#it will be a few years on the waitlist but its coming

[wizardly-and-dorky]

.

[graciegoeskrazy]

she's begging you to stay stay

Matty Healy + preteen!lost!daughter!OFC!r

warnings (buckle up): angst, little fluff, language, absent father, dead mom, cancer, children's home, R IS TWELVE, foster care, insomnia, a lot of these things are mentioned but aren't in graphic detail at all. R HAS A NAME IM TRYING SOEMTHING

a/n: I got this request and was lowk kinds unsure but I just started and couldn't stop typing. im nil a lot of that I post is super short but this like literally like 7 thousand words which Ig is pretty standard but whatevs for me its crazy. I might actually hate this I genuinely haven't decided yet. anon depending on what you think im ether sorry or you're welcome lol <3

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the peeling wallpaper, a million thoughts racing through your mind. You feel a mix of grief and numbness, a strange emptiness you can’t quite shake. The scent of mold and old candles is an odd comfort to the starkness and uncomfort of the room around you. You hear the faint sound of Nora’s voice drifting through the thin walls. You don’t move, just keep staring at your hands in your lap, the same position you’ve held for 3 days now, pretending not to hear the voice on the other side of the wall.

“Is this Matthew Healy?” she says, her voice steady.

“Depends. Who’s this?” The voice on the other end is wary, guarded.

“This is Nora from Wess Hill Children’s Home in London. How are you today?”

She could hear shuffling on the other side. “Fine. What’s this about?”

Nora takes a deep breath, glancing at your continuing. “Mr. Healy, on Tuesday we got a call asking for an emergency placement for a girl. Her mother passed away. She’s 12 years old, name is Matilda Moss - does that ring a bell?”

If you were right next to Nora you would have felt the unamusement in his voice. “‘Fraid not, ma’am.”

Nora’s expression tightens slightly. “Interesting. What I find really interesting is that on her birth certificate, it lists you, Mr. Healy, as her biological father.”

There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nora sighs, her eyes softening as she looks back at your door again. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way, truly. But I have a home that only fits 24 and a long waitlist of children, so I need to know if I need to send this child into foster care or tell her that her father will be coming to see her.”

“W-Wait a minute. How are we even sure it’s my child? There could be thousands of other white blokes in London with the same name. How can I even believe you? How do I know you’re not a scammer or some idiot trying a prank?”

Nora’s voice remains calm, but there’s still an edge. “Does the name Florence Moss mean anything to you, sir? Ring any bells?”

The line went silent.

“I need to know what it’s gonna be, sir. I’m not trying to inconvenience you either way; I just need an answer.”

You hear a long sigh on the other end. “I-I don’t…I don’t know—”

“She was sick, Matthew. Cancer.”

There’s a heavy silence. Then, Nora speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. “Her will clearly states that in the unforeseen circumstance of death, She wanted her daughter to be placed with her father, you.”

Another pause. “What’s her name again?”

“Matilda George Moss-Healy.”

“And she’s 12?”

“12 and 2 months.”

A soft exclamation, almost a whisper. “Wow. I’ll be there at 3.”

It didn’t matter what Nora could do or say or give you to make you feel better, There was nothing that could be done in order to make the past 3 days not feel like a living hell. There was nothing you, yourself, could physically do to make the permanent ache in your heart disappear. The only thing, you thought, that could make this all go away, that could make this nightmare end, was your mother. But she was gone, and there was nothing that could be done. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that in just a few hours, you’ll meet the man you’ve wondered about your entire life.

—-------

If there was one thought that was evidently clear in Matty’s mind, it was that he needed to call George.

His hands trembled slightly as he fumbled for his phone, the sleek device feeling unusually heavy in his grasp. He pressed it to his ear, each ring seeming slower and slower as it rung. He paced the small, cluttered room, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Finally, George’s voice crackled through the line, casual and unbothered. “Sup, dipshit.”

“I just got the strangest call,” Matty said, his voice strong, skipping over the usual pleasantries.

“‘Kay?” George’s tone was wary.

“From a woman working in a children’s home?” Matty continued, his mind still reeling from the conversation.

“What charity they want you to perform now?” George asked, his voice light but curious.

“No, it’s not that.” Matty paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s about Flo? Florence Moss?” Matty’s voice wavered slightly, the name stirring up a flood of memories.

There was a noticeable pause, the air thick with anticipation. “Woah! That’s a name I never thought I’d hear again!” George finally replied, his tone shifting to something lighter, a huge comparison to Matty’s frantic state.

“So that’s a yes?” Matty pressed.

“You kidding? I LOVED Flo. She was like a sister to me! Shame though, innit?” He said, refurrging to the breakup Matty and Florence went through. “Anyways, what about her?” His voice softened.

“She died, George. Couple days ago. Cancer.” Matty’s words were blunt, but they carried a heavy weight.

Another long pause followed, the silence almost deafening. “You doin’ a bit? ‘Cause it’s not funny, mate-”

“It’s not a bit. And she had a child.” Matty’s voice broke slightly, the reality of the situation hitting him.

“What?” George’s shock was palpable, even through the phone.

“Who has my name on the birth certificate?” Matty continued, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Not shittin’ you.”

George was in pure disbelief. “How can you be sure?”

Matty ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “Um, ‘cause Flo and I were together for like two fucking years and we broke up like 12 years ago and the girl’s age is 12?”

“It’s a GIRL? Oh mate, you’re fucked.” His bluntness would usually make him light, but this time it made him nearly question his entire life.

“Not the sentiment I need right now.” Matty snapped, his patience wearing thin.

“What are you gonna do?” George’s voice was calmer now, but still tinged with concern.

“I-I feel like I have to go get her? Right? Otherwise, she’s off to foster care? I mean, she’s my child. Right? I don’t know. Maybe not.” Matty’s words tumbled out in a rush, his uncertainty evident.

George sighed, a long, weary sound. “I think you’re fucked either way.”

“Oh, thanks sooooo much, Uncle George,”

“No. I mean, if you bring this girl with you, raise her, be a dad, do whatever the fuck, your life is gonna change, right? If you call that woman back, tell her to send her into foster care, although that woman might legally have to tell you ‘Okay. Thank you,’ we both know you would never forget her and maybe even end up regretting that choice.”

Matty stood in silence. He knew his friend was right. No matter what he chose, his life was about to be irrevocably changed. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders, pressing down with a relentless force.

—-------

“Hi, um, I’m looking for Nora?” His voice echoed slightly in the wide, institutional hallway.

“Ah, you must be Matthew. Nice to meet you.” Nora’s voice, though warm, had an undertone of weariness, like someone who had spent years navigating the complicated emotions of others. She shifted uneasily. “I informed Matilda of your…arrival today…and she’s not the happiest about it.”

“Meaning?”

“She won’t come out of her room.”

“Oh. Great.” Matty ran a hand through his hair, worry clear on his face.

“Just…keep in mind she’s still mourning.” Nora’s sing-song voice couldn’t hide the gravity of the situation. She led him down a narrow hallway, the walls adorned with children’s drawings and faded motivational posters. The scent of old wood, cleaning supplies, and the faintest hint of sadness hung in the air.

“Tilly! Someone’s here to see you.” Nora’s voice called out cheerfully, a futile attempt to coax you out.

“Matilda! Come on out, darling, it's alright.” She paused, listening for any sound of movement. “You know I have the key right here; I can just open it if I wanted to.” Nora said, voice comedic for the times. “Tilly, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

After a silent few seconds, she took her ring of keys and picked one to unlock your door.

Inside your room, you sat curled up on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The peeling wallpaper, once probably a cheerful pattern, now seemed to close in around you, a suffocating reminder of the world outside your door. The scent of mildew and the faint smell of your mother’s perfume clung to your clothes, creating a strange, bittersweet comfort. Nora’s voice penetrated the cocoon of silence you’d wrapped yourself in.

“Tilly, this is Matthew.” Nora’s voice softened, a hint of sympathy in her words. “He’s here to take you home, my love.”

You visibly winced at the word ‘home.’ Home was a concept that had shattered the day your mother died.

Nora took a step towards your bed, slowly rubbing your back in order to coax you to come out. “Why don’t you sit up, my love?” Nora said gently. You didn’t move.

She sighed. “C’mon, Tills.”

With a heavy sigh, you slowly uncurled yourself and sat up.

Matty felt out of place, a stranger in a place that was the closest thing you had to refuge.

“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment. I’ll be right outside.” Nora closed the door softly, leaving you and Matty in an awkward silence.

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and uncertainty. The room seemed to shrink around him as he struggled to find the right words. “I know you’ve gone through a lot in the past 48 hours,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his own emotions was evident, and he hesitated, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

You looked up at him, your eyes red from crying. The raw pain and vulnerability in your gaze made his heart ache. “You don’t have to take me with you out of…guilt,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here now just because you didn’t want to be here before.” The accusation hung in the air, a heavy reminder of his absence in your life.

He winced, the truth of your words cutting deep. “It’s not guilt, Matilda,” he replied, taking another step closer. “I genuinely didn’t know. If I had, things would have been different. I would have been there for you and your mother.” His voice broke slightly, the regret palpable. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m here now because I want to be. Because you deserve better than what you’ve been given.”

You studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. His eyes were earnest, the sorrow in them mirroring your own grief. “Why didn’t she tell you?” you asked, the question that had been gnawing at you since you learned the truth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the unknown. “Maybe she thought it was for the best. Maybe she was scared. I wish I had the answers, but all I can do now is be here for you.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken questions and the ghosts of what might have been. “I’ve spent my whole life wondering about you,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know what to think.”

He nodded, understanding the turmoil within you. “I can’t change the past, Matilda. But I can promise you this: I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe and cared for. I’ve got a house, with a nice room, food, and I think staying there would be better than the rotting twin mattress you’re sitting on in the smallest room I have ever seen that’s probably infested with black mold.”

“Everywhere in London has black mold,” you muttered, a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Mine might have less?” He offered a tentative smile. “Come home, Matilda.”

“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.” Your voice was barely a whisper, the pain of loss weighing heavily on your words.

“I’m not saying this has to be forever. If you want to leave and go live with someone else, then that’s fine by me, but if you don’t come with me tonight, they’re gonna put you in foster care with a family who more than likely won’t give a shit about you.” He paused, gauging your reaction. “She didn’t tell you that, did she?”

You shook your head, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want you to go somewhere without knowing that you’ll be safe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He looked surprised, almost disbelieving.

You paused once more, “...Okay.”

—-------

Matty let you be for a moment as he told Nora about the news. She was overjoyed and surprised as well. They let you know that Matty would be taking you home. As they talked, your mind wandered, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within you. You glanced around the room, noticing every detail—the worn carpet, the sagging ceiling, the chipped paint on the window sill. Everything felt surreal, as if you were trapped in a dream you couldn't wake up from.

You tried to grab his attention, your thoughts racing. You almost called out saying ‘Dad’ but stopped yourself just in time, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. The idea of calling him that seemed too intimate, too close for someone who had been a stranger just hours ago. Your mother had always been careful with her words when you asked about your father. She painted vague pictures of him, always avoiding specifics. Now that he was here, standing just a few feet away, the reality of his presence was overwhelming.

Would ‘Matty’ be awkward? He was indeed your father, but calling him that didn’t feel right either. You had no shared history, no foundation of familiarity. The name felt too casual, too friendly for someone who had suddenly appeared in your life amid the chaos and grief. You felt a pang of frustration, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

As you struggled with your thoughts, you offered a simple “Hey,” to get his attention instead. Your voice was soft, almost tentative, as if testing the waters of this new, uncertain relationship. He turned to you, his expression a mixture of relief and anxiety, mirroring the storm of emotions within you.

He responded with a gentle smile, his eyes searching yours for a connection. "Hey," he replied, his voice warm but cautious. In that moment, you both stood on the precipice of an unknown future, bound together by circumstance and the fragile hope that perhaps, in time, you could find your way to each other.

“I’m all ready to go, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll get your things in the car.” He moved to gather your suitcases, his movements quick and efficient.

Nora hugged you tightly, her smile warm and genuine. “I’m happy for you, Matilda. You’ve been through a lot these past few days, and you’re doing so good.”

“Thank you for your help, Nora.” Your voice was soft, but there was a hint of gratitude in your words.

Her smile deepened as she led you from the desk to the front door. “I hope you know it comes from a good place when I say, I hope I never see you again.” The words made you laugh for the first time in three days, just a little, but it was a victory Nora cherished.

Matty muttered a few words when joining you in the car after bidding farewell to Nora. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at him.

“You allergic to dogs? I’ve got one. His name is Mayhem. Weird name for a dog, I know, but it suits him—not that he’ll be a problem or anything. He’s a good boy.” He tried to fill the silence, his voice almost nervous.

“Do you usually not talk this much?” You shrugged, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery.

“Only when my mom dies.” Your words were blunt, a stark reminder of the grief still fresh in your heart.

Oh, so she definitely has my humor. Matty thought to himself, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. The drive was filled with awkward silences and hesitant attempts at conversation, but beneath it all was a shared sense of loss and a fragile hope for something better.

—-------

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the cluttered room. You continue to scroll on your phone as you pull the worn, thin blanket back over your shoulders. A yawn crosses your features. It wasn't your plan to be up at 3 a.m., but insomnia has become a close friend since your mother passed away. It's been three weeks and four days since you moved in with Matty. He made it very clear from the beginning: if you didn’t want to live with him, that was fine. He was in full support of whatever you wanted, as long as you were safe. He was ready and willing to have the conversation with you as soon as possible. Having your mother die of cancer, meeting your father for the first time, burying your mother, adjusting to a new life you had no clue you would be living just a month ago, and so on and so forth took its toll. You started to worry that the waiting game of seeing how long this quiet could last was starting to run out.

The footsteps walking down the steps and into the kitchen pulled you out of your drowset state. It was matty, dress in blue lounge pants and shit, complete with a random flannel that you would bet he just picked up off the floor and threw on before he come downstairs,

"Good morning," he says with a yawn, his voice low but still awake, a stark comparison to your drowsiness.

"It's 3 a.m.," you reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Yeah, it's the morning," he says, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He holds out a steaming mug, the rich aroma of coffee wafting towards you. "Want some?"

"Sure," you say, accepting the mug and wrapping your hands around it, savoring the warmth that seeps into your skin.

You take a sip, the bitter taste jolting you awake. You look anywhere except his direction."You a musician?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he nods, taking a seat across from you. "You?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head. You watch him, trying to piece together the fragments of your mother’s stories with the reality in front of you.

“Do you know why my mom used to tell me I was named after my father and an ‘old friend.’"

"‘Old friend’?" he echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my middle name. Matilda came from ‘Matty’,you knew that, but where did my middle name come from?” you continue, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability.

"What's that again?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. Also trying to not secretly swell with love as he was reminded of your similarities.

"George. Matilda George."

"George. Your middle name is George?" He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read.

"Jeez, I know it’s a guy's name but you don’t have to be a dick about it—" you snap, feeling defensive.

"No! No! It’s not that I just…" he trails off, shaking his head. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and walks towards you. "This is George." He shows you a photo, and judging by the state of Matty’s facial hair, it’s a semi recent one. The pair are on what looks like a stage, together. Drum sticks in George’s hand, and a Guitar in your father’s.

"You know him?" you ask, your confusion deepening.

He smirked. "We’ve been best friends since we were 13. Him and your mother were friends since practically birth. He introduced us to each other." He pauses, seeing the confusion etched on your face. "She never mentioned him?"

"She never mentioned you, so," you retort, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you.

You stare into your coffee, the steam rising and swirling in the dim light. You decide to speak up, trying to change the mood hanging in the air. "She also said my father traveled the world a lot, loved his friends, and loved me, but couldn’t take care of me," you say softly, repeating the words your mother had told you countless times. "You travel a lot?"

"Something like that," he replies, his eyes distant as if he's seeing a different time and place.

—-------

Matty didn’t like leaving you for too long, so he kept to working from home as much as possible.​​ Today, he said he needed to help George with something and then he would be back with dinner from your favorite restaurant. He’s done this a few times before and each time, again and again, the urge to play the stunning grand piano situated in the corner of his office grew more. 

You kept away from it. There were even spots or rooms in the house that you kept away from. Even though you and Matty were so much more comfortable, it still felt like there were boundaries, unspoken lines you weren’t sure you could cross. His office was one of those places, a domain you didn’t feel entirely comfortable invading. The grand piano, with its polished ebony surface and ivory keys, seemed like an artifact from another world, a world that you weren’t quite a part of yet.

Today, though, was different. The house was unusually quiet, the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway amplifying the stillness. You wandered through the rooms, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors. You paused by the door to Matty’s office, your hand resting on the doorknob. You glanced around, as if expecting someone to stop you, but the house remained silent.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the room. The grand piano sat in the corner, almost beckoning you. You walked over to it, your fingers grazing the smooth surface. You hesitated for a moment, then gently lifted the lid.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the bench. The familiar scent of polished wood filled your senses, bringing back memories of when you used to play. Your fingers hovered above the keys, and then, almost instinctively, they began to move. The first notes were tentative, but as you continued, they grew more confident, filling the room with music.

You closed your eyes, letting the music take over. The melody was a blend of old memories and new emotions, a testament to the changes in your life. The piano seemed to respond to your touch, the sound resonating deep within you. You lost track of time, immersed in the music, the outside world fading away.

You didn’t notice the front door opening or the soft footsteps approaching the office. Matty stood in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He had come home earlier than expected, and the sight of you playing the piano was both unexpected and heartwarming. He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment.

Once the last notes sounded, he spoke, startling you as you took your hands off the keys. “Sounds beautiful,” he said softly.

You jumped slightly, your fingers slipping off the keys. You turned to see him standing there, a gentle smile on his face.

“When did you get home?” you asked, a bit flustered.

“Just now,” he replied casually, stepping into the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

“Long enough to realize you lied to me,” he said, his smile turning into a teasing grin.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“You’re a musician! You play piano.”

