a lot and am still vibing with the idea of this BC. Also my ts3 is running so much better now, which was one of the initial reasons for cancellation, but now it's a lot easier for me, woo!

Before it got cancelled, I've got a few contestants. I think some of them were given for public download since, but it's really not a problem for me, I can still use them. Right now I'm thinking of still using the same contestants and maybe accepting a few more. I also asked a few people on discord who said it's fine to use the same sims.

In case someone would like to join and make a contestant, let me know under this post or in an ask! The catch of the BC is that the contestant should be based on a song/album (of any artist), as Cornelia herself is very Taylor Swift inspired and is a Lover girlie, actually made on the singer's 30th birthday in 2019 as a tribute sim (she and the winner may even appear in the Lover gen of my swiftacy if I get there hehe) (yes I'm an absolutely hopeless swiftie, all of my saves have some inspo from her) (and what about it).

I don't know how many sims I would accept (11 would be perfect... I'd dress her as one of the eras for every episode). But it would be fine for me if I got less than that, realistically the simblr climate isn't the same as back when BCs were more popular, I guess.

Contestants:

@vintageplumbobs - Lucy Starr

@poisonfireleafs - Laura Oak

@dragonplumbobs - Carson Lake

@cloudberry-sims - Aella Wonders

@tosimornottosim - Ivalace Goldchild

@arogaba - Sara Nix

@berriespunches - Lara Mooney

@blurrypxls

@bellakenobi - Lilian Pendragon

@kithlien - Laken Dahl

Rules:

Your sim must be YA vanilla or banilla.

All genders are welcome. Cornelia is pansexual.

Occults allowed (except ghosts)

No Irresistible trait, please.

CC is allowed, though don’t go overboard with it. I mostly use Chazy/Poisonfireleafs hair retextures, and I may change makeup and eyebrows to similar ones because I like keeping everything in my style, unless it’s something that makes the sim unique and is a part of them.

No custom sliders, please.

I have all the packs. You may set all outfits for your sim so they can match their color scheme, but it’s fine if you can’t.

Private download, but it's okay if you decide to make it public (to those who already made it public, don't stress).

Please write a bio for your sim. It doesn’t have to be long, just basics of their personality.

The most important aspect of this BC: it’s not a regular one, it’s a music-inspired BC. Therefore, your sim must be inspired by a certain song, music video, artist, or music album - it could be whatever you wish! (absolutely no pressure if you can't think of anything and would just want to make a regular sim, but I just thought it would be a fun prompt)

The deadline for making a sim is September 30 (flexible). The faster I get all the sims, the better, but no pressure!

[lilacliquors]

pairing: homelander x reader

word count: 859

notes: on the seventh day of ficmas, lilacliquors gave to me ... a second chance meeting with homelander!

meeting homelander once was purely on accident. you had no idea how it happened, but you were just in the same place at the same time. it was a fancy vought event, and you had been brought along as your friend’s plus one since your now ex boyfriend canceled a trip with you last minute. so, eager to impress, you dressed to the nines and happily joined your friend. and that was when you bumped into him.

you spent hours talking, and it was like he was hanging onto your every word. but the night wasn’t getting any younger, and it was soon time for you to leave. you won’t lie, you wanted so badly for him to invite you back to his place, but instead, he insisted that you take him number. you didn’t even know supes had phone numbers. sure, they were active on social media, but your friend worked in the vought social media department, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out no supe ran their one socials. but this felt different, like a secret you needed to keep close to your chest. and you kept it safe and sound.

however, you hardly had the time to even try and ring the number. that meeting was last winter, and it was a full year later. he had tried to catch up with you several times, inviting you to vought functions as an anonymous admirer, but something always seemed to come up. you had a deadline to meet one night, a funeral the next time, and for vought’s halloween party, your car had the audacity to die on you. and your costume looked so good, too! but now, it was christmas time, and the city was bright and full of cheer. and truthfully, you loved this time of year. it filled you with a warmth that you couldn’t quite describe, but this year, you felt like a quiet christmas by yourself was deserved.

instead of racing around like a mad person to prepare a meal for everyone, you gave your friends and family that you wouldn’t be traveling much this holiday season. of course, you went to a nearby christmas party your friends were hosting, but on christmas day, you planned to stay firmly put in your apartment, cozy in your pajamas with a warm mug of cocoa and cheesy holiday movies on the tv. and that was how you spent your whole day. the snow outside was calming, the lights twinkled across the city, and yet, something still felt off.

and that was when you realized that you had forgotten part of the ingredients you needed to finish making your christmas dinner. your eyes widened, and you smacked your forehead with a groan. so much for lounging in pajamas all day. it was time to get dressed and hurry out to the one store you knew would be open on the holiday. and when you entered, it was nearly empty, save for a few other last minute shoppers. you waved hello to the clerk at the counter, and you set off hunting for the things you needed. you grabbed a basket from the front and began to fill it, but when you reached for a can of cranberry sauce, another hand bumped yours, and you were quick to pull back.

“sorry about tha—” you said, but when you looked up, you almost gasped. 

homelander was in the store? just … out shopping? like a normal person?

“oh no, don’t be. here, take it, i insist,” he said, pulling the can from the shelf and setting it into your basket with a smile. you were clearly stunned, and he chuckled quietly.

“what, can’t a guy who saves the world on a regular basis just come out and try to be normal every so often?” he asked, and you laughed quietly.

“sorry, sorry. i just … it’s so strange to see you here. i’m really sorry we haven’t been able to catch up … all year,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm up.

“oh, it’s all right. shit happens, things go ass up, life is unpredictable. but … it’s good to see you,” he said, then looked around. “you here by yourself?”

“oh, yeah. christmas by myself this year. too much craziness, i needed a breather,” you replied, and he nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

“i envy you, truly. can’t remember the last time i had a break,” he murmured, and it dawn on you that … he was looking for an invitation.

“oh, well, um … you’re more than welcome to … come take a break with me,” you said, and you swore his whole face lit up.

“really? it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“not at all. it’ll just be us two. come on … maybe christmas doesn’t have to be so quiet this year after all.”

you paid for your groceries and held out a hand to him, which he took with a soft smile. and together, you left the store, with a few heads turning in your directions. maybe christmas magic and miracles were a real thing after all.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I don't want to contribute to paying for furniture for the house?

1/3/2024, Names changed. Sorry, this is a little long.

I (26) live with three roommates: Kay (22) who is my sister, Sam (22) who is Kay's high school sweetheart and fiancé, and Andy (25) who is Kay and Sam's best friend. All of us are autistic, queer, and neurodivergent in some way or another.

Background info; Kay, Sam, and Andy had had plans to move in together for several years with Andy moving cross country to do so. Kay and I both moved out of our parents house within a month of each other in Summer 2022, with Kay and Sam moving in together, and me moving into an apartment by myself. Early 2023 due to issues with my apartment and landlord and being unable/unwilling to stay there past my lease when it was up in six months, with some encouragement from our mother Kay asked if I wanted to move in with the three of them because Kay and Sam's lease was up around the same time mine was and they were already planning on getting a bigger place to live with Andy when he got here. Due to the aforementioned apartment troubles and having a hard time mentally living alone for the first time, I accepted. We found a small house and the four of us moved in Summer 2023.

Now we've butted heads a good bit the last couple months (especially me and Andy because we had barely known each other before moving in together and we have very different personalities), including a few very loud fights, but we have thus far managed to eventually talk it out and work it out and kept things mostly under control. I admit, there have been times where I was definitely the asshole in situations, but I've acknowledged that, apologized, and tried to improve my behavior since then. Anyway, this ask isn't about all those times.

A lot of my issues in the household stem from my depression and lack of motivation to get things done. A big contributing factor to that is that I am painfully aware I wasn't part of their original plan, and that leads to me not feeling wanted as part of this house. The three of them often do things without me like playing D&D, and hanging out/going fun places without me, while things I want to do with all of them just kinda never happens, like playing a video game or board game with one of them, or going out somewhere fun I want to go. Some of me not being included is completely justified like Kay and Sam's date nights, and some things while they do still sting a bit to be excluded from make sense why (like their D&D games that can get very NSFW, and I'm a sex-repulsed asexual. also being Kay's sister would make it extremely awkward regardless of my sexuality. I only found out about the NSFW nature of their games two weeks ago though), but certain things it doesn't feel like as good a reason for me to not be included or it's not actually communicated to me why I'm not invited to be part of something.

A REALLY big thing that contributed to these feelings I have was the day we got the keys to our house, as Kay and Andy were showing it to me, Kay told me "Just so you know, this isn't permanent. You're going to get your own place again eventually" with a soft deadline of two years because that's when another of their friends graduates college and might need a place to stay after. Over the last few months we have had several conversations about my feelings of being unwanted and Kay has apologized saying that what she meant that day came out wrong. What she meant by that statement was they all want to help me become more independent so that I will be able to move out and live on my own again one day when I'm ready since the first time didn't go so well. They were not/are not planning to kick me out, and the other friend moving in is just an idea that may not even come to fruition anyway. Even if it was partially a misunderstanding and there is no set time I need to be out of the house by, knowing that there is an end in sight has made it much harder for me to settle in because I don't feel like I can get settled since I'll just have to leave again at some point anyway even if that time is literal years away. Sorry if that doesn't make sense but that's the best way I can phrase it.

With all that background out of the way, I'll get back on track now. Kay and Andy have spent months planning on how to decorate the house and want to make the whole first floor (kitchen, living room, and shared craft space in the front room) themed like a medieval tavern. I haven't been able to give much input on how the house gets decorated outside of my own room. I've been trying to at least make my bedroom feel more homey since it's where I spend a lot of my time, but the common areas are much harder for me to feel comfortable and like I belong in because I don't have much control/input in how they will look. Which again, I know I'm not going to be here super long term, so it makes sense but it still sucks.

Now onto the actual situation here. There is a dining table set that Kay and Andy picked out that costs over $400 that Kay said on 12/25 she wants us all four to pitch in to get for the household for her birthday in a couple months. I am hesitant to contribute to this set, because I am not going to live with them forever. Obviously I pay my part to the household. I pay my fair share of rent, utilities, and food (though I will often make mini grocery runs throughout the week and I rarely if ever ask for money I spent back because I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them). I have already contributed towards furniture for the house but that is either things that are explicitly and exclusively mine despite household use (a tv stand I already had, a bookshelf I bought to display my things) and will come with me when I move out, or something that was a gift for someone else but still not ridiculously expensive (a $40 secondhand curio cabinet the rest of us got for Kay as an early Christmas present and various other small decorations for around the house).

There was another interaction today that has me a little upset. We've been thinking of getting a second TV for the living room so we can play online co-op games together. Who pays for the TV, determines who gets to keep the new one and who takes the old one when I leave. If the three of them want to keep the new TV, they're going to split the cost and I get the old one, however if I want the new TV I will have to pay for the whole thing myself. 1 person vs 3 people paying for something just feels unfair to me.

But the dining set feels different because it's a lot of money and I won't get to take any part of it with me when I eventually leave. With the TV I'd at least get to keep it. I feel guilty about not wanting to help pay for it, especially because Kay has said she wants it as a birthday gift, but if it almost feels like I'm just buying furniture for someone else's house. Honestly, I'll probably end up sucking it up and contributing anyway because I really don't like confrontation and tend to keep my feelings to myself anyway, but I just want to know other people's opinion on the situation.