You paused, thinking, then continued. “Well, you lied to me too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“You never mentioned you were in a band. A really famous one!”

His expression changed. “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “Well, what do you say when you're meeting your 12-year-old daughter for the first time? I don’t know, but I do know it’s definitely not ‘Nice to meet you, I’m famous,’ I’ll tell you that.” You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “How’d you find out?” He asked.

You adjusted your posture and spoke. “I finally told my friends, and we did an internet deep dive in English class.”

He chuckled. “And I wonder why that’s the only class with a B.” He said, leaving the room as he did so.

You followed behind him, the both of you now making your way to the kitchen. “Is that why she said you traveled a lot? Because you were on those tours?” you asked, the pieces starting to fit together.

“I can only guess,” he replied, shrugging. You sat on one of the bar stools, across from where he was unpacking the groceries and starting to prepare dinner.

“Have you ever met Beyoncé?” you asked, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Only in passing,” he said nonchalantly, keeping his focus down.

You sat up in shock. “Really?!” You asked, mouth agape.

“I mean, yeah. It’s hard not to go to the Grammys and not walk past her and Jay-Z’s table.”

“You’ve been to the Grammys?” you asked, amazed.

“Yeah, we were nominated.”

You honestly couldn;t believe it. While spending that time on the internet earlier, a lot of the pieces were starting to come together. It’s just that you didn’t expect your own father - I guess I should start calling him that now - to be this huge ‘star’. “Shut up! Did you win?”

He laughed and looked you in the eyes. “Do you see a shiny gold trophy in our home? Should’ve though.” You shook your head in amazement. “How long have you been playing?” he asked, after a moment.

You became a bit quiet again, not impressed by the fact the conversation was heading this direction. “I don’t know,”

“What was it that Miss Julia said? About being open and honest with each other or something like that-”

“Ten years,” you interrupted, shooting him an unimmpressed look. He just smiled.

“Wow. How the hell did your mother get a two-year-old to stand still?” He asked.

“Well, I was an angel,” you said, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Really? What happened then?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a slightly dramatic sigh. “Those dad jokes kicked in real fast, didn’t they?”

The room seemed to grow warmer as the two of you shared this moment. The room grew quieter, but it felt different than before. It felt, comfortable. The kind of comfortable silence you only felt with your mother. Even if it wasn’t exact - even knowing you might not ever feel that exact comfortable silence ever again - this one felt nice. It felt…right.

“You know, you’re really good,” He said.

Your eyes followed back to him after his voice took you out of your own thoughts.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks after deciding to not turn the compliment into something cheeky.

“I mean it,” he continued. “You have a natural talent.”

You just hummed. And he was glad to see you smile a true smile for the first time.

The lines that once seemed so rigid began to blur. The house, with its many rooms and hidden corners, started to feel less like a maze and more like a place where you could both find and create new memories together. Life started to feel hopeful. And even if it was for just that moment, it would be nice while it lasted.

—-------

Matty paced back and forth in his living room, phone clutched tightly in his hand. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the room, but the day had already brought an unsettling sense of dread.

“She’s gone,” Matty said into the phone, his voice trembling with panic.

George’s voice crackled on the other end. “Who’s gone?”

“Matilda.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s left,” Matty said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I got an alert from her school that she didn’t show up today. I looked in her room, her duffle bag was gone and some clothes were off their hangers in her closet. I think she ran away.”

“What? Okay, don’t panic. Are you sure?” George’s tone was urgent but tried to stay calm.

“Yes!” Matty’s voice rose, frustration and fear mingling. “I don’t know where she could’ve gone!”

“Okay- it’s okay. Calm down. We’ll find her.” His voice was firm, trying to ground Matty’s spiraling thoughts.

Your father heard Adam’s voice from the back. “How are we supposed to know what we’re looking for? We’ve never met the kid.”

“It’s my face, with my hair but longer, on the face of a pre-teen girl,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to scramble to find his keys. Just then, his phone rang. “I’m getting another call, hold on.”

He hung up George’s line and answered, hopeful it was an answer to getting you back on the other end.

“Hi, I’m calling from the London Police Department. I’m calling for a Matthew Healy?” a calm voice said.

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hello, sir. We’ve got a report for a runaway juvenile by the name of Matilda Moss-Healy,” the officer said, his tone professional and steady.

Matty’s stomach dropped, a cold fear gripping him. “Yes, that’s my daughter. Is she okay?”

The officer’s voice remained calm. “She’s safe. A concerned citizen noticed her alone. She’s here at the station.”

Relief flooded through Matty, making his knees weak. He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, thank you so much. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, immediately calling George back. “She’s at the police station. She’s safe.”

“Thank God,” George muttered. Not that Matty could see it but his face showing visible relief.

“Let’s go get her,” Ross said, already heading for the door, determination in his stride.

Adam leaned into the phone for Matty to hear him. “We’re with you, mate. We’ll come pick you up and then we can head there.”

—-------

There was a group of officers in uniform huddled near the front desk. Matty ran straight for them, his friends not far behind. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Hi, I'm looking for my daughter, Matilda. I got a call saying she was here,” he said, the urgency in his tone barely masking the anxiety coursing through him.

One of the sergeants, a tall man with a stern but kind face, nodded and spoke. “Right this way.” His voice was steady, a professional calm that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside Matty.

As they walked, the sergeant began to explain. “A biker a few miles away noticed a young girl using an ATM and riding the metro alone. Thought it was suspicious for a 12-year-old.” The sergeant's words were clear, but they blurred together in Matty’s mind, his focus elsewhere. He kept nodding, mumbling a simple ‘mhm’ at intervals. His mind raced with thoughts of you—how you must be feeling, what you must be thinking. All he could do was silently hope you were okay. However, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish anyone who would even try to lay a finger on you.

He unconsciously quickened his pace, causing the officer to lengthen his strides to keep up. The hallway seemed endless, the sterile scent of the station mingling with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Finally, the sergeant’s voice broke through his thoughts. “She’s right in there. Take all the time you need, or no time at all.”

Matty nodded, his throat tight, and the sergeant walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a moment. Ross, Adam, and George appeared from behind, having finally caught up with their friend. They all stood before a large glass screen, its dark tint revealing it to be a one-way mirror. You couldn’t see them, but they could see you.

“That’s your face alright,” Adam said softly, causing Matty’s lips to twitch into a short, bittersweet smile. His eyes never left the glass, never left you.

He turned around to face his friends, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “Just give us a minute, yeah?” The three nodded in understanding, sharing a look of solidarity and concern, and walked back to the front reception desk.

Matty took a deep breath, steeling himself before he entered the room. His heart ached with a mixture of hope and fear. He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes landing on you immediately. You sat there, looking small and lost in the large, sterile room, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

You didn’t notice the metal door creak open. Too lost in your own anxious state of mind. “Matilda,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. As your eyes met his, he felt a wave of emotion crash over him, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

You bolted toward him, your shaky legs propelling you forward as fast as they could. The moment you collided with him, it rocked him back on impact. You clung to him, your small frame trembling as you buried your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your dirt-streaked hair.

He took in your state, his heart breaking at the sight. Your hair was matted slightly with grime, and you smelled of cigarettes and the harsh streets of London. But despite your disheveled appearance, you were safe. Not a scratch or mark on you. Relief washed over him, mingling with the overwhelming urge to protect you from ever feeling this kind of fear again.

“Tilly-” he began, his voice choking with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, your voice muffled against his chest.

“It’s okay-” he started to say, but you cut him off again.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Your sobs intensified, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

“Tilly, it’s okay, just calm down-” His voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

“I was just so scared.” Your voice was small, filled with a vulnerability that shattered his heart.

“It’s okay, baby. Breathe,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back in a comforting rhythm.

“I won’t do it again! I swear! I just—”

“Matilda. Look at me.” His voice was firm yet gentle, his hands cupping your face as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face but your breathing began to steady under his calming influence.

“Let’s go home, yeah? We’ll talk about it later, just let me take you home.” His voice was soft, filled with a promise of safety and comfort.

You nodded again, a small, broken “okay” escaping your lips. He hugged you tightly once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He guided you to the front where the boys were waiting anxiously. Your head remained bowed, avoiding their concerned gazes. He gently sat you on the opposite end of the row of chairs, his touch soft and reassuring. “I’m gonna talk to my friends real quick, alright? They came with me, they wanted to help find you.” Your gaze drifted to the three men on the other side of the room. More specifically, to George, remembering the things Matty had told you about him and your mom and remembering his photo. “I also need to thank the policeman before we leave. I need you to stay here for a minute, can you do that for me?” You nodded silently. He gave you a short smile, and kissed your cheek before standing to find his friends.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, he turned to his friends. You were well prepared to space out again, but not before your eyes drifted to George one more time. His eyes met yours and gave them a smile. You smiled back.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Matty said, his voice low but filled with gratitude. “I’ll get us home, we can catch the tube or grab an Uber or something.”

Ross, ever the practical one, nodded. “No problem, mate. We’re here for you. Just glad she’s okay.”

Adam’s eyes were filled with empathy as he glanced at you, then back to Matty. “Yeah, anything you need. Don’t hesitate to call.”