Money has been a growing issue for me lately. I'm the only one with a stable, salaried job (barely pays above minimum wage though so it's not like I'm rolling funds), while Kay and Sam are hourly and Andy is between jobs right now. Like I said, I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them. Honestly I don't mind paying a little extra here and there to help out since I'm not much help with the cooking and cleaning, but the amount I have been contributing with no compensation has been eating away at my savings the last few months and I've been keeping silent about it because I don't want to make them feel guilty about it and make it awkward.

TLDR; I'm insecure and have trouble feeling wanted around by my roommates, and am expected to eventually move out. WIBTA if I don't want to help buy a dining set for the household because I won't get to take any part of it with me when I move out?

PS- If it's not too much trouble, could you please tag @aita-roommates-furniture so I am notified when this gets posted? Tumblr won't let me submit asks from a sideblog. If not, no worries! I'll just keep an eye out for it

What are these acronyms?

[garciaasfluffypen]

bright beginnings pt. 11

pairing: single dad!joseph quinn x fem!reader 

wc: 1.3k 

warnings: grace is still being sneaky teehee

a/n: hi so i'm going to try and write more for this now that grad school has slowed down but i'm not going to give myself a set timeline with a deadline because that really took away my want to write so uuuuuuh yeah ok enjoy :)

part 10 • part 12

“there’s no fucking way you’re going out to tea with her. you’re shitting me.”

“it’s real, it's happening, now help me pick out an outfit so i don’t show up looking like a pile of trash.”

jordan dramatically rolled her eyes. “you look fine.”

“you’re my cousin you have to say that.”

“no i don’t. i could easily call you a bloody wanker and tell you your bra doesn’t match that shirt at all.”

a pause. “you’re right. it doesn’t.”

discarded shirts that were a problem for later y/n were scattered on the floor around you, having tried on half of your closet to try and figure out what to wear. after talking for a bit last night, you and grace decided to go get some tea when she got out of her class, which meant you had approximately twenty minutes before you had to leave to go to LAMDA and meet up with your boss's best friend. you still couldn’t believe it was happening, if you were being honest. from getting the friend request to agreeing to go out all within the timespan of roughly an hour. but you were doing it, and probably shouldn’t back out.

“i should back out.”

“nuh-uh. give me your phone. you’re going out.”

“jordan!” you whined dramatically. “what if this doesn’t work out. what if she’s a catfish?”

“then you’ll die.”

“don’t tell me that!” you threw a balled up pair of socks at jordan’s head. “i’m already nervous.”

“why would you be nervous? we’ve already established she’s a real person.”

“yeah, but she could be a secret sociopath.”

“how’d she ask you to tea?”

“something along the lines of ‘girl i have so much to tell you about joe. wanna get tea tomorrow?’ and i mean like… i should have said no, right? this is weird. i shouldn’t go. she’s going to gossip to me about my boss!”

“that you’re clearly crushing on. i bet you ten bucks and a bottle of svedka that she’s trying to set you two up.”

“i doubt that.”

“mmm i wouldn’t doubt that too much. oh wait, no, not the green. nope. wait, is that my shirt?”

you finally settled on a simple plain gray top and some jeans, accenting it with a coat since it was starting to get the slightest bit chilly outside. you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your keys, yelling out to your aunt that you were heading out for a bit and that you’d be back later. fifteen minutes later you found yourself at LAMDA, searching for the little coffee and tea shop that grace had told you about. you were met with the face of a smiling blonde and automatically felt a sense of relief. she was who she said she was and wasn’t a catfish. the two of you found a little table in the back after ordering your coffees, sitting down and starting to chat about everything and anything. before you knew it, you were bantering like you were two best friends doing a monthly tea spill session. it was all so natural and easy, and you knew exactly why joe and the twins seemed to think so highly of her.

“okay, so, i’m going to be very blunt real quick. the reason i got you here is because joe has a major crush on you and i want to set you guys up on a date.”

you were so glad you weren’t sipping at your latte.

“you like him too, right? this is going to be real awkward if you don’t.”

“no no, i do. it’s just that… he’s my boss? and the other girls might think it's weird and-”

“oh not you too!” grace dramatically put her head in her hands. “screw what society thinks. you guys mesh together like bread and butter and the twins like you. and you like him. and he likes you. so you need to kiss. please. he needs someone, you need someone, it's a perfect match.”

“if you think so.”

“i know so. he hasn’t stopped talking about you. neither have the twins.”

“he talks about me?”

“all the time.” grace smiled. “and i bet he’s been on your mind too.”

your cheeks turned red. “maybe.”

“listen. i’m not usually one to meddle in joe’s love life. he’s his own person and i respect that wholeheartedly. however, he’s down bad and if y’all don’t do something about it soon i think he might combust.”

“i doubt he’ll combust.” you chuckled. “he cares about the daycare too much to leave it high and dry.”

“you’re not wrong there.” grace smiled. “he really cares about you. like, a lot. all i want is for him to be happy.”

“i do too. want him to be happy, i mean.” you started to stumble over your words. “i just don’t want it to get weird at work when the girls find out, yanno? like what if they don’t take it the right way?”

“then they’re idiots.” grace shrugged. “joe really likes you. i promise. like, a lot a lot. so i’m here to just… nudge you two in the right direction.”

you chuckled. “i think it might take a lot of nudging for both of us.”

“then i’ll just slowly nudge you two for however long it takes.” grace popped a grape into her mouth. “starting with him.”

the two of you chatted for roughly another hour before grace had to head to class, leaving you to hop on the bus and head back to your aunts. it also gave you time to think about everything that had happened in the past few months. falling in- well, you’d probably call it lusting over your boss. it was the last thing you ever expected to happen to you. there was part of you that knew this was the universe telling you that it was okay to go through with admitting your feelings to yourself. grace and jordan did have some good points as well, especially when it came to pointing out that it shouldn’t matter what other people thought about your relationship.

a relationship was between two people, sometimes more than that if they swung that way. you personally didn’t, but you knew some girls from college who dabbled in it. you had admired how easily they had let society's preconceived notions flow off of them like a waterfall- it was almost as if they weren’t even outwardly bothered by it. you had aspired to find yourself like that someday, being able to not have to worry about what people thought when they looked at you. it had been something you had wanted to work on for a while, and maybe it was time to start working on that.

you walked back into your aunts house and went to your room, curling up in your bed with the book you were reading currently. it wasn’t catching your attention, though, since your mind kept slipping back to joe. grace’s words of how he actually did like you flew through your mind, and it was becoming a little bit easier to accept the fact that the flirting was real and actually happening. it had been quite a bit of time since you had to deal with flirting, flirting was definitely not your strong suit, it took quite a bit of effort most times to find the right thing to say. but somehow it naturally came out when you were around joe. the ebb and flow of every conversation you two have had so far popped into the forefront of your mind, the dots slowly connecting that it was so much easier to talk to him than any other male you had ever met.

so maybe it wasn’t just lust you were dealing with.

maybe it was full blown feelings for joe.

oh.

[lakecountylibrary]

As a public librarian whose own library’s marketing is, not to put too fine a point on it, garbâge, I have to ask: How did y’all manage to get a tumblr account?? Our communications dept would *never* let us be that cool.

It went kind of like 'Hey. We should do more reader's advisory. It's great social media *checks notes* uh, content. Should be a blog since it's long form writing. No, I can manage it, it fits in my task list. Have you heard of Tumblr? No? Well it would be perfect, and it's free. Approved? Greatthanksbye!'

And then I ran and they haven't caught me yet.

Much longer answer under the cut, in case you're looking for tips to convince coms ⬇️

I'm the person who manages all of our online marketing, so I really only had to ask the director. The words "I'll manage it myself, no additional staff time" were also magical since... well, I'm the social media manager, they know I'm good for it (and that I'm not going to post something the library is going to have to make an embarrassed press release about later.)

The way I made the case for tumblr was by saying it's a spot to host staff recs/reviews that's not character limited, and we can link back to it from all of our other social media platforms. Our website isn't set up for blog-style posts so making a new page every time we wanted to rec a book would be hugely obnoxious. Plus tumblr's tagging system aids in discovery (you know, in theory) in a way our website couldn't.

Even if our book rec posts don't get many notes here on tumblr (they don't, with a few exceptions) posts with links back to tumblr do pretty well on our other platforms. So our benchmarking for tumblr doesn't look great on its own but it does improve our stats elsewhere, so it's worth keeping on - especially since the overhead on staff time is very low. Staff send in their book recs and reviews when they have something to say and a little time to write it up, no strict schedule or deadlines. I take care of all the formatting, proofreading, graphics, scheduling, and tagging myself.

Obviously we're doing more than just our rec posts - reblogging and answering asks and replying to posts where relevant, plus the occasional one-off non-book-rec post. Which is all, you know. Just being on tumblr. Gotta do our bit to keep the tumblr ecosystem healthy. If you want to convince a marketing department that's worthwhile, then it's raising brand awareness.

(Plus I really like tumblr and keeping the social media manager happy when she has to spend eight hours a day looking at the kind of nonsense people say to libraries on Facebook other social media sites is worth its weight in gold, though I may be biased. But getting to manage the tumblr at work is sort of like an oasis in my day.)

And then sometimes Neil Gaiman reblogs an addition we made on his post and suddenly everyone at work is very excited that someone has kept up the tumblr for all these years :D

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[kookieminsuga]

The Wolf and his Coyote - Part 3

Part 3 for you! This one is a little longer! Enjoy :)

Summary; Jungkook is the leader of the biggest biker gang in Korea. He is never interested in people unless they can benefit him in some way. That is until he runs into a girl who is the only person who appears to not be afraid of him. New to Korea, Amalia is an artist who spends most of her days working on her comics at her friend Minhyuks diner who also happens to be Jungkooks favourite hang out spot. What will happen when Jungkooks, a man who's heart seems to be frozen in ice, interest is peeked for the first time since he can remember?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Pairing: Gang leader jk x Tsundere, artist Amalia

Rating: 18+ do not interact if you are a minor!

Word count: 2.5k

Genre: Biker gang bts, action, romance, there will be smut down the line, angst, violence, humour.

Warnings: Flirting, Mentions of past, Mentions of smut (if you squint), sex dream, biting, marking, bruising, poverty, immigration.

Amalias pov:

Big hands run over my body, starting from around my neck, down the side of my chest. I gasp as I feel the sensation of lips and cold metal on my navel, making it’s way down, lower and lower, ever so slowly.

I feel myself losing control as I beg for more, running my hands through fluffy raven black hair. All I can think of is the feeling of those plush lips on my skin. Not even the fact that I don’t know who’s lips they belong to. 

Then I feel it on my inner thigh, teeth sinking into my skin and bruising it. I yelp at the sensation, still confused about the situation but not caring one bit due to the overwhelming pleasure. 

Just as they start approaching where I want them the most, I suddenly jerk up, blinking the blur out of my eyes. A dream. That’s all it was. 

I sigh as I sit there, in my bed, covered in sweat. 