George, however, wasn’t ready to leave so easily. “Matty, let us at least make sure you guys get home safe. You shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”

Matty shook his head, though he appreciated the sentiment. “I know, George, but It’s fine. I swear.”

George sighed, his concern evident. “Alright, but if you need anything, call us. Anytime.”

Matty nodded. “I will.”

With that, the three men exchanged solemn glances, their concern for Matty and you clear in their eyes. They began to walk out of the police station, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space.

As they left, Matty turned back to you, his heart aching at the sight of your small frame hunched over, your head still hung low, anxious of what was to happen next. He walked over and sat down beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

[sno4wy]

Did you seriously drop that much money to try to make your awful ship more valid? Guess what? You didn't, hope you enjoyed wasting a ton of money. It doesn't matter how much money you pay, you and your lame friends will always be the only ones who prefer your fugly builder with Miguel. Just give it up and go jump off a bridge already.

Hey Anon, based on the three messages you sent me today, it seems that my sharing of my commission from Momodeary in the official Pathea Discord server really upset you. Your rage felt really familiar to me, and I thought about this a lot about why. I'm going to hazard a guess that you're lashing out at me more than usual because of the price aspect, especially for something that seems so frivolous. I get it -- I grew up in abject poverty, and I harbored a lot of rage about it both directly and indirectly for many years. It really sucks not having the money to do what you need, or even what you want, and it can feel like having salt rubbed into the wound when someone else shows off some pricey non-necessity that they got. Everyone deserves to get what brings them joy, as long as it isn't something that causes harm to others, and it sucks that capitalism/corporations/societal structure/etc make most people unable to attain that. I sincerely hope that things improve for you.

I'm fortunate now to do well enough for myself that I can afford a pricey commission like the one that I shared. I got the commission because I like Momodeary's art style, it's not a style that I see myself personally doing, and I'm making it up to myself now for all the things that I couldn't do in the past. I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to say it was to support the artist, as she has tons of clients and certainly didn't need my money, I'm really lucky to have been able to get a slot with her. If you have the means to do so and want to, I really suggest contacting her directly -- the worst thing she can say is no, but more likely is that she'll put you on an (admittedly long) waitlist. The point is, if you're upset about not being able to get a commission from her, don't write it off until you try. Worse comes to worst, she can't fit you in, but there are tons of skilled artists out there with similar styles that you can commission instead. It's ok though if you have your heart set on Momodeary, most artists are very accommodating as long as the client is understanding and willing to wait.

If your anger has to do with not being able to afford a commission from Momodeary, I'm really sorry about that. There are some ways that I can help, if not directly to get you a commission, but perhaps means to address the funds shortage issue. I managed to claw my way out of poverty, and in the process picked up more than a few ideas and tricks, however at the end of the day, there is no magical get rich quick scheme, and everything that you hear about how to find a job is sadly mostly true. For instance, a good resumé is an integral part to finding a job, and a big part of what makes a resumé good is proper formatting. Having gone from someone who sent out hundreds of resumés to someone who's had to review hundreds of resumés, I can tell you that so much of the time, it's a lot less about the contents of the resumé and more about its appearance. Countless qualified, heck, overqualified, people get turned down for positions because their resumés don't even get looked at. I'm happy to look over a resumé if you'd like, and of course I'd understand if you need to anonymize most of it before showing me. Please note that it is sadly the case that having a good resumé, or in many cases, all the correct qualifications, don't necessarily guarantee you a job. Connections are at least, if not more, important, so don't be shy about asking for help from friends and family in this aspect.

Finding and securing a job can be a long-term project though, so picking up some side hustles might be a good way to generate some income, especially as you can keep these side hustles after finding a job. A lot of people have even done so well with their side hustles that they were able to make them into their careers. I'm happy to make suggestions, but I'm afraid that my knowledge is chiefly confined to the US and my ideas may not be applicable or workable in other countries. I have found however that a fairly universal way to generate some income via a side hustle is through selling crocheted items. Crochet is very quick and easy to learn and master, and yarn is very cheap, especially if you get store brands like Joann's Big Twist. Red Heart Super Saver is also very cheap yarn that comes in a ton of colors. There are countless free patterns on the internet, and ones that aren't free tend to be pretty cheap, generally within the $5 range. It is totally legal to sell the stuff you make from purchased patterns; some patterns even explicitly state that this is the case. The best part about crochet is that you can do it while doing other stuff, like commuting to your job, watching a show, listening to music, etc. It's totally possible to churn out a ton of crochet animals (amigurumi) in one day. Dipping into fandom stuff by making characters from a certain franchise is a great way to sell crochet products. Another really cool thing is that there doesn't currently exist a way for crocheted items to be mass produced; while there are items that look crocheted, they're actually sewn together pieces and not true crochet. Machines can't currently make crocheted items. Buyers looking for real crochet products want something that only a human can make.

Online marketing tools are also pretty solid. Etsy is the way to go for handmade crafts, although they do take a pretty hefty fee (15%). You can try to cut down on that fee by listing on your own social media, in which case you'd still have to pay a 3-5% handling fee for payment processors, and it can be a pain trying to beat social media algorithms. If you're handy with TikTok, that's a great way to boost awareness of your brand, and you can use those same videos as Reels on Instagram and Facebook to get your accounts noticed faster.

If you're an artist, you could of course always try to go the commissions route, but I've found that this is a much harder uphill battle than trying to break into the scene marketing crochet goods. If you do decide to give crochet a shot, I really recommend investing in a quality hook -- Clover Armour is many crocheters' go-to. They are pricy, around $9 for a hook, but they last forever and they're super comfortable to use. You only need one to start -- I recommend the size G (4.0 mm) one, as that goes with the most common yarn weight for a lot of amigurumi. Big Twist and Red Heart Super Saver are also both Worsted weight yarn, for which you use a G hook. If this is something you really want to do but are really tight on funds, I'm happy to get one of those hooks for you, just tell me how to get it to you.

I have a lot of other ideas for possible side gigs, which all will require a lot of work, but will return income. However, I'd just be spitballing, so hit me up if you want to talk shop. You know where to find me. ;P

[canyonroads]

If you live in the US and you are poor, you probably know that most public housing here (which you need to be homeless and/or extremely low income to even qualify for) has waitlists.

This means that the people who apply are waiting anywhere from 1-10 years (depending on city and size of the housing unit) just to come up for a shitty, rent controlled apartment. Sometimes, elderly and/or disabled people get prioritized to the top of those lists, but even then, usually have to wait at least a year for a building that may not even be accessible to them.

But what you may not know, is that the processing times to get into these places is also at an all time high. I work with clients finally coming up #1 on these lists, and waiting 2-4 extra months just to have their applications processed fully.

This is because there are so fucking many bureaucratic hoops to jump through in screening. But also, "property managers" with no legally required education or bare minimum housing law trainings are fumbling their way through it and often managing like, 3 buildings at once.

2-4 months of (likely) being some degree of homeless, on top of the however many years you already waited. And because homeless people notoriously have unreliable access to a communication device, many people are being lost in that entire process and have to start over. Like if you come up as #1 and they can't reach you within a few days, they just move on to the next person.

Anyway I'm posting this because I feel like "just build more affordable housing" is like, the band-aid solution that keeps coming up. Its not a real solution.

You'll also note that "affordable" housing =\= subsidized, public, or rent controlled housing. "Affordable" actually doesn't mean dickshit. Any slumlord can call their place affordable as long as it's under the local average rent. I see studios here priced at $1400/month labeled as affordable. People on SSI/SSDI are making between 400-1600 a month, which makes that "affordable" rent still anywhere between 80-300% of their income.

[hannahstarshade]

Been looking for Twitter alternatives, and other social media sites in general. I'm on the waitlist for Bluesky. No idea when I'll see that, and I haven't heard much about it either. I signed up for CuriousCat for funsies, but I don't think it's what I was looking for. I likely won't use it much. Now on to the juicy stuff.

Last night I signed up for Threads and I already don't like it. Right now, there are zero ways to control your dashboard. Or much of anything, really. Just the basic functions of Instagram, but with words. I'll see one or two posts from people I follow before an endless stream of thoughts from people I don't know or care about. Seeing the 4,508,877th member badge on my Insta page, as it relates to Threads, just hammers home how we're all just pieces of data to get swallowed up by the conglomerate. Not even bothering to hide the fact that it's all a numbers game. The app itself is clunky, lacking soul and personality. It's so boring to look at. A lifeless machine, and all 30+ million users and growing are the franticly spinning cogs.

I've signed up for Pilowfort a little while ago and I like it so far. Its closer to Tumblr. Given that Tumblr is always on the brink of disappearing, it wouldn't hurt to have a back-up. There are posts for everyone to see that live on your blog, but there are also individual communities that act as forums. Posts can have individual comment sections, which I guess helps keep things on-topic. I'm going to slowly transition to cross-posting both old and new posts there. It seems promising, and the interactions I've had with other users thus far have been pleasant. I've already seen a few guides and helpful tips for the internet refugees.