“It’s been too long Lia.” I say out loud to myself. 

After shaking myself awake, I finally get out of bed. My deadline is coming up and I didn’t get much work done yesterday because of that thug at the diner. Today is going to be different. I still feel bad for Minhyuk tho, getting attacked in his own place. Maybe I should bring him some breakfast to cheer him up. 

Finishing up my morning routine, I start cooking my breakfast, making sure to make extra for Min. I know how much he dislikes the food at his own diner, tends to find it too greasy for his liking. Home cooked meals are what he lives for.

I pack up the food once it’s done and start making my way out. It smells delicious, I hope this cheers him up at least a little. 

As I step out into the alleyway, I turn the corner and head down the street. I notice the owner of my favourite ramen shop outside setting up his signs for the day.

“Hi Mr. Park! How’s your morning so far?” I say stopping next to him.

“Oh Lia! Good morning! It’s going great so far, how about you?” He responds.

“Good! Same as usual.” I say with a laugh. 

Mr. Park has been kind to me since I arrived here. When I first got here, I didn’t have much money to my name so all I could eat for meals was food from the convenience store. I always stopped by the shop tho, the smell of the delicious ramen pulling me in. I would watch from the outside with my stomach grumbling, wishing for just one bowl. 

One day, I had been looking as usual when Mr. Park had been outside. I had no idea he was the owner at the time, he was just sitting at one of the tables. 

“It looks delicious, doesn’t it?” I had said as I noticed his eyes on me.

“Why don’t you go inside and try it for yourself? I heard it’s the best ramen in town!” He had said with a small laugh.

“I wish. Unfortunately, I just moved to the country and can’t really afford meals like this. One day I will tho!” I replied, while smiling back.

“Well, If you’d like, you can go inside and pick something you like. It’s on me.” He replied.

I stared at him in shock, wondering why some random man was suddenly offering me food. It had made me a little uncomfortable and I guess it had shown on my face because he immediately followed up by telling me he was the owner and had noticed me looking into the shop several times before. Although I tried to refuse, he said I didn’t have a choice so I graciously accepted. It was the most delicious bowl of ramen I had ever tasted. 

After that, Mr. Park had fed me a couple times a week. At first I thought there would be some kind of catch as I was not used to being treated with such kindness but turns out it was all out of the kindness of an old mans heart.

I spoke to him for a little bit before heading out again to the diner. 

“Minhyukshiiiii!”, I call out as I arrived. 

He turns to look at me, from the door as he switches the sign from “Closed” to “Open”.

“Good morning nuna.” He responds with a soft smile. 

“Good morning to you.” I say as we both walk past the door. 

I go to my usual booth and set down my bag. I unzip it and pull out the meal I prepared. 

“I have a surprise for you!” I say, with the packed up food in hand, spinning on my heel and presenting it to him with a wide smile. 

He looks down at it, then back up, and a smile spreads across his lips.

“You cooked for me?” He asks.

“I did! I hope you like it!” I say, pushing it towards him.

“Thank you, I will if it’s your cooking.” He says as he takes it. 

“You’re welcome! I thought you might need a little pick me up after what happened yesterday.” I say as I roll my eyes with the thoughts of that thug. 

As I'm thinking of that, for some reason, his face pops into my mind. Not the thug, but the other one. Jet black hair and two lip rings. 

“Nuna, are you ok? You look like a tomato, are you sick?” Minhyuk reaches out to touch my forehead. 

A tomato? Why am I blushing? Why did his face appear in my mind and make me think of…

No. I must be crazy. I can’t think of some stranger like that. Especially not some cocky gangster. If there’s one thing I despise, It’s cocky people. I mean, I have to admit, he’s very good looking but the cocky attitude is such a turn off. It really has been too long.

“No.. no I’m fine, it’s nothing.” I say as I take a step back towards my booth. 

He looks at me seeming unsure but then just shrugs his shoulders and sits in front of me. 

We enjoy our meal together, talking about everything and nothing. until the customers start showing up, he stands and attends to them. The rest of the staff arriving an hour later as per usual. 

Minhyuk likes working alone to open the restaurant. He wants things set a certain way and doesn't trust anybody to do it the way he likes so he always comes in an hour early to prepare on his own. I call him my rock or rocky sometimes because of his personality. I’m all over the place while he’s set and steady. I love our friendship. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

The hours flew by as I sat there drawing on my tablet. Working on this series is demanding but very fun. The fans love it so even if it’s exhausting, I work hard for them. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

Jungkooks pov:

“Yeah, I’m headed there now.” I say to Yoongi on the phone.

“Ok, we’ll meet you in a couple hours. We have some things to take care of first.” He replies, knowing I know what “things” he means.

I hang up and get on my motorcycle. I start to head towards the diner for lunch. The fact that a member of the hummingbirds was on our turf is bad news. They all know we don’t step on each others land. Is he a rogue? Just doing it because he wants to? Is he a spy? Planted by Mr. Kim to keep an eye on me? Either way, I can’t just let this slide. My boys will take care of it. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving. 

I pull up to the diner and park my bike. Pulling off my helmet, I shake my hair to get rid of the helmet head. I sit there for a minute thinking of yesterday. Stop it Jungkook. You’re here for food. That’s it.

I step off my bike and head for the door, opening it and walking inside. Minhyuk greets me, as usual and my eyes just scan the place. They then fall on the girl, sitting in the same booth, seemingly lost in her thoughts, staring at the tablet on the table.

I smile and walk towards her booth. I stand next to her, her eyes not moving from the tablet. I take a peak and see beautiful artwork. What looks like a webtoon in the making. A guy with black hair and a lip ring being drawn. A speech bubble saying “And what if I said I love you?” Coming from this character that was half drawn. 

I laughed at the small resemblance and her eyes then shot up at me as she hurried to cover the screen.

“Well, hello again.” I said looking her in the eyes.

She just stared at me.

“I have to say, you draw very beautifully.” I say, meaning every word. 

She continues to just stare. 

“Is there something on my face?” I ask, bringing a hand up to touch my cheek.

“No, I’m just wondering why you’re talking to me.” She replies in a cold tone.

I pause, a little taken aback by her response. Should I really be surprised at this point?

“Is there a reason why I can’t?” I respond, feeling my lips pull up in a smirk.

“Apart from the fact that you don’t know me?” She questions.

“I mean, we can change that.” I say as I step forward and sit in the booth across from her.

“Hmm, I’m ok thanks. As you can see, I’m a little busy.” She says looking down at her tablet then back up at me.

This is the first time I’ve been rejected. 

“Well, how about when you’re not busy?” I say.

“I’m always busy.” She replies firmly.

Wow, gotta accept rejection Jungkook.

This girl is definitely interesting. I put my hands up in mock surrender.

“If you say so-‘ I stand and look down at her. ‘Have a nice day, pretty girl.” I say as I walk away to sit at another booth.

No means no. Even for me. However, this girl makes me want to keep trying.

Minhyuks pov:

I look from Jungkook, to Lia as they speak. I have no doubt that she won’t be interested based on how cocky Jungkook is. Knowing him and how competitive he is tho, he won’t just stop. However I also know he respects women, so it’s not like I have to step in. I watch her deny him just as I thought she would, and him walking away. From here I can’t hear what’s being said, however I do notice her blush as he walks away. I don’t like it one bit but it’s none of my business. She can do what she wants. 

My eyes follow him, my old friend, to the booth he chooses on the other side of the restaurant. I notice a smile on his face that looks different from his usual cocky grins. He looks deep in thought. Lia nunas attitude is not something he’s used to. 

As I look at him, I notice his eyes on me. He waves me over to his table. 

“What will it be Mr. Jeon?” I say taking out my pen and pad of paper to take his order.

“The usual, but also, sit I want to talk to you. Also, stop with the Mr. Jeon. We’re friends.” He says.

“We were friends.” I reply, emphasizing the past tense.

Jungkook and I grew up together. Our parents were close friends and so we also were friends growing up. Not just friends but brothers. Until that day. I can never look at him the same way.

“Common Minhyuk, I still don’t understand why you hate me so much. Anyways, just take a seat please.” He asks.

I sigh feeling resigned and take a seat across from him. I look back at Lia and notice her lost in her world of drawing as usual. I smile then look back at the man in front of me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“That girl over there, you said she’s your friend right?” He says.

“I did.” I respond.

“Is she always that cold?” He replies. 

This irritates me for some reason. Lia? Cold? Never. She is the warmest person I have ever met. Only to people she deems worthy however.

“That depends on who you are to her.” I simply say.

“So, no?” He catches onto my words quickly.

I stare at him unmoving. 

“Why doesn’t she like me? Am I not her type?” He asks me, sneaking a peak at her from across the restaurant. 

Actually speaking physically, he very much was her type. However Lia was always more focused on personality than looks. She might have liked the guy he used to be but she definitely would not like this version of him.

“Why should I help you?” I respond feeling annoyed.

“Oh common Minhyuk, I’m just asking as an old friend. You said she’s new to the area right? She must not have many friends. You know I’m not a bad person.” He said looking down at his hands on the table.

He’s right. Although I can’t forgive him for that day, I know that he’s not a bad person. He just does what he has to do. I can hate him all I want but Jungkook has been through hell and back. There is a reason he’s changed. Deep inside, that guy I grew up with is probably still in there.

“For the sake of our old friendship I’ll just tell you one thing Jeon. She hates your type.” I say honestly. 

“Oh now it’s just Jeon? How about Hyung like the old days?” He says smiling.

I stare at him unresponsive and he laughs.

“What exactly is my type?” He says a cocky grin on his face.

“The cocky type. The type that thinks they’re a gift to this world. She despises those type of people. Also, she’s not easy. She has high standards and doesn’t let just anyone into her inner circle.” I rise from my seat as I finish my statement and start to walk away.

“Minhyuk.” He calls my name.

I turn and look at him.

“You really think I’m like that?” He says looking at me. I see an emotion I haven’t seen in him in a long time.

“Look in the mirror and ask yourself that question.” I say with a cold tone.

He looks down, a sad smile on his face. 

“One last thing. What’s her name?” He questions, looking up.

“You can ask her that yourself hyung.” I say as I turn and walk away.

[genericpuff]

Hi! Maybe this is a difficult question with no answer, but as a fan of Rekindled who might want to start their own comic, what do you suggest to avoid burnout? Do you start wiht writting the script right away, you doodle a bit,..? Thanks for reading, I love how you draw big noses, makes me more comfy with mine!

no fr my dark secret is that i've been experiencing burnout with my main original project that I've spent the last decade working on for literally a year now. this isn't the first long hiatus i've taken, the longest one i've ever been on has lasted two years, and it's undoubtedly not the last i'll experience because the lump of salt and fat and tissue that is my brain often overworks itself into exhaustion like a big dummy

rekindled has been my reprieve from the burnout. it has been my vacation from years of working on the same project, meeting the same deadlines, drawing the same characters, over and over and over again since before i was in college.

if there's anything working on rekindled has made clear to me, it's that i'm still capable of drawing comics. the comic-making isn't the problem. it's just that when you work on the same project for years and trap yourself in an uphill battle, eventually your climbing gear is bound to break.

if there's another thing that rekindled has opened my eyes to, it's the insanity that i put myself through prior to rekindled that led to my burnout in the first place.

i get people telling me that they couldn't imagine doing what i do, that even before i had my assistant helping me out, i was still able to put out 30-40 panel updates every week.

but before that, i was putting out 70-90 panel episodes of my original work. every week. full color. full spread action scenes. no assistant. very little financial gain aside from a couple patrons on patreon and one dedicated viewer on twitch, which i was also streaming on 2-3 times a week.

and now that i've been working on rekindled and even finding myself often crunched for time with that, i have zero clue, no idea, a complete lack of comprehension of how i pulled off 70-90 panels a week for months on end. there's a reason it resulted in burnout and i know that now. this comparison is not for the sake of a flex - this comparison is to make it clear that much of what i do isn't the norm and isn't exactly a healthy standard. case in point, i sneezed while sweeping up yesterday morning and it caused a muscle strain in my lower back/hips and i've been working out of my bed since, i'm in a lot of pain and it might mean i don't make any money this week if it's not better by the time i have to do my appointments at my day job on thursday. my need to create my personal passion projects is often at odds with my bad habits of not taking care of myself 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

when it comes to tackling burnout, your guess is as good as mine. really it just comes down to rest. when burnout - real, true burnout - hits, it's not just "man i'm bored of working on this", it's "i can't even think of looking at this thing let alone working on it", it's basically akin to depression and it's an awful thing that i wouldn't even wish on my worst enemy (even with Rachel, I don't want to psychoanalyze her mental health but it does seem like she's possibly been experiencing burnout with LO for years now and that really sucks for her if that's true). so the solution is just as complicated as the cause, it's not something that you can just rest from for a week and come back from, it takes real long-term healing.

when I found my way out of that 2 year hiatus, it was in spring of 2019 and I decided to just work on a random comic page that wasn't even in the comic I was working on. and then suddenly it was like a switch flicked back into the on position and i didn't even finish what i was working on, i just went back to my original project and i kept working on it until it was finally finished at the end of 2021. as suddenly and randomly as it had set in, it was gone. but i can't just do the same thing this time, it just doesn't work that way.

that said, through all this, i've learned that my need to create is not restricted to any one tangible thing, i'm not doomed or designed to stick with the same words, the same faces, the same ideas until the end of time. while i do try to keep up healthy routines for myself to ensure i'm looking out for my future self and their deadlines and their upload schedules, sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. and in my case, the heart wanted to take a break from the self-reflective psychological analysis dark fantasy weebo stuff and just draw some pink and blue characters a little less ugly. the self-reflective weebo shit will still be there when i'm done with the pink and blue stuff, and i'll surely have loads of new things to unpack through it once i return.

there are still times when i'm working on rekindled and i'm feeling the creeping hand of my routine destruction digging its claws into my back. the reality is that 30-40 panels is still a lot for someone like myself who's doing this entirely for free, but my definition of normal for a while was so insanely inhumane that even what's still considered a lot by most people's standards feels sane and normal to me after what i put myself through.

i've learned to be more gentle with myself, and to loosen my own expectations of what i'm capable of to ensure i don't do anything like that to myself, by myself, again. i give myself room to create without expectations or the pressure of eyes watching when i can, and i remind myself that even if burnout rears its head again, and again, and again, the will to create is not gone. it's just tired, and resting, and growing, and healing as i am.

anyways that turned into a self-reflective essay post, to answer your question about making stuff ahead of time, i find that's more helpful with just like, planning out a structured story (so you don't write yourself into a corner) but whether or not it helps with burnout kind of depends. because it can just as also easily be the cause of the problem because constantly seeing the stuff you wanna be drawing so far away can be just as much of a morale killer as a motivator. some of the stuff i'm super psyched to write and draw with time gate is years away and that timeline grows longer the more the burnout goes on which makes the struggle feel even more overwhelming and pointless and defeating. so plan ahead, but keep it all within your means if you can. i find what works for me is planning out just general beat-to-beat plot structures (to ensure i at least have a plot skeleton going on so i know where i'm going) then i leave the finer details to when the actual episode i've planned gets closer to fruition and i can get myself in the headspace to write it fully.

also remember that just because you're really excited and motivated to work on your comic doesn't mean you should work yourself into exhaustion - it's a good thing if you're going through the mundane of your daily routine and the whole time you're hyped af to work on your hobby/personal project/etc. because that's what will keep you moving forward, so don't spend all that hype in one place by working and working and working until you're exhausted, because that hype is REALLY hard to get back after you've spent it all.

long post over! hope that helps! best of luck in your projects! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

[lotannawrites]

StackedCon - VanKuva Edition

The Founder's Review

"The Sustainabale Runway"

Respectful Discourse: I encourage respectful discussion and welcome differing opinions. Fashion is a dynamic and evolving art form, and dialogue fosters growth and understanding within the industry. This journal article is my review of the Stacked Fashion Conventions Sustainable Fashion Expo, highlighting the production process and my personal experiences and observations.

StackedCon Vancouver I would say that producing a fashion convention in Vancity was long overdue. Imagining the event production process in Vancouver was quite different from the actual experience, especially when working within a niche in the production sector and in a new city. It can be a daunting task. An organized mind is needed for proper planning and execution, but apart from a singular mind, brains must touch. Producing something in a new space cannot be done alone, no matter your experience.

When having pre-event discussions with the proposed team, I was considering my experience from my last two shows while talking to them about the organization of this event. They literally did not want to hear about it. I distinctly remember hearing Seyithepoet ringing in my ear, "Bobo, this is not ABJ," meaning this event was not like the ones I had done in the city before. This prompted me to grind like never before.

New scene, new character.

The Production Experience

As soon as the production process started, I learned that entering a new scene involves a process of adaptive learning, and working with people from diverse backgrounds can significantly shape an event producer's perspective. Taking note of individual experiences and ideas was also very important, as it created a foundation for communicative collaborations.

I also realized that effective communication is the foundation of almost all processes. Constantly informing everyone about the next step and what they need to know along the way is crucial, albeit challenging. People can easily become lost if they aren't informed about even the smallest details. This experience taught me not to expect too much from others and to communicate like a town crier.

In embracing this approach, I found peace in the clarity it brought, reinforcing the power of patience and communication.

Pre-event doings

The collaborative spirit of everyone involved in this process still amazes me. I digress. Prior to the event date, there was much to be done in preparation and promotion. Like planting seeds before a harvest, careful planning and nurturing were essential for the best outcome. A lot of deadlines were set for shoots, rehearsals, and team meetings. Organizing a schedule for each step was crucial. So much compassion was needed from me, as many people put their time and effort into being part of this event. There is a profound impact of shared commitment and hard work, underscoring the strength of our collective effort. The production team killed it.

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

July 13th 2024 - Event Day

After all the planning and running around, I told myself that I needed to experience this event not only as an organizer but also as an attendee. Being part of the team behind the scenes was rewarding, but experiencing the event from the perspective of someone who came to explore and see what the production team accomplished was the main experience I didn’t want to miss. I secured a front-row seat, which allowed me to experience the runway live and witness the entire production up close. It was a unique experience; I felt uneasy sitting idle and not working. However, it was profoundly impactful, especially seeing the event from both perspectives—as an organizer and a guest. I was also very observant, taking note of individual attendee and team experiences. I made sure to lay the groundwork for attracting loyal and regular invitees and crew, so that if I were to host another event in the city, I wouldn’t fall short of past successes. My goal was to make the best of this event while setting the pace for future ones, ensuring continued interest in the Stacked Fashion Convention. This dual perspective allowed me to fully appreciate both aspects of the event and take notes on any mistakes or areas for improvement. While the event was successful and met its objectives, there is still room for enhancement. I thank God for making this possible.

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

Closing

With heartfelt gratitude, I seize this moment to extend formal appreciation and recognition to the exceptional event production team of the third edition of STACKED FASHION CONVENTION, the sustainable runway. I’d also like to take a moment to formally appreciate the Stacked 2024 models, team members, and collaborators.

To all the attendees of Stacked Fashion Convention Vancouver, thank you for patronizing the event and coming to this edition. To every production team member and collaborator, whether mentioned or not, your unwavering dedication is invaluable. Your passion and commitment brought the vision to life, creating unforgettable moments and leaving an indelible mark on all who attended. Thank you for your invaluable contributions and steadfast commitment to excellence. And to you, the readers, thank you for taking the time to delve into my review. Your interest and engagement are greatly appreciated.

Signing out.  The messenger of peace,

Lotanna Uzomah

[dreadnotau]

Happy three years everybody! As always, there’s a lot to say on the occasion, so pop in at the end of the post for the tl;dr if you don’t have time for my detailed diatribes, haha

Boy, time flies, huh? Feels like the second anniversary was just yesterday, but maybe that’s just the several long hiatuses getting to me. I’ve been scarce on uploading anything anywhere for a while now, even though I promised I’d actually pick up the slack this time around. What gives? Well…

For one, college hell, and for two, a lot of unfounded anxiety about putting my art out there. Allow me some theatrics for a moment and I’ll actually get back to the comic at hand… I’ve never had an exceptionally supportive environment for making art. It wasn’t suppressive, not in the slightest, but it also wasn’t… encouraging. It was always treated as a hobby or a distraction rather than something I was allowed to be fully proud of, especially because a lot of my art focused on more cartoon-y and fantasy ideas, rather than still life studies and painting (which people generally outside of the art sphere tend to value more, arbitrarily). Couple that with a childhood full of being bullied over minute shit you hadn’t even considered could be an issue before, and you get a teenager hellbent on never sharing his interests or ideas with anyone, mostly due to the fear of rejection.

I’ve grown, thankfully, but that paranoia and fear doesn’t go away overnight. As I’m sure you all know, Meowchela was the one who originally encouraged me to post this comic, and the only reason she succeeded was because she was the first person in a long time who listened and engaged with my interests and my art in a meaningful way. It’s kind of obvious her friendship had a profound impact on me, and I’d cite her as one of the reasons I was even hopeful enough to apply to an art college in the first place! This comic, and that bond with another person, proved that maybe these things I’m so passionate about weren’t duds, and weren’t something I had to keep to myself.

So, fast forward a few years. About three years, in fact.

During one of my classes, right before this hellish two weeks of exams started, one of the class assistants talked me into showing my comic pages to one of my professors. He’s generally a pretty open guy when it comes to new mediums, but I’m always… apprehensive about showing my less “traditional art”-y things to professors, but, he ended up being genuinely proud of it. Specifically, I showed him pages 85-87 (because they’re my favourites) and, he didn’t read the text, just the visuals were enough for him to say “good job, keep it up” (which is HIGH praise from that guy). When I mentioned I’ve been meaning to simplify the visuals because I didn’t have time to work on the comic very often because of college and classes, he dismissed it on principle. I was honestly caught off guard. Heavily paraphrasing, he suggested that worsening the visuals for an arbitrary deadline was counterproductive to making something that’s Good™.