Then there's Spoutible. It was touted as black-owned, having no algorithm, and having mods that handled hate speech and bigots swiftly and appropriately. Those are some green flags. They also have a cute little whale mascot, so all that combined had me. It is the closest to a Twitter clone I've come across so far. The interface is easy to understand and navigate. Posts are limited to 300 characters, and can include pictures, gifs, videos, and polls. There are a lot of safety measures for you to customize your experience to avoid malicious accounts. One being a rating system ranging from Normal to Problematic to help distinguish normies from bots. To post something is to "Spout Off." The trending topics page is titled "Making Waves." I like the vibes, and I believe this app has a lot of promise.

The truth is I've been kind of ambivalent to Twitter, even years before the Elon fiasco. When I first joined, it was for following my middle school and high school friends. After I graduated, those relationships fell off one by one. My dashboard morphed into a cascade of influencer updates and artist promotions. All I could offer was superficial consumption and meaningless life updates. Posting became a competition of who could be the funniest or who had the hottest take, and your whole psyche takes a hit when you just can't hack it. Maybe a restart was inevitable, and necessary for all of our sakes. I'll be taking Twitter off of my Linktree and other socials for the time being, and I don't see the point in linking any of these new socials until I've had enough time to play with them and figure things out.

TLDR: I'm not a tech genius. I simply operate on vibes. Bluesky is mysterious, more data needed. Threads is bloated and leans heavily on the algorithm. Pillowfort is a nice comfy space, just need to get used to it. Spoutible has potential and immaculate vibes.

[gaelfox]

Getting a lot of activity here more than usual, so I guess Tumblr is up and thriving again! I figure its time for me to reintroduce myself for all you knew and returning lovely folk. So —

Hello, my name is Gael!

I am a lady cartoonist that went to college for animation and since graduating I’ve been a part of a whole bunch of projects - from internet media companies to solo YouTubers to my own merch to online fandoms, I’ve found myself in a lot of places for my work. My favorite things to create are comics and short-blurb joke images, but I also love narrative storytelling and character design. Right now, I work on YouTube thumbnails for my favorite Theme Park Podcast (Annual Pass) and a wonderful dude named Ray Narvaez Jr. over on Twitch!

I live with my fiancé (who I will refer to as Babbus) in the PNW and we’re getting married this Summer ~ He’s my light and joy and my biggest muse, you’ll recognize him on my blog as a large-horned Tiefling character of the same name next to my own Persona, Lich Queen Gael, when he’s not being my partner-in-crime in other fandoms.

What Kinds of Things do You Like?

Well, y’all found my blog for a reason - whether you were here since the beginning for my AH/RT designing and worldbuilding to my own worldbuilding with LQG/DPB to various other tidbits, y’all know I like many things. What fandoms can you expect from this blog? Things including, but not limited to:

YouTube Gamers (AH, GameGrumps, Jack, Mark, etc) - my radio for the day. Especially loving the variety of my channels between game play, horror game lore, theme park and history documentaries, and whatever the hell

One Piece (constantly on the hunt for more good good Law FanArt and uh…may be trying something a little new for NaNoWriMo this year…?) I just want more of my Trash Husband

Video Games - These shift and change depending on what I’m playing at the time to be honest, but some of my solidified favorites are Stardew Valley, Disney Dreamlight Valley, Minecraft, Pokemon, the Phoenix Wright series, Monster Hunter, Yakuza, and small indie games that I discover. My sisters and I bonded over video games growing up so they hold a special place in my heart, always.

Critical Role - I’ve started watching pretty regular since C2E1, and I’m watching all of C3 while slowly catching up on C1. Maybe you’ve seen me in the old art reel a few times?

Theme Parks - I’ve got a deep love for the way that theming and storytelling comes into play in the Theme Park world, its a sort of special niche of mine that I hold dearly since my grandmother was a cast member and the joy of theme parks runs deep in my family

TTRPG’s - I do love me a good tabletop system! I have a lot of games I’ve played in the past, and many more ideas for the future. I always love a good character, whether they start out as a joke and come completely into their own (Riss) or they just remain a silly protagonist for the sake of keeping the mood of the table light (Bobert Rossington, Esq., who beats the devil out of his enemies) I always love the design elements that can come from a simple system that can lead to incredible character development and choices.

Food - what more is there to say? I love food.

But ultimately, overall? Expect art and jokes. Art and jokes to me are the spice of a good smile, and even if you’re having the worst of days, sometimes all it takes is a smile from a good post to get you though. I want for my art to give people joy, for that in turn gives me joy. And that’s why I do what I do.

Do You Take Commissions?

I do! On occasion. They have to open up and I can garner a bit of a long waitlist if I do - but because I don’t require payment until the work is complete, all you gotta spend is an email and some patience. Right now they aren’t open due to time constraints, previous commission queue and contract work, and I can’t say when they’ll open back up again. But I’ll make an announcement here if they do!

Do You Do Anything Else Aside from Fine Dining Art and Breathing?

I do! Strangely enough. I have a Twitch channel that I sometimes haunt playing games/doing art with friends of mine (under my same pseudonym) and I’m at the gym 4 days a week for HIIT/weightlifting. I enjoy a good podcast, a good book, and binging Netflix. I love animation as a medium and comics and stage plays, I’m getting into NHL/hockey when my gym shows me games. Variety is the spice of life, after all!

So, there ya go. Maybe we have more similar interests than you think? In any case, thank you for coming along for the ride, and hope you enjoy what we have together!

Welcome aboard this Life in Cartoon Motion!

[stormblessed95]

Happy Ace Week!

I've done this for a few different visibility awareness days/weeks/months and now it's time for everyone on the aro/ace spectrum to shine! Happy Ace Week friends. 💜 While searching for books that I could recommend that featured Ace characters I realized I was DRASTICALLY missing Representation of the ace community on my bookshelf. Which was... depressing. So what I'll be doing is sharing the few I have read and would recommend and then sharing the books I've found recommended by others that I am adding to my library waitlist as I am making this post!

Book Recommendations with Ace Representation for Ace Week! 💜🤍🖤

Vicious by V.E. Schwab

🔹️Ace biromantic MC

🔹️SciFi/Fantasy/Supernatural

🔹️Trigger Warnings are so important

🔹️Morally Grey or just bad? Lol you decide!

🔹️No romance in book 1 at all, I loved this duology, the ace rep is coded, not explicity stated but has been author confirmed. Been debate among the community over if this counts as ace rep or not, but im included it anyway since it was author confirmed, willing ti be corrected if needed! It was a ton of fun, fast paced and high stakes, kept me at the edge of my seat, in my opinion

Loveless by Alice Oseman (same author who wrote the beloved Heartstopper books)

🔹️Ace MC

🔹️Overall good and would recommend but it does have its own set of issues with some problematic stereotypes over bi/pan sexualities. Overall the message Is a positive one and one worth reading still in my opinion.

Ophelia After All by Racquel Marie

🔹️bisexual and Ace Bi romantic MCs

🔹️YA Contemporary

🔹️Adding to my TBR!

Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann

🔹️Ace Biromantic MC

🔹️YA Contemporary Collage Romance

🔹️Adding to my TBR!

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun

🔹️Demisexual MC

🔹️New Adult Contemporary 18+

🔹️Adding to my TBR!

The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

🔹️Demisexual MC

🔹️New Adult Romance 18+

🔹️ was actually originally Reylo Fanfic lol

🔹️ fake dating trope

🔹️Has its own set of problems again lol its not great writing, but it was fun. Enjoyed myself for the most part while reading even if I had some moments of cringiness. Lol

My Heart To Find by Elin Annalise

🔹️Ace, Demi, and Gray-sexual rep

🔹️chronically ill rep too

🔹️Adding to my TBR!

The Poppy War by RF Kuang

🔹️AroAce Rep for one of the MCs

🔹️Epic High Fantasy

🔹️If you read this book without reading the Trigger Warnings it's not my fault

🔹️Very Graphically violent but I throughly loved this book and am looking forward to finishing the Trilogy

Heartsong by TJ Klune

🔹️Book 3 in GreenCreek series

🔹️Ace MC, mlm relationship

🔹️Trigger Warnings for Violence mostly

🔹️again, has its problems, but I love this series ALOT lol and this book and relationship were SO CUTE and I would recommend them!

^ and from this author above, he has a new book coming out next year called "In the Lives of Puppets" and has already confirmed Ace Representation

Bonus mention to the Stormlight Archive as well, for minor Ace rep in a sort of side sort of main character. Author confirmed, Jasnah is Asexual heteroromantic.

Happy Ace Week friends! And Happy Reading! If anyone else has any other good recs to share with Ace Representation that I (or others) should check out, please share!

[kitxkatrp]

I'm having a meltdown and need to rant. I'm sorry if this upsets anybody, so I'll be putting it under the cut.

So I'm having issues with not being able to handle my mood swings again, for one. A bunch of things keep happening and its making me feel like I want to fucking die again and because its bipolar moodswing I can do nothing but ride it out because nothing I've learned and no medicine can help me stop an episode when it fucking starts.

So not only did I have to emergency buy another computer (which I had to borrow MONEY to pay for), but i got it and it barely works. But because I couldn't afford the warranty, I'm now out 400 dollars.