That’s kinda stuck with me. For a good few years now I was more focused on optimisation rather than visual improvement for the comic, and though it HAS contributed to better visuals in some ways (cutting corners sometimes makes for a less pointy and jagged end result), it’s kind of weird I’m treating an art project that way, isn’t it? I set a lot of… arbitrary deadlines and standards for myself, in the form of expectations and what I “should” or “shouldn’t” be doing at certain stages in my life. I’ve thought of Dread Not as a passion project second and a stepping stone first, if I’m being honest. As if it was too… fandom-y and derivative to be treated with more gravity than that, like it’s an immature project because I was still a child when I came up with it. As if it was something I’m making to Build Up to Something Else, something Bigger and Cooler and More Important, and… the more I think about the future of Dread Not, and even my future career options, the more I realised that’s, ironically, a really immature way to think about it.

If there’s one thing going to this art college has taught me, is that there’s no “right” way to make art, and there’s no “right” way to success as an artist. There’s no clear-cut paths, just more commonly treaded roads, but even those are heavily overgrown. Why should I try to box myself into thinking I have to make things from complete scratch to be taken seriously? What’s so bad about Dread Not as a story and as a comic that’s caused me to vaguely keep it under wraps when conversing with people in my day-to-day life? Why wouldn’t I put all these skills I’ve acquired to improve and expand this project that’s Right There, WAITING for me to finally get off my ass and get pages out there again?

I wish I could say I’ve used all this time away in a particularly clever way, but I really haven’t - at least, it feels like I haven’t. My art has undoubtedly improved over time (though admittedly the art for this post was Very rushed, fuckin exams), and while I’ve been working on projects in the background, chipping away at them in a VERY disorganised way, I haven’t been posting that progress anywhere, and I haven’t made any good progress on my biggest project, Dread Not, because of the other ones. And, honestly? Admitting that kinda stings. This comic means a lot to me, and I wish I actually gave it the time and attention it deserves instead of letting it sit out hiatus after hiatus because I keep failing at structuring my time.

So, my new plan is a little more abstract: find a way to work Dread Not into my school schedule, and slowly build a habit of working on it more often. No clue how long that’ll take, but I think it’ll be worth it to consider it as an option, and hopefully finally end these long, drawn out hiatuses with short bursts of uploads in-between. HOPEFULLY. Building habits was never my strong suit, so please bear with me while I figure this out in what will probably be the most hectic upload schedule in this comics history, which is: no schedule at all.

From now on (until the end of Act 1), I’ll upload pages when they’re ready, and depending on how the weeks go and how complex the page is, they could be weeks or days apart from one another. Hell, some might even take a month to finish if school stuff gets REALLY hectic (god knows Hellish Exam Week number 1 and number 2 won’t be giving me much time to work on the comic), but I’m determined to do this. I want to be able to put my all into this project again!!

(And hopefully finish Act 1 by the end of this semester…)

TL;DR: College is giving me life lessons I didn’t expect, and because of them I’ve decided to give myself a non-existent upload schedule for Dread Not: Pages will be posted when they’re ready, and the spacing between pages could wildly vary depending on circumstances and the actual complexity of the page itself.

As always, thank you for being here, thank you for reading, and thank you for being patient!

If all goes well, there will be new content very, very soon.

[girltalkcollectives]

🦋 Learning to say NO: how I finally stopped being everyone's emotional support human (and you can too) 🦋

Ladies, we need to talk about something that's been weighing on my heart lately. You know that feeling when your phone lights up with yet another friend drama, and your stomach immediately ties itself into knots? When you find yourself giving advice at 2 AM while your own life is falling apart? When you're everyone's shoulder to cry on, but somehow can't find a shoulder for yourself?

Yeah. That was me. The designated therapist friend. The one who dropped everything to be there for others. The one who felt guilty for even thinking about saying "no."

But here's the thing: being everyone's emotional support person was slowly drowning me. And I bet some of you know exactly what I'm talking about.

So today, I want to share my journey of learning to set boundaries without feeling like I'm somehow betraying the entire universe. (Spoiler alert: the universe is doing just fine!)

The Breaking Point

It hit me during a particularly chaotic week. I was juggling three different friend crises, trying to meet a school deadline, and hadn't done laundry in… well, let's not talk about that. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and honestly? Pretty resentful.

That's when I realized: by trying to be there for everyone, I wasn't really there for anyone – especially not myself.

The Uncomfortable Truth

Here's what I've learned: Setting boundaries isn't selfish – it's necessary. It's not about building walls; it's about creating healthy doors that you can open and close as needed.

Some hard truths I had to accept:

Other people's emergencies are not automatically my emergencies

Saying "no" doesn't make me a bad friend

I can care about someone without sacrificing my own wellbeing

People who truly love me will respect my boundaries

The Baby Steps

Starting small was key. Here's how I began:

I stopped responding to non-emergency texts immediately

I learned to say "I can't talk right now, but can we catch up tomorrow?"

I started being honest about my capacity: "I love you, but I'm not in a headspace to give advice right now"

I designated specific times for deep conversations instead of being available 24/7

The Surprising Results

You know what happened? The world didn't end. In fact:

My real friends totally got it and started respecting my time more

I had energy to actually help when it really mattered

My anxiety decreased significantly

I started sleeping better (who knew setting boundaries could be better than melatonin?)

I finally had time to work on my own growth

The Plot Twist

Here's the beautiful irony: by setting boundaries, I've actually become a better friend. I'm more present when I am available. I give better advice because I'm not emotionally exhausted. And most importantly? I'm modeling healthy behavior for the women in my life.

The Ongoing Journey

Look, I'm not perfect at this yet. Sometimes I still slip into old patterns. Sometimes guilt still creeps in. But I'm learning that it's okay to be a work in progress.

To all my fellow recovering people-pleasers out there, remember:

Your worth isn't measured by your availability

"No" is a complete sentence

You can't pour from an empty cup

Someone else's lack of planning isn't your emergency

Your mental health matters just as much as everyone else's

Moving Forward

If you're reading this and feeling seen, know that you're not alone. Setting boundaries is hard, especially for us women who've been conditioned to be nurturers and caretakers. But it's also one of the most powerful forms of self-love.

Start small. Be gentle with yourself. And remember that you deserve the same care and consideration that you so freely give to others.

Link to our website: https://girltalkcollectives.com/

[thoroughlymodernminutia]

This Christmas - Prequel

Pairing: Benny "Borracho" Magalon x F!Reader

Word count: 8,219

Summary: This is a prequel of sorts to this from last year. It’s basically the how Benny and the reader met, etc

Warnings: Mostly Hallmark-style fluffy stuff, lots of pining, but brief mention of loss, guilt, some foul language. If I missed anything else let me know and I'll add it in. 

A/N: I don’t know folks, I started writing this and was really chugging along and had a whole plan for how I wanted this to be. Then I got sick with everyone’s favorite illness from 2020 and lost a lot steam. I found, I think, a happy compromise with myself because I wanted to post this before Christmas (self imposed deadlines am I right?) and realized I can always I don’t know, post more parts of it later?? I am my own worst critic so if you read this and it isn’t your jam, please don’t say anything lol I’ve probably already thought it, so it would be redundant! Also, clearly, I do not know the proper use of a semicolon, or an em dash and I don't have an editor, so we'll all just have to deal. Anyways, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, all that jazz

-----------

It’s a little after six in the morning and they still haven’t rolled in. Usually, the five of them would have been here for an hour already; a few hungover, one still drunk, and the fifth one acting like an adult babysitter for the other four. It’s weird how this happens–people come into your little donut shop and after a while, instead of you becoming part of their routine, they become part of yours. Eventually they start to feel like stand-ins for the friends you hardly ever get to see. You’re busy with your business and they’re busy with their jobs and families.

It could feel lonely, but you have people like Noreen, who comes in every Friday to buy three dozen assorted donuts for her team. Noreen is kind and not the type of person you envision working at a private equity firm. When you were thinking about expanding into the small space next door, she looked at your plan and helped you figure out where you were being too aggressive and in some cases too shortsighted. She didn’t ask for anything in return, but you made sure her next three dozen donuts were on the house. 

There’s Will, a retired teacher, who comes in every Sunday. He used to come in with his partner, Charles, and they would sit at the table you have set up near the front window. They traded off different sections of the newspaper while drinking their coffee and sharing one old-fashioned donut and one raspberry jelly donut; they never strayed from those. Charles passed away six months ago and it was unexpected. You didn’t expect to see Will for a while, but routine is hard to give up especially when it’s the only thing you have left. Every Sunday morning you set a 'reserved' sign on the table near the window. 

There’s Stuart, who hangs out in the plaza your shop is located in. You’re not sure if he’s unhoused or just likes to spend his day outside, but it felt strange to always see him and not interact with him. One day you invited him to come by for coffee and a donut but he turned you down. You told him the offer was good for any time and that you hoped you’d see him in there soon. He came in a few days later and it made you feel like you were doing some good; and then you felt bad for feeling like that. Stuart’s reserved and not much of a talker so you just let him sit at a table while you go about your work. Some days he’ll start a conversation; it’s rare but it feels like you both trust each other enough to make more than small talk. If you don’t see him in his usual spot outside, you worry. He usually turns up a few days later, but you're concerned that at some point he won’t turn up and what are you supposed to do then?

There’s a handful of people that fall into this category of if they never came back you would notice. It’s because some of them are smart and kind like Noreen. Some because they sit in the same spot, newspaper sections still divided in two, like Will. Some because their silence fills your little shop, like Stuart. And some whose absence you would notice because they don’t fit into these boxes. Sometimes they can be loud or irritating; but they can also be entertaining. And they’re are always five of them, but only one that makes you feel like you’re thirteen and just saw your middle school crush.

They started coming in sometime in February. You only remember because the biggest one said he’s 'not eating a fucking, prissy, heart-shaped donut.' Some men are like that, afraid if they come in contact with something feminine that’s not a woman, that their dick will fall off. He was loud and obnoxious and only one of the other four looked truly embarrassed for the guy and for himself. He apologized for his friend and ordered five large coffees and a dozen glazed donuts. 

“You sure glazed are going to be manly enough for your friend over there?” 

You ticked your head over towards the table where his friends were sitting. He laughed and it was a surprisingly warm laugh for a man with neck tattoos. 

“He won’t even remember being here, let alone what kind of donuts he ate.”

He sounded annoyed but used to the behavior. You remembered having friends like that, in your twenties, but you were well past that age and so were these guys by the look of it. You saw him eyeing an apple fritter so you grabbed it from the case, put it on a plate, and set it on the counter next to the box of donuts. 

“On the house, since it doesn’t look like you’re getting paid for your babysitting duties.”

He smiled, said thank you, and then went to sit with his loud friends. You noticed he was quiet in comparison and thought it would be nice if they were all quiet like that. 

When they were getting ready to leave you saw that the quiet one made sure all the trash was thrown away and all the dishes went into the right bin. At the door as they were leaving he gave you a small wave thanking you again. There was something about his smile that made it feel like flowers were blooming in your stomach. That feeling carried you for a week. You’d think of that moment of him at the door and a fog would enter your brain and the flowers in your stomach would grow larger. 

The feeling would start to subside after a while and you would get caught up in your real life–your business, the rare time with your friends, the occasional bad date. It would slowly drift from the front of your mind to the back. Then they would show up and the cycle would continue. 