AND

I'm getting bit in bed again, which means my neighbors have given me bedbugs, AGAIN. If you weren't here for the first three or four times, this is the like fifth time in the span of a single year and they refuse to treat your apartment unless you can actually catch one, but refuse to do a proper inspection. They walk in, lift up your sheets, and say "there's no bedbugs. You're obviously just wrong and it's fleas from your pet" and then leave. They don't check cracks, crevices, and all other spots that bedbugs live. Also one fell out of my bathroom vent, so I'd bet anything thats where the fuckers are coming from. They refused to treat my apartment before for over a month until I caught a live bedbug, walked into their office, and slammed it down on their fucking desk and said "tell me its my cat and fleas again. I dare you."

Also I am excruciatingly allergic to bedbug bites, so they swell up and get all nasty and sometimes infected. They itch so maddeningly bad that you have to constantly put cream on them. I am almost out of cream.

Also I paid all the money I had yesterday for fucking groceries, only to realize today that I am low on garbage bags and I'll have to borrow even MORE money from my partners this month to just make it to the next month.

Comcast doubled my bill and refused to lower it.

My disability got raised, but because of it, they docked my food stamps again so I'm essentially just as fucked as before.

I couldn't afford valentines gifts for either of my partners or a birthday gift for scottie so I feel like a terrible partner.

I am having moments of hearing voices again which happens when I am so physically and mentally stressed that my bipolar is unable to cope.

I am almost out of allergy medication. I could not afford it this month. It's almost 30 bucks for a pack that lasts a month. It is the only thing that works and I can't even take it every day cause then it stops working. I am allergic to dust mites (the things that live in your bedding), and my own cat, which did not develop until after I got my cat. When I lay down, half the time I start having an allergy attack from my own sheets.

I could not afford to get my back cracked this month so I get to be in : ) a fantastic amount of pain because it costs me 40 dollars per crack and that is with my disability discount because medicare doesn't give a shit about me or you.

I finally broke down today and called and asked to be put on the waitlist for the other apartments that have less bedbug issues, but got rushed off the phone and hung up on by the secretary before I could ask any questions about the pricing differences or anything. And because I can't guarantee that they won't come inspect my apartment or come harass me to ask me why I want to switch (remember kids, low income landlords are not your friend and will harass and threaten to put you on the street at every possible turn), I just had to speed clean my apartment which caused me a ridiculous amount of pain.

My back hurts, my ankles hurt, I can't stop crying and I just want to die right now. I'll probably be okay in a few hours, but fuck man I'm tired.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: Graduation is only a few months away, and Rubi Ramos’s “recipe for success” to get into prestigious Alma University is already off track. When Alma waitlists Rubi’s application, Rubi will need to be distraction-free to make the grade and keep her parents—who have wanted this for her for years—from finding out. Which means falling for her cute surfer-slash-math tutor, Ryan, definitely won’t work. And neither will breaking her mother’s ban on baking—her parents didn’t leave Cuba so she could bake just like them. But some recipes are begging to be tampered with. When the First Annual Bake Off comes to town, Rubi’s passion for baking goes from subtle simmer to full boil. Add to the mix her crush on Ryan may be turning into a full-fledged relationship and Rubi’s life is suddenly so different from what it was. She’s not sure if she has what it takes to win the Bake Off, or where the relationship with Ryan is going, but there’s only one way to find out—even if it means going against her parents’ priorities. Now Rubi must differentiate between the responsibility of unfulfilled dreams she holds and finding the path she’s meant for. A joyful novel of first romance, new possibilities, and the chance to define yourself, Rubi Ramos’s Recipe for Success is a novel that will find its way into your heart and never leave.

Review:

What do you do when you have to pick between what your heart wants and what you know you are expected to want? With graduation is just a few months away, Rubi Ramos is determined to get into the prestigious Alma University, except the one thing she didn’t expect was to be waitlisted. Rubi has been banned from baking by her parents in order to focus on getting into the school they want her to, yet she can’t resist. She adores baking and wants to pursue it, so when the First Annual Bake Off comes into town, Rubi can’t resist entering. Throw in a super cute surfer boy who has an amazing kitchen and is willing to help tutor her to bring her math grade up to make her part of the top 5% of her class and Rubi has a very difficult recipe on her hand. She hasn’t told her parents that she was waitlisted, in fact she lied and told them that she was accepted into Alma... now she just has to find a way to get off the waitlist and she hopes that by winning the baking competition and juggling her law debate team into winning nationals, she can show that she is a standout... but with so many things piling up and so many secrets, soon she’ll have to decide what she’s willing to risk and what path she is going to follow. Will she give up her baking dreams or will she try and have her cake and eat it too? This was such a fun read, I enjoyed it so much. Rubi was a great protagonist, she was trying her best to juggle so many things and pursue her passions despite everything working against her. She made the time, she put in the effort, and she really tried her best. The friendship and romance in this was also so sweet and amazing. Seriously give this a read and add it to your tbr ( I was dying to try some of her recipes and treats!)

*Thanks Netgalley and St. Martin's Press, Wednesday Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[timeisacephalopod]

Its real strange when Americans especially (meaning politicians, less citizens but them too sometimes) say socialism doesn't work because how the hell would you even know. Half the shit American politcians describe as socialism isn't socialism, and often they treat those things like the sky will fall if they're implemented (like healthcare. Ignore Canada right above you. Lie about how our system works by telling people you need to wait years to see Drs about life threatening issues when you only get waitlisted for specialists and not for years either, it's generally a few months. Not ideal but not what American politicians say either. Ignore every other country with universal healthcare better than Canada's, which is everyone's, because there's no need to even lie about those after making the country above you look bad for not charging 80K to look at a band-aid, which is somehow an improvement to waitlists like the poor won't just die instead of seeing a dr).

Not to mention the US has invaded so many countries with politics farther left then theirs just to install right wing terrorists and then get mad when some of those terrorists they straight up funded do a 9/11 to them like they have slaughtered thousands to "spread democracy" by overthrowing democratically elected leaders all over the world for being "too socialist" or communist so how do you know socialism doesn't work? If it doesn't it's because America specifically has never allowed it to, like you can't invade every single country that does things mildly different, completely destroy them, and then say "see socialism doesn't work!" like you had nothing to do with the collapse of that system???? It's literally the meme of Eric Andre shooting that guy and being like "how come socialism didn't work!" like they didn't just shoot socialism in the face in cold blood. And also capitalism doesn't need to work at all in any way, efficient or not, for everyone to defend it to the hilt so like ok who cares if socialism works if you don't care that capitalism doesn't and you defend it anyway? Clearly "works" isn't a prerequisite to using that system so that's not even an argument worth bringing up at that point.

[sheepwithspecs]

Playing to Win: Chapter 2

|| FFXIV || Rated M || (2 / 5)

Ao3 Link

The Final Days may be ravaging Thavnair, but the first ripples of despair’s swan song have yet to fully reach La Noscea. While others tremble in the wake of nightmares, life on the docks of Limsa Lominsa continue as normal. The same can be said for the eternal rivalry of the Sanguine Sirens and the Kraken’s Arms, as well as their obstinate captains. But as tensions rise alongside reports of monsters prowling the coastline, they will soon come to realize that the only thing more frightening than a Blasphemy is… a confession.

"Though she has her own place, Captain Rhoswen often dines at the Bismarck in secret." -Melkoko

If you wish to see something done right, you must endeavor to do it yourself.

As a child, Carvallain had often heard his father tout the age-old adage when dealing in trickier affairs of business. It was one of the few life lessons he’d taken to heart, and it had served him well in his thirty-odd years of life. At times, however, he was reminded of the lesson’s importance in the most inopportune ways, with minor grievances that might have easily been avoided had he taken matters into his own hands. These tribulations were often too petty to quarrel over, and yet they were also just aggravating enough that he could not let them go unnoticed.

A ruined meal, for example.

On those tedious days when he was forced to meet face-to-face with merchants from across the star, Carvallain often treated himself to a delicious—albeit pricey—private luncheon courtesy of the Bismarck. Although he considered himself something of a connoisseur, the dish he ordered was something more akin to comfort food. His cuisine of choice: Ishgardian beet soup, served fresh from the pot with a soft bread roll and a tall glass of wine. A hearty meal flavored by nostalgia, the rose-tinted reminder of bygone days.

Being a popular restaurant, the Bismarck was often booked for months in advance; in order to sidestep this waitlist, Carvallain usually made an effort to speak with Lyngsath personally. The Seventh Sage provided the Bismarck with a hefty discount on a variety of culinary imports, and Lyngsath was willing to pull strings and provide the occasional bribe in return. This time, however, their respective schedules had made it nigh impossible to meet before the appointed day. Desperate, he’d hastily scribbled down his chosen menu on a spare sheet of parchment before handing it off to one of the culinarians. 

Now, weeks later, he was reaping the unfortunate rewards of his split-second decision. The Bismarck culinarians had not, in fact, prepared him a piping hot bowl of Ishgardian beet soup. Instead, they had prepared him a piping hot bowl of Garlean beet soup.