The one who had the soft smile and neck tattoo, you learned his name was Benny. And that if you gave him a choice between the apple fritter and anything else, he would choose the apple fritter one hundred percent of the time. The loud drunk, that was Big Nick and he’s only been not drunk five percent of the time they’ve come in. There’s Connors, Zapata, and Henderson–you’ve only heard them referred to by their last names. A thing that you’ve only ever heard men do. They all come in once or twice a month–usually early, usually hungover. It makes you wonder what they do before they end up at your place. You never ask because to know would be to probably ruin your crush on Benny.

Benny always pays and there’s a part of you that hopes he’s doing it just for the chance to talk to you. When he leaves he always gives you a wave goodbye and a thanks again. The flowers in your stomach have bloomed and blossomed to an embarrassing degree by the end of May. And that’s when they stopped coming in. 

—-

Benny shakes his head no at Connor’s who’s trying to hand him a beer, “Not feeling it tonight.”

Benny isn’t feeling it any night, but he keeps that to himself. The drinking, the cocaine, the women, none of it interests him and it hasn’t for a while. Since February if he’s being honest with himself. 

They had ended up at your donut shop, Glazy for You under random circumstances. The usual place they would go to sober up after one of these parties had been closed down by the health department. He should have known it was bound to happen, the place was dim and oddly seedy for a diner. Benny was the designated driver that night, since he hadn’t been feeling well he didn’t drink and spent most of the night ushering random women out of a grim motel room. When he saw Glazy for You as he was driving by, it looked like the complete opposite of his evening; it was bright, there were Valentine’s decorations on the window. It looked comforting and warm, two things he felt like he was missing in his life.

Nick of course was an asshole and Benny felt like he spent a lot of time silently apologizing to you. His apologies must have entered you mind telepathically because you gave him an apple fritter–the best apple fritter he’s ever had in his whole fucking life. There must have been some kind of magic in because that moment lodged itself somewhere in his heart and reappears when he’s feeling low. Like now–sitting in this motel room, on this couch that probably hasn’t been cleaned in two decades, watching his friends lose their fucking minds over shit they should have outgrown. 

Benny hasn’t seen you in months, ninety-seven days to be exact, not that he’s counting. They’ve been working on one case after the next and it’s left time for little else. No post drug test parties, no early mornings sitting in a donut shop waiting for everyone to sober up, no you. It’s been sleep and work for three months straight. Last time he saw you, it seemed like you were happy to see him. Maybe he imagined that feeling; misunderstood the warmth in your smile. Maybe that’s the smile that you’ve practiced in order to be able to perform it for everyone. Maybe everyone feels what he feels when they see you.

Benny sinks further into the couch and looks up at the ceiling. It’s a drop ceiling which brings back memories of a case he had worked on. While securing a crime scene, they were in the living room of a run down apartment. It had this same type of ceiling and a body fell right through it onto the floor. He thinks that maybe this is how it ended up being called a drop ceiling, because shit just drops right out. That thought, that memory makes him realize that he doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He gets up, grabs his jacket off the back of the couch, and leaves. He hears Connors call after him as he’s closing the door but he doesn’t care. He only has one place that he wants to be right now.

—-

You’re putting a tray of bear claws in the display case when you hear the door open. It’s still early, the sun is barely up, pink and purple hues are still in the sky. You get a lot of municipal workers that come in at this time, barely past opening. So it’s a little bit of a surprise when you get a glimpse through the display case of Benny walking in, alone.

There’s a second while you’re crouched down, adjusting the tray that you let yourself be excited; allow yourself to give into the childish feeling of getting a glimpse of your crush. Your knees are wobbly as you stand up–unsure if it’s because you’re getting old or because he’s looking right at you.

“Oh hey, how’ve you been?” You wipe your palms on the front of the apron you’re wearing. “It’s been a while.”

You try to sound neutral, neither excited to see him or disappointed that it's been so long. He smiles and that familiar sensation of flowers blooming returns. 

“We’ve been working on a lot of cases and it’s been hard to find time for anything else.” 

You lean forward and rest your arms on top of the bakery case. 

“Cases? You guys are lawyers?” As the words leave your mouth you realize how truly stupid it sounds. You’ve never in your life seen any lawyers that look like these guys. 

Benny chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, something he does when feels embarrassed or self conscious.

“No, definitely not lawyers. Detectives. We work for the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department.”

You fail at suppressing a laugh, “I’m sorry. All of you are detectives? Even your friend Nick?”

Benny knows your laugh isn’t mean spirited and if he were you, he’d probably laugh too, knowing what he knows about the people he works with. He moves closer to display case and leans in. 

“Even Nick. You seem surprised.”

“It’s just. I.” You pause, trying to choose your words with care, because you like Benny and you don’t want to insult him, “I mean, it’s hard to imagine being a victim of a crime or something and like Nick is the person taking your statement, trying to help you. That is my nightmare.”

You hope you don’t sound like an asshole, but the idea of Nick serving and protecting seems like a stretch. If you offend Benny, he doesn’t show it, he just laughs.

“The way that you’ve seen him, I can understand the sentiment. He’s not like that a hundred percent of the time. I promise.” 

You give Benny a joking look, “Okay, but what percentage are we talking here?”

You’re both laughing when the rest of the guys walk in. The rowdiness is a shock to your system after not dealing with it for a while. You look at Benny and he’s no longer leaning in towards you and maybe you’re projecting, but you think he looks a little disappointed too.

Benny’s disappointed, but he tries his best to hide it. The guys may be drunk, but they are cops and they are perceptive. Benny already knows he has a reputation among them as being soft. It used to bother him, but it hasn’t for a while. He knows he would rather be soft than be the type of man that can’t feel anything other than bitterness and rage. 

“Borracho, you fucking asshole, you left us.”

Nick, is of course loud and slurring his words. Benny hopes you can’t understand Spanish–he doesn’t want to be known as a ‘drunk’ to you.

Benny turns from you to look at the guys. Connors is propping Nick up; Henderson and Zapata are stumbling towards a table. 

“I was hungry.”

Benny hopes it’s enough to shut Nick up. He knows it’s not because he sees Nick loosen himself from Connors and stumble towards him. He claps a large, drunk hand on Benny’s shoulder and the force almost knocks him backwards. 

“Fuck, Borracho. You’re no fun anymore.”

Nick is a mess and that’s not really that surprising to you. What is surprising is how uncomfortable Benny looks. He has the look of a man who would give anything to disappear. You can’t really blame him, these guys, Nick especially, are exhausting to be around and you only deal with them for a few hours a month.

“Can I get you guys something or are you just going to loiter?”

Benny looks towards you and you give him a sympathetic smile. He shakes Nick off of him and is about to order when Nick lurchers towards the counter that you’re standing behind. You step back as he unsuccessfully tries to paw at you.

“I know what you can get me, sweetheart.”

Benny groans and runs a hand over his face, “Jesus Christ, Nick. Shut the fuck up.”

You step closer to the counter and lean forward, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

Nick tilts his head to the side and mutters, “That the next time I do it, you’ll put my head in the deep fryer.”

You pat his shoulder, “Good, you remember.”

You hear Zapata, Henderson, and Connors–who’s joined them at their table laughing and chanting do it, do it.

You gently push Nick away from the counter, “Go sit down unless you’re willing to see if I’m serious.” You look over at Benny, who no longer looks like he wants to disappear. “Benny, five coffees and a dozen glazed, right?”

Benny nods his head, “Yeah, that’s good.”

Nick turns around and starts walking towards where Connors, Zapata, and Henderson are sitting. He jerks his thumb back towards you, “She’s no fun either.”

Benny feels awkward standing here, watching you gingerly place twelve glazed donuts in a box and then pour five large coffees. It’s calming though, watching you do routine things, like you’re slowly rooting out the anxiety of being around drunk idiots. You put the coffees in a tray and place it down on the counter next to the donuts. 

Benny pulls out his wallet to pay, “Uh, sorry,” he pauses, he’s sorry about a lot suddenly, “sorry about Nick. He was acting like an asshole.”

You shrug and hand Benny his change, “Don’t worry about it.”

Benny is sitting with the guys and can’t help feeling like he’s messed something up. You didn’t give him an apple fritter like you normally do. He wonders if you’re mad that he didn’t do something more when Nick was acting like an asshole. Maybe he’s overthinking it–he can’t expect you to give him a free donut every time you see him. It’s possible he’s misread the situation entirely, that you’re just friendly and nothing more. He watches you behind the counter adjusting things, bagging up donuts for customers that have come in. When Benny checks his watch for the time, he misses seeing you slip an apple fritter in a bag and write 'Benny' in a tidy script. 

You watch the guys start filtering out of your place; Nick and Connors are first and from the store window you can see them getting into separate cabs. Benny is still throwing trash away as Henderson and Zapata leave. They share a cab and you imagine that maybe they rallied enough to start drinking again at 7:30am. You see Benny heading towards the door and it looks like he’s leaving without giving his usual wave goodbye. Your stomach sinks a little–maybe he’s mad at you for not joking around more with Nick or the other guys. Or it could just be that he’s tired and wants to go home and you’re creating feelings that aren’t there. 

You grab the bag with the apple fritter from below the counter and hold it up, “Hey, you forgot something.”

Benny looks at the bag with his name on it–it’s the nicest handwriting he’s ever seen. He walks over to the counter and takes the bag from your hand, your fingers overlapping for a fraction of a second. 

“So this means you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? Wait, you think because of Nick?” You look at him strangely as he nods his head yes, “He’s the idiot, I’m not going to hold that against you.”

Benny smiles, “That’s good to know.” He starts walking away, but stops when he gets to the door, holding up the bag with the donut, “Thanks again. I’ll see you later.”

“Take care, Benny.”

—-

“You like that girl at the donut place?”

It sounds less like Connors is asking you a question and more like stating a fact. Benny’s a little caught off guard and pretends to start looking for something on his desk.

“What?” 

Benny tries to sound confused, like he’s never even heard the word donut before.

“At the donut place. The girl who runs it, are you into her or something? You always act fucking weird when we’re in there.”

Benny thinks back to all the times they’ve been at Glazy for You, trying to remember his behavior. Did he look at you for too long? Say ‘goodbye’ in a way that sounded like he didn’t want to leave. Benny opens the bottom drawer of his desk and pretends to look for something. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Benny knows he doesn’t sound convincing and Connors must hear it too because he keeps going.

“Really?” Connors sounds incredulous. “You’re always lingering at the counter. She’s always giving you free donuts. Any of this ringing a bell for you?”

Benny can feel Connors staring at him. He closes the desk drawer and goes back to looking at the file on his desk.

“Maybe she likes giving away free donuts. I really couldn’t tell you.”

Connors crumbles a piece of paper into a ball and lobs it at Benny’s head, hitting him just behind the ear. 

“Whatever you say asshole.”

—-

The summer goes by quickly–it’s one of your busier seasons. School is out, the weather is nice–there are day camps, company off-sites, and sleepovers. All the types of occasions where the people in charge don’t want to make breakfast but need to provide it. Benny and the guys come in a few times throughout the summer. It feels a little different from before. Benny doesn’t linger at the counter as much anymore and sometimes one of the other guys pays. It’s stupid little things that you shouldn’t notice, but you do, because they used to be part of your routine. It’s embarrassing thinking you let this crush on Benny become such a big part of your life that you’d notice he didn’t pay last time or the time before that. It’s that embarrassment that makes you start building a wall around that garden in your stomach so the flowers can’t reach your heart.