“What does it matter?” Gerald had asked, upon hearing of the mix-up. “Beets are beets.”

“There is more than one variety of any given vegetable,” Carvallain had argued, angrily pushing away the offending soup. “Furthermore, it’s the principle of the matter. When a patron orders a meal from a prestigious restaurant, they are entitled to come away satisfied. I am not satisfied.”

“What do you plan to do about it, then?”

“For one thing, I will be marching over there to speak with Lyngsath on the sloppiness of his kitchen staff.” Gerald, used to his captain’s stringent demands, rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug.

“But are you not going to eat it?” Carvallain wrinkled his nose at the offending bowl, with its wine-dark puree and pale sprig of garnish. “Let me have it, then; I don’t care one way or another about the beets.”

That evening, Carvallain crossed the short breezeway between the Seventh Sage and the Bismarck. The sun hovered just above the horizon, coloring both sea and sky in vibrant shades of pink and orange. The air was lively with the clink of silverware and hum of conversation from the restaurant’s al fresco diners. Future patrons stood in a line that stretched along the upper walkways, waiting with growing impatience as they announced their reservations one by one to the attending hostess. 

He ignored the “No Entry” sign on the lower door, opening it to find the Bismarck’s crowded storage room. Crates were stacked here and there in the corners, their bulky wooden shapes broken only by the rounded curve of iron-rimmed barrels at odd intervals along the walls. Aging casks of wine stood ready along the far wall, stacked up higher than even a Roegadyn could safely reach. Ropes of onions and peppers were strung from the rafters alongside large linen sacks of flour and salt.

Near the entrance to the kitchens, a Miqo’te culinarian was busy tapping a barrel of ale. He approached with a polite smile, signaling with a wave of his hand.

“Excuse me, my good madam.” The culinarian looked up at him with wide eyes, her ears perking curiously before falling back to her skull. “Where might I find Lyngsath? I need to have a word with him.”

“Oh! He’s down cellar, but…” she trailed off uncertainly, eyes darting to the archway that housed the stone staircase. “I don’t think… that is, you probably shouldn’t—”

“Never mind,” he interrupted smoothly, with all the charm and grace he could muster. “Continue with your work, my dear. I shall go down myself and find him.”

“But sir—!”

Ignoring her continued protest, Carvallain descended the narrow staircase to find himself in the cellar. The vaulted stone chamber was full of perishables, shelves of aging cheeses and great vats of pickled vegetables, rows upon rows of jars containing jams and jellies, and several unmarked boxes piled high with ingredients used in the more tongue-tantalizing dishes served upstairs. His lips unconsciously pursed at the sight of katsuobushi, remembering how he’d once foolishly passed off an entire crate to the Sirens without knowing its true worth as a stock.

At the end of the long room was another door, this one covered in baize to muffle any sounds from inside. The door stood propped open with a barrel, allowing him a clear view into the cellar’s second chamber. This room appeared to be Lyngsath’s private galley, with all the tools needed for any culinary venture imaginable. A large stone oven had been built into the outer wall, as well as a stove like the ones used in the upstairs kitchen. Shelves of ingredients and solid wooden counterpanes lined either wall; beneath a free-hanging rack of pots and pans, a stone island stood sentinel in the center of the room.

He found Lyngsath in front of the stove, his broad face creased with intense focus as he stood over a bubbling stewpot. At his side, perched on a wobbling, three-legged stool… was Rhoswen. Carvallain did a double-take, barely able to recognize her without the trademark crimson garb and tricorne. Without them, she looked as unassuming as any other Limsan native in plainclothes.

Seven hells— Carvallain quickly retreated to the shadows, preferring to observe the scene without fear of discovery. What is she doing here? The galley was a far cry from a tavern kitchen, yet Rhoswen seemed perfectly at home on her little stool. And Lyngsath didn’t seem at all concerned to host a culinary rival in his workshop. In fact, the two seemed to make quite the cozy pair. Hmm….

A gentleman of high standing would not be caught dead listening to a private conversation. It was far beneath him to pry, but he simply could not leave the restaurant until he’d uncovered the reason behind this little rendezvous. By leaning just so against one of the shelves, he was able to see both parties while still remaining hidden from plain sight, one ear poised to catch any choice snippets of conversation.

Lyngsath gave the steaming contents of the pot one final stir before sampling it with a smaller spoon. He rolled the liquid experimentally around his mouth, tongue working in his cheek before his eyes lit up in an expression of pure joy.

“I don’t know how, but ye’ve done it again! This is damn near perfect!” He laughed, his booming timbre echoing in the vaulted ceilings. “Clever girl, using apples to sweeten the broth! I’d have never thought of it, meself.”

“Pshaw.” Rhoswen dipped her head, cheeks glowing with the compliment. “Ain’t nothin’ to it, really. I learned it meself from a long-eared Gridanian farmer when we took on that job for the Botanist’s Guild last summer.” She deftly pared another apple as she spoke, peeling the skin from a slice and popping into her mouth with a satisfying crunch. “I ain’t above takin’ advice from the professionals. I reckon if they grew the damn things, they oughta know how to eat ‘em too.”

“N’ it’s paid off, ain’t it?” Lyngsath chuckled. “Just last week I had two of my best culinarians going off their heads, tryin’ to figure out the secret ingredient in the Missing Member’s braised beef. It’s makin’ me wonder, now… could it possibly be?”

“Might be.” She winked. “Then again, might not. I gather me own herbs n’ spices rather than relying on the markets, so who’s t’say I ain’t got more than one secret ingredient?” 

Damn it all! Carvallain let out a low exhale, cursing his poor luck. This isn’t a chance encounter! It’s nothing more than a meeting of minds.

Clearly this was some sort of preplanned event; by the familiar way they spoke to one another, it might have even been a regular occurrence. While he firmly believed his opinions about the kitchen’s lack of quality service to be well founded, Lyngsath was in no position to hear them at present. Besides, he’d already endured countless merchants and their unending woes, with no consoling meal to bolster his mood. Any complaint on his part was not worth the trouble of fighting off that screeching she-devil. He turned to make a silent exit, swallowing back the bitter taste of lost gil.

“Y’know, lass, yer a true natural with flavors. I just don’t see why ye refuse to even think about striking a bargain with the Seventh Sage.” Carvallain froze, his head snapping towards the galley fast enough that the bones in his neck protested. “It’s a damn shame that pride o’ yers will keep ye from reaching yer true potential.”

“My pride?” Rhoswen scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh! Do ye honestly think that fop would bother cuttin’ me an honest deal? He’d have me head on a platter first.”

“Aww, ye don’t know that.”

Oh, yes she does! Carvallain sneered at the mental image of Rhoswen in the Seventh Sage, begging on bended knee for a single jar of Thavnairian ten-spice. He could humiliate her by parading her around as his personal servant, or force her to do menial tasks in the hopes of earning his favor, only to deny the request the moment his amusement finally waned. He almost wished she’d be foolish enough to try it, just to provide him with some much-needed entertainment.

“I mean, it’s a whole new era,” Lyngsath continued, oblivious of their observer and his cruel reverie. “Piracy ain’t what it used to be, after all, but ye found yer niches well enough. The Krakens have made a good name for themselves as tradesmen; I even heard that Carvallain brokered a deal with Ishgard, n’ I know good n’ well he used to avoid any mention o’ the place on principle.”

“N’ look at yerself!” he gushed, waving a mittened hand towards the stool. “Every night folks are lined up n’ down the balustrade, waitin’ to set foot in yer tavern. Not to mention this new seaborne guard-for-hire business on the side. Before long, ye’ll be up to yer neck in gil. So, why not let bygones be bygones? With yer talents and his spice, the Missing Member would be giving me and ol’ Baderon both a run for our coin!”

“Shut yer trap!” Rhoswen snapped, the blush spreading down her neck. She turned away from the open flames, fanning herself with the loose collar of her tunic. “Yer so full o’ it.”

“Full o— Why, I’m as serious as the plague!”

“Whatever. N’ anyroad,” she added, after a pensive moment, “the Missing Member was never meant to be fancy. We’re peasant folk makin’ food after our own ‘earts; that’s why everything on the menu is sourced from La Noscea, from the farm-grown ingredients down to the herbs we pick ourselves from the coastline. When ye eat, it ought to put ye in mind o’ yer ma’s food. If we started to use them fancy spices, n’ ingredients with names so long ye can’t begin to spell ‘em… it just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy it here.” Rhoswen picked up another apple, stripping the peel from its flesh with deft flicks of her wrist. “It’s peaceful-like, without everyone banging about n’ hollering at the top o’ their lungs. Ye can hear yer own thoughts, n’ I like that. I like helpin’ ye with all the newfangled recipe ideas ye always seem to have brewin’ away in yer head. N’ when them recipes get popular with yer customers, I ain’t never asked for recognition, on account of I don’t want any.”

“That’s true enough.”