It’s the end of October when you’re opening up one morning and it registers for you that you haven’t seen Stuart since some time around June or July. His absence gnaws at you. You feel like a bad person for not noticing sooner; that feeling that you failed someone even though they weren’t your responsibility. You don’t know what to do or if there’s anything you actually can do. So when you see Benny a few weeks later it feels like a little bit of a last resort when you ask for his help.

—-

You were hoping that Benny would be the person paying this time when they all came in, so you could mention Stuart without having to pull him aside. But he doesn’t and it makes you a little anxious trying to figure out the best way to talk to him about something serious. So it’s a relief when it looks like he’s going to be the last one to leave. He’s behind Connors and when Connors makes it out the door, you stop Benny who’s close behind.

“Benny, hey. Do you have a second?”

You come out from behind the counter, nervously smoothing the apron tied around your waist in short downward strokes. Benny stops and lets the door go from his hand. You look upset and he hopes it’s not because he’s been acting standoffish lately. Ever since Connors asked about you, he’s been trying his best to act normal–whatever that means–around you. 

“Did Connors’s card get declined again?”

You let out a small laugh, “No. Um, I was actually wondering if you could help me with something.”

Benny steps a little closer to you. You have some powdered sugar on your cheek and he has to stop himself from brushing it off. 

“Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“This is probably going to sound weird, or stupid. Maybe both. But there’s this  guy who h—”

Benny cuts you off; his voice is a little rougher, “If someone is bothering you, I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s this guy, Stuart. He usually hangs out around here and I have him come in sometimes for coffee or donuts and I haven’t seen him in…since maybe July, I think? I’m just a little worried.” You pause and try to read Benny’s face to see what he’s thinking, “Sorry, this probably sounds stupid to you. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”

Benny scratches his jaw piecing together what he thinks you’re getting at, “Do you know his last name?”

You notice that Benny’s voice has gone back to the soft tone that you’re used to. He’s looking at you with compassion and not like you’re stupid or some kind of burden. Benny is the kind of person that you would want helping you in a crisis and it makes you wish there were more people like him in his line of work.

“I don’t, but I printed a photo from the security camera I have.” You walk over to the counter and lean over, grabbing the photo from under the register. “I don’t even know if you can do anything with that. I watch a lot of crime shows. Don’t judge me.”

Benny laughs and shakes his head as you hand him the photo.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Yeah of course. It’s…I don’t know. I’d feel like a bad person if something were to happen to him and I could have helped.”

Benny feels bad because he knows how these things generally end up. Usually there are no happy endings.

“You can’t put that on yourself.”

You nod your head, “I know, but still, you know?”

Benny understands the feeling and also understands it’s easier to tell someone something isn’t their fault than to know it yourself. 

As Benny leaves you start to feel a bit lighter. Like someone has taken some of your worry, some of your concern and is carrying it for you; so you aren’t so weighed down.

—-

“What was that about?”

Benny is surprised to see Connors waiting for him in the parking lot. 

“Nothing. Well, I guess there’s some guy, homeless, I don’t know. He usually hangs out around here. She hasn’t seen him for a while. She’s worried.”

Connors flicks a cigarette on to the pavement, “Figures she’s one of those bleeding heart types. What did you tell her?”

Benny pats his jacket and then his pants pockets feeling around for a pack of cigarettes, forgetting briefly that he’s trying to quit. Connors pulls his pack from his pocket and tosses them to Benny.

Benny pulls a cigarette out, “I told her I’d look into it.”

Connors laughs and hands Benny a lighter, “Chump.” He waits a beat for Benny to light his cigarette, “But, if you want. We can start looking into it now.”

Benny’s grateful it’s Connors out here and not one of the other guys. Benny and Connors go back further than just Major Crimes and he’s someone Benny would trust with his life.

—-

Benny’s worried that he’s going to have to deliver you bad news. Best case scenario seems like Stuart is in jail. Not great, but it would mean that he’s alive. Worst case scenario is that he can’t find Stuart and that usually doesn’t mean anything good. Benny is suddenly hoping for some kind of miracle for a person he doesn’t even know. 

The photo you gave him does turn out to be useful. Connors is able to find him in the system through facial recognition. Stuart Morton has a record; a few arrests for driving while under the influence and some time in a county jail. Benny is able to get a last known address but it’s over a year old. It’s a sober living house that’s not actually that far from Glazy for You. He doesn’t have much hope that going there will bring him any closer to finding Stuart. 

It takes a couple of weeks, but Benny is finally able to meet with David, the director of the sober living facility. He finds it’s better to meet with people in person. Talking with people over the phone, he’s learned, makes it easier for them to not give you the information you need. David of course is a little guarded at first with Benny; not wanting to share anything that could get Stuart in trouble, which Benny can’t really fault him for. Benny explains the situation, that the owner of a donut shop near here is worried because they haven’t seen him in a while. When Benny mentions your name to David, he lights up.

“Her glazed old fashioneds are the best ones in this entire state.” He pauses and to Benny it looks like he’s getting lost in the memory of a donut, a feeling he knows well. 

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” 

David turns away from Benny to look through a drawer in a filing cabinet, “Just this year we got to talking and she’s been generous enough to donate breakfast here every month. And recently she’s been working with us on a job training program at her bakery.” 

Benny thinks back to Connors calling you a ‘bleeding heart’ and is glad he came here by himself. 

“She didn’t mention anything about knowing Stuart lived here.”

David pulls a folder from the cabinet and thumbs through it, “Stuart is the type to not overshare, so that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses to write something down on a piece of paper and hands it to Benny, “Here. This is his sister Noreen’s information. When he left, he was going to be staying with her for a while. Might still be there.”

Benny barely makes it to his car before calling the number that David gave him. 

—-

“Wait, so you’re saying that Noreen, the Noreen that comes in here, is Stuart’s sister?”

It’s late in the day, near the time that you close up. You and Benny are sitting across from each other at the table near the window. It’s hard to believe what he’s telling you, that Stuart used to be a resident at the sober living facility, the one where David works; that Noreen is Stuart’s sister and somehow all these dots never got connected for you.

“She didn’t realize that you two were,” Benny pauses looking for the right word, “friends. She feels terrible that you didn’t know he had moved out of the state and were worried. She said he’s doing well.”

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to take in everything Benny has been telling  you. It’s a lot to process, considering you had been preparing yourself to hear bad news. You can feel your eyes fuzzy with a few tears and feel a little embarrassed to be getting so emotional over the good news.

“It’s such a relief to know that he’s doing okay.” You feel a tear slide down your cheek and quickly brush it away hoping that Benny didn’t see it.

Benny can tell you’re trying to keep yourself from crying and he wants to tell you that it’s okay, that there wouldn’t be any judgment from him. He has the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around you, but he knows it would be wildly inappropriate. He feels awkward sitting here, looking around, trying to figure out what he should say.

“I like the Christmas decorations you have up.” It’s lame and he knows it, but it seems better than freaking you out with a hug. You smile at him and that feels reassuring.

“You do?” You look over at Benny, nodding his head, “I know it makes me basic, but I love Christmas. The lights, the decorations, the movies, the music. Expect to see a lot of green and red frosted donuts until December 31st.” 

Benny laughs, “I’m looking forward to it.” He looks at his watch and starts to get up, “I should probably leave, so you can close up.”

You get up and follow Benny to the door, you put your hand on Benny’s forearm to stop him for a second and he feels a little spark through this jacket.

“Thank you, again, for everything.”

“I’m glad I could help. And that everything turned out okay.”

You’re not sure what it is that compels you to hug him, but you do. Maybe it’s the gentleness of his voice, or how he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. It feels intimate and dreamy and it’s hard for you to recall the last time anyone has looked at you like that. It happens so fast that Benny barely has time to register what happened.

It hits him as he’s walking to his car–the delayed feeling of your arms around him. It strikes Benny that maybe there’s a chance you like him, that maybe you’re both kind of stupid and clumsy, and afraid to ask the other one out. There’s the realization that one of you will have to make the first move or it will go on like this forever. That he will see you every few months at your job, that he’ll get a free donut occasionally. It’s not enough for Benny and he knows that he can’t be stupid about this much longer.

—-

It’s the last piss test party of the year–the week before Christmas. The concept is idiotic–sure it made sense at one point when Benny wasn’t wading into the deep end of forty. Going to a cheap hotel to get drunk and high, have sex with women that Nick found God knows where. It was never appealing to Benny but he used to understand the idea of celebrating after your mandatory drug test. Now he usually just sits, drinks a beer or two, and tries to avoid contact with everyone. There’s something especially depressing about it during this time of year.

Benny’s spent the last few days mulling over the best way to ask you out. He regrets not asking you when he was giving you the news about Stuart. Although there’s a part of him that thinks maybe you would have felt obligated to say yes given the circumstances. He thinks about asking you tonight, if they end up there, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of the guys because you might feel obligated then too, maybe even feeling sorry for him and not wanting to embarrass him in front of everyone by saying no. If you say yes, he wants it to be because you actually mean it, he doesn’t want there to be any room for doubt.

His decision is made for him, because when they get to Glazy for You, you aren’t there. Benny can’t remember if there’s ever been a time when you haven’t been there, behind the counter, greeting him warmly. It’s a little bit of a shock to his system to see a middle-aged man in a goofy Christmas sweater in your place. Benny’s good at thinking up doomsday scenarios and imagines one in which you’re trying to avoid him, so you no longer work this early in the morning. But then he thinks of when you hugged him and that even though it was quick, it was like your touch had gone directly to his heart. He doesn’t stay much longer, opting to go home, lay in his bed, and try to figure out what he’s going to do.

—- 

You used to hate working during the holidays. Maybe it’s because you were working for other people and not yourself. Maybe it was because the work you were doing felt unimportant and people expected you to care even when everything else around you was winding down. Five years ago the thought of working on Christmas Eve would have made you want to walk into traffic. Now it feels different, like maybe you’re contributing to the holiday experience versus missing out on it entirely. You’ve always loved Christmas, but Christmas Eve is your favorite day of the year. It just feels more special somehow. There’s anticipation and excitement in the air. It’s possible it’s a product of all the Christmas movies you’ve watched over the years where there’s the idea that anything seems possible on this day. There’s something about the idea of your life changing for the better, surrounded by twinkle lights and ornaments that you find very appealing.

The morning is kind of slow–you spend most of it watching holiday episodes of tv shows on your phone. Around 11am you start cleaning up–taking trays out of cases, boxing up the donuts that are left to drop off at the comic book shop next door. You’re looking forward to going home and laying on the couch the rest of the day, queuing up your standard Christmas Eve movies. You’re ready to watch Scrooged and feel abnormally homesick, but then put on Christmas Vacation and remember why it’s never a good idea to spend Christmas with your entire family.

You’re in the back when you hear the bell on the door jingle, letting you know someone is out front. You consider just staying where you are, pretending no one is here so you can wrap up your day. You don’t want to have to tell anyone that you can’t help them with their donut emergency–getting yelled at on Christmas Eve is not something you’ve prepared yourself for today. So it’s a pleasant surprise when you make your way back out to the front and you see Benny.

“Hey, this is a—hi.” You’re not sure why you’re suddenly unable to put together a decent sentence.

Benny rubs the back of his neck with his hand, “Is this a bad time?”

“No. No, well. I mean, unless you were looking for a few dozen donuts. Then it definitely is.”

Benny smiles, “Actually,  I, um, was,” he pauses and tries to collect himself, he can suddenly feel his heart beating in his ears, “I wanted to ask you out. On a date.” The feeling has spread to his skull.

When he says it, it’s almost like the words traveled through your brain and you can’t comprehend what’s actually happening. Benny, the guy you’ve been harboring your fragile middle school crush on, is here asking you out. It makes little, if any sense to you.

“Are you just trying to get more free donuts?”

Benny shakes his head no, “I promise I’m not.”

You’re quiet as you consider what he’s asked–trying to reprocess the information in your mind so that it makes sense. When all the words are finally in place and you repeat them in your mind, you feel some of those flowers that you’d walled up in your stomach starting to push through the cracks.

“Yeah, okay.” You grab a business card from the counter, write your number on the back, and hand it to Benny.

Benny’s not sure he’s ever heard anything better than yeah, okay in his life, it’s like a bolt of lightning right to his core. He puts the card with your number in the chest pocket of his jacket, the safest place he can think of.

“Great. Amazing.” Benny laughs nervously. “I need to get back to work. I’ll text you.” 

“Okay. Well, have a good Christmas, Benny.” 

“You too.” 

Benny gives his standard small wave as he leaves and you lock the door after him. When he’s out of sight you let out a squeal and excitedly dance in place. Your phone vibrating in your back pocket interrupts you mid-happy dance. 

Hey, it’s Benny. Are you free for dinner on the 27th at 7?

Benny watches dots appear and then disappear on his phone. It feels a little bit like torture as he sits in his truck waiting for you to respond.

 Dinner on the 27th at 7 sounds great

Benny releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Let me think of a place and I’ll text you the address

Sounds good. And you meant Dec 27th right?

Benny laughs to himself, Yes dec 27. I’m not going to wait until jan to take you to dinner

Just making sure 🙂

You read his last text at least ten more times before finally going back into the kitchen like you had intended. Each time you read it, there’s a sensation in your stomach like bricks dissolving and flowers blooming again.

—-

Benny texts you on the morning of the 26th with a restaurant name and an address. You already have the sense that he’s different, the type of person who has follow-through. You try to temper your excitement about dinner with him, not wanting to do that thing you sometimes do where you make something out to be more than it is. You keep telling yourself that it’s just dinner, nothing more. But as you pull up to the restaurant a few minutes late and see Benny standing outside, looking nervous in dark denim and a green flannel, you let yourself think that maybe it could be a little more than just dinner. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

Benny smiles when he sees you standing in front of him, “I just got here a few minutes ago.” 

It’s a lie; the last one he’ll tell tonight; but he doesn’t want you to know that he was so amped up about this evening that he got to the restaurant thirty minutes early. On the way in, when you pass in front of him, your perfume delicately floats by him. It’s earthy, but slightly sweet, with cinnamon and vanilla blending neatly in–he’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing that he’s ever smelled. 

It’s a French restaurant, one that you’ve never been to before, but it’s cozy and still in the Christmas spirit. There are multicolored lights strung up and silver tinsel hanging from the ceiling. 

“Have you been here before?” Looking at Benny from across the table and you can see flecks of silver in his facial hair catching the light of the candle on the table. 

“My sister and her husband had their tenth anniversary party here last year. Most of my restaurant choices come from wherever she has an anniversary party.” 

You laugh, “Nice. Do you just have the one sister?”

Benny has just the one sister, you learn, among other things. You find talking to Benny is easy, he doesn’t give one word answers to questions like some men you’ve gone out with. Where trying to get to know them is like trying to get to know a slab of pavement. He’s funnier than you thought, something that you didn’t expect, but is a nice surprise.

“Did you always want to be a detective?”

Benny butters a piece of bread, “To be honest, the only thing I wanted to be growing up was a magician. I guess I saw one too many David Copperfield specials as a kid.”

You start laughing, “Do you know any magic tricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. What about you?”

“I don’t know any, no.” You shrug jokingly as Benny laughs. “But, yeah, I guess I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to be doing. I’m lucky that things have worked out how they have.�� 

Benny’s curious now, “You didn’t always work in a bakery?”

“Nope. I actually used to work in tech. It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’m not in any hurry to end the evening.”

There’s something about Benny that puts you at ease, that makes you comfortable enough to want to open up to him. Something that you would never normally consider doing on a first date. You don’t feel the need to downplay that you made a lot of money when a company you worked for in New York was bought out. He doesn’t flinch when you tell him that the reason you moved to California was because of your now ex-husband. He tells you about his own divorce and for the first time in a long time you don’t feel so unlike yourself on a first date. It doesn’t feel scary telling him that you felt insignificant in your own life because of your work and your marriage. That every conversation with your husband made you feel like a burden.There’s a moment when you start to apologize, out of habit, but he stops you. He smiles when you say that the divorce was the best thing to happen to you because it–and you hate to say it like this–gave you your power back. 

“I always wanted to own my own business and I love donuts, so when the divorce happened, I just said fuck it, and went for it. Just threw myself into it.”

“I’m glad you did, I don’t know where else I’d get an apple fritter that good. And for free.” 

“Yeah, about that.” You smile playfully, “I’m going to have to start charging you before you put me out of business.” 

Benny makes a show of looking at his watch, pretending to want to leave, “I guess we should probably call it an evening then?”

He likes the way you laugh, how it’s kind of loud and fills the room. It makes him feel good, to hear you laugh, to see you smile; like he’s responsible for some bit of happiness you’re experiencing.

“See, I knew this was a scam.”

As the waiter clears the table and they wait for the check, Benny asks you what your favorite donut is. 

You don’t even have to think about it, “Definitely a maple bar.”

Benny watches as your eyes light up, telling him how you first had one when you spent the summer between fifth and sixth grade visiting your aunt in Seattle. He listens to you describe how your mom was, in the nicest terms you can find, an extreme dieter, who tried her best to pass all of her food issues down to you, and never let donuts in the house. But your aunt didn’t care and the first thing she did once she would pick you up from the airport was take you to her favorite bakery. It was the highlight of every summer after that until you graduated high school. It was the first donut you learned how to make because on the east coast they’re hard to find. You laugh when you say the best part of moving to the west coast is that every donut place has maple bars, but you’d like to think that yours are the best. Benny can’t help but think it’s cute.

Benny doesn’t want the night to end; he knows that you took a cab to the restaurant so he offers to drive you home. You try not to sound too eager in accepting his offer, but fail.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

You ask him if he wants you to put your address into google maps for directions, but he doesn’t need them. Benny spends so much time driving all over the city that he knows every street, every highway, every interstate. The map exists in his head; he can get anywhere without really having to think about it. Benny drives you through some unfamiliar, but beautiful neighborhoods. The homes are still decorated and lit up, it’s like driving through the set of a Christmas movie–the only thing missing is snow.

You ask him more about his job, the guys he works with. You like hearing the stories that Benny has about them. You can tell by the way he talks about him, that he’s closest with Connors. You finally learn everyone’s first names and how Benny got his nickname–which you had previously googled out of curiosity. You ask if it bothers him to be called a drunk.

“Knowing the shit they all get into, not really.”

He says that it doesn’t matter what they call him because he knows that in any situation they’ll have his back and he’ll have theirs. That’s what he cares about.

When he pulls up to your house; a small, one-story home, string lights along the frame and around the windows; it looks exactly like he’d imagined. You both sit quietly for a few minutes unsure what to do next. 

Eventually you unbuckle your seatbelt, “I had a really good time tonight, Benny.”

“Me too. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” he looks over at you, “protect and serve, you know.” Benny knows it’s a dumb joke, but you laugh anyway.

When you get to the top of your steps, you find it hard to say goodbye. His face is illuminated by the Christmas lights and you can tell he doesn’t want to say goodbye either. You start to say something, you’re not even sure what, but no words come out because Benny’s mouth is on yours, his hands gently cradling your face. His lips are soft and you can feel the warmth of his tongue asking for permission. You drop your keys onto the porch and pull him closer to you by his belt loops.

It feels like hours have passed when Benny finally pulls away, “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

You rest your hands on his chest, “Next time,” you gently tug on his shirt collar, “don’t wait so long.”

Benny smiles as he watches you crouch down to pick up the keys you dropped. When you stand back up, he reaches towards your face, his fingers grazing behind your ear, “Hold on, you have something in your—” Benny sweeps his fingers against your hair and when he brings his hand in front of you, he’s holding a small, folded piece of paper. 

You take it from him, unfolding it. When you see the words ‘what are you doing for new years?’ written down you start grinning, “So you do still know some magic tricks.”

Benny places his hand on your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek, “A few.”

[knighthelm-aes]

People keep approaching me at the laundromat

I don’t mean this to sound ungrateful, but I stopped going to one laundromat in town because I was being propositioned for my contact info by people who saw me drawing. They wanted to hire me for something completely unrelated to what they saw me doing, and even though I told them I am not a graphic designer and don’t do lettering, then outright told them I wasn’t interested. There are plenty of other interactions from people who just bombarde me with questions while I have my headphones in and am just trying to pass the time with some sketching.

Today I was approached by the owner of the laundromat I moved to, who asked for my Instagram info and asked if he was looking for art, if he could ask me. I was worried that if I didn’t respond positively that he would make a stink about me using his location, so I gave him a slightly different username than the one I used to use, told him I didn’t really use instagram anymore, etc. I also told him that I also work full time on top of the illustration I do.

And I feel like people are going to say, “well, just don’t draw at the laundromat.” I work full time and usually do my laundry either right after work or early in the day on the weekends. I have such a limited amount of time because of my day job, the fact that I am the only one who cleans the apartment in my living situation, the fact that I have to cook for myself because food is pretty much rising to luxury prices. The three hours it takes to do this are a unique period where I can just take a little break.

Moreover, I’m not interested in working for random members of the public who most likely don’t know anything about hiring artists, fair prices, realistic deadlines, etc etc etc. I don’t know you and you have not approached me in a setting that is balanced. I’ve lost like a couple thousand dollars because people are just cruel and decide not to pay their agreed portion.

I can’t explain how frustrating this has been because people like this hire me, lie about their ability to pay, ask for endless tweaks and edits, push the deadline or change it arbitrarily. Then, when I’m ultimately unable to satisfy their expectations because I am just one person, I request payment before moving on with more edits, they refuse, then I’ve spent potentially months working for something without adequate pay. I’m not an amateur and I simply refuse to put myself in that situation again.

I live in an apartment in the USA that doesn’t have proper ventilation or a dry enough environment, so I can’t just wash my clothes in a washer and airdry them. I also can’t buy a washer and dryer myself because driers need to be able to vent, and my apartment doesn’t have the duct systems to do that either.