“The fact is: I don’t come down here because I want to become a famous sooz-chef,” she declared, butchering the term in her usual manner. “I do it because I like to cook. But if Carval—if other people started to find out things like that, they’d start claiming that Captain Rhoswen’s gettin’ soft in her old age.” She scowled down at the newly cored apple, turning it over in her hand before slicing it neatly down the center. “All that to say: I wouldn’t be caught dead crawlin’ to that uppity whoreson, even if he were the last man on this star who could spare me an onze of salt.”

“Uppity, eh?” Lyngsath chuckled. “Now, now… ye weren’t saying such things when ye came ‘round askin’ for advice on chocolates not so long ago.”

“T-That—ugh!” Her face was turned so that Carvallain could not see it clearly from his current vantage point. Lyngsath could, however, and one look had him breaking into bellowing peals of laughter.

“Bwahaha! A face like that would turn milk sour—”

“That’s enough!” With a flash of steel, the paring knife was buried in a nearby cheese. Lyngsath jumped, eyes widening as he stared at her white-knuckled fist gripping the handle hard enough to hurt.

“Lass?” He ventured cautiously. Rhoswen’s expression took on a stricken appearance, releasing the handle as though burned.

“Oh… I didn’t mean t’—” She swallowed thickly, seeming to wilt on the spot. Before he could move she’d buried her face in her arms with a muffled sound not unlike a wounded animal. Carvallain all but clung to the shelf, equal parts curious and appalled as he studied the scene unfolding before him.

He’d seen Rhoswen angry before, blazing with fury. He’d seen her vengeful, willing to throw her own life away for one last bullet in a Garlean skull. But this was the first time he’d ever watched her lose control. A shock to the senses, but not in the way he would have imagined. It made her seem so… vulnerable.

The thought should have pleased him. It did not.

“Oh, lass….” Lyngsath seemed to feel the same, his gaze sympathetic as he reached out to gently pat her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Ye can tell ol’ Lyngsath. I won’t breathe a word of it to no one.”

“I hate him!” Her eyes were dry when she lifted her head, but each word drawn from her quivering lips sounded more like a sob. “He makes me ‘eart ache somethin’ fierce, n’ I hate him all the more for it!”

Her… heart? Carvallain averted his eyes, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the word. What did her heart have to do with anything?

“Don’t ye think it’s time to set him straight?” Lyngsath wiggled the knife free of the cheese, setting it aside. “With plain speak, not chocolates or challenges.”

“I don’t know… it just ain’t our way, I guess.” She flicked halfheartedly at the apple peelings, cheek pillowed on her fist. “Even if it was, we still gotta think about appearances n’ such. Krakens n’ Sirens, we’re still part o’ the tri… triad?” she guessed, making a face. “Y’know, the three powers. If somethin’ were to happen to either crew, the whole city-state would be thrown off-kilter. Pirates would be blasting one another off the Aftcastle left n’ right for the chance to replace us. Don’t ye think we’d have mopped the floor with those puffy-shirted man-boys ages ago, if that weren’t the case?” 

Rhoswen had a point. The rivalry between the Krakens and Sirens had been kept alive for years by the very idea that neither side could ever be allowed to overpower the other—the resulting imbalance would be far too great a blow to Limsa Lominsa’s shaky hierarchy. On land and sea, both crews set their behavior by a mutual understanding that today’s loss would become tomorrow’s gain, proverbial scales in eternal equilibrium.

“Anyroad,” she sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her palm, “Carvallain don’t seem like the kind what wants a truce. I’ve tried to play nice with him before, but nothing ever comes o’ it. Last ‘Eavensturn I even went outta my way to charm an extra cake from some no-name adventurer, n’ what does he do? When I go to give it to him, the blighter tosses the damn thing overboard! He went so far as to laugh in me face about it!”

“That’s not something I’d have expected from a man what calls himself a gentleman,” Lyngsath agreed hesitantly. “’Tis passing strange: the Carvallain I know would never turn down a Heavensturn cake.”

“Hmph. Probably thought I’d done som’mat to it. He ought to know better, though. Say I was fool enough to kill him. I wouldn’t bother with something as cowardly as poison. No, I’d just march right up to the Seventh Sage n’—” She mimicked cocking and firing a musket, aiming her finger at the far wall with a click of her tongue. “No need for underhanded tricks. I got me honor to think about.”  

“That’s so.” Lyngsath stirred the stewpot with a pensive air. “Clearly the way to this man’s heart is not through his stomach.”

“It ain’t that. It’s me.” She made a face that, in any other circumstance, might have given Carvallain cause to smile. “He won’t have nothin’ to do with me. I even went n’ invited him to that gaudy casino in the middle of the desert, n’ the bastard stood me up. Me n’ the girls still had our fun, o’ course, but… I thought after all we’ve been through, he might have at least humored me.”

But I was there! It was frustrating beyond measure to remain hidden, when he wanted nothing more than to charge into the galley and defend his honor. He seethed in silence, fingernails biting into the meat of his palms as he struggled in vain to pick apart her argument. Perhaps he had been rather hasty to dismiss her offer of a Heavensturn cake. But he had never failed to answer a challenge, written or otherwise! In this, surely, she had to be mistaken.

The letter had been very clear about when and where the duel was to take place. He had arrived accordingly, only to find the area empty of familiar faces. Then again, the noise and flashing lights of the casino had been admittedly taxing on his senses. And the crowd had milled thick around the designated meeting place. And she was so very small…. Was it possible that he had simply overlooked her? Even so, if you had but signed the note, I might have found reason to tarry overlong—

“Well,” Lyngsath remarked, sparing her a sidelong glance, “If ye ask me, I think he’s a bloody fool to ignore what’s right under his nose. A beautiful lady like yerself should have folk trippin’ over their own boots in their hurry to court ye. If he can’t see that, he must be blind.” 

 Court?! His jaw dropped, ears burning at the very mention of the word. Court!? What in the name of—since when was he—just who did they think—

“But ye see, the so-called gentleman likes his women refined.”

 “Pshaw!” He shook his head in clear disapproval. “He might say that, lass. He might even believe it. But Carvallain is a pirate at heart, no matter what fancy term he uses to describe it. N’ no pirate worth his salt would ever be truly happy settling down with one o’ them prim n’ proper types.”

“Them refined ladies are… well, they’re a bit like puff pastries. Beautiful to look at, n’ sweet as sugar on the surface. But if ye open ‘em up n’ take a look inside, ye’ll find that they’re full of air. They’ve nothing to satisfy yer hunger, n’ soon enough ye’ll be wishin’ ye had something a bit more filling.”

“A lass like yerself, on the other hand, is like a nice meat pie. Sure, some folk might turn up their noses at the offer of old-fashioned peasant fare. Ye might even look a little plain to some, seeing as how yer not all bedecked in spun sugar and fancy glaze. But we both know there’s nothing wrong with a simple homecooked meal. Underneath that crust is all manner o’ savory bits, just waiting for the right person to come along n’ appreciate it. Yer nourishing n’ hearty where it counts. Don’t forget that.”

“Seven bleedin’ hells! Is that yer way of cheering a girl up?” Rhoswen berated him sharply. “Calling her a meat pie?!” She crossed her arms, turning away with a huff. From his hiding place, Carvallain could see that her entire face had lit up in a deep blush. Even the tips of her ears were tinged red. “No wonder ye never landed yerself a missus!”

“Don’t be too harsh with me, lass. I was only trying to help.”

“Ah, well.” She shrugged. “Don’t go worrying about me. I ain’t never been the type to lose me head over a sweetheart, n’ I don’t intend to start now. Carvallain can stick a rod up his arse if he so pleases. There are more important things to worry about right now.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “Listen: I don’t want ye wandering the coasts for a while. If ye need something n’ ye can’t find it in the markets, come see me. Aye?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Dunno.” Rhoswen stood, reaching for her cloak. “I’ve just been hearing things, is all. Might be nothing. Might be something.”

“I’ll trust yer judgment on that. And I’ll be sure to pass the message along to the staff as well; don’t need ‘em getting any bright ideas.”

Carvallain did not wait to hear more, unwilling to risk being caught in a compromising position this late in the game. He needed time to think, his head awhirl with everything he’d seen and heard. He crept stealthily back the way he had come, thoughts tangling until he could not tell where one thread began and another ended.

Rhoswen and Lyngsath, their professional relationship that seemed to border friendship. How long have they known one another? How many dishes hold traces of her influence?

Rhoswen make an effort to be nice to him, of all people. Of course I would have no way of recognizing it, why would I ever presume she could be anything more than—

Rhoswen’s heart, broken, breaking. Why should I care? Why do I care?

Rhoswen. I’ve never seen this side of her before, so animated, so… so unguarded—

Rhoswen. In the lowlight, in that outfit, did she not seem almost—

Rhoswen. No pirate worth his salt would ever be truly happy settling—

“That’s enough!” he admonished himself, shaking his head as though the errant thoughts could tumble out of both ears. The fresh air outside the Bismarck helped to revive him somewhat, though his stomach seemed unsettled and his heart pounded a heavy rhythm against his breastbone. He no longer had any heart for the sunset or the lively dining atmosphere; he hurried across the breezeway, thinking only of the waiting comfort of his airing bed.

It was only when dusk gave way to nightfall that he dared to untangle the mess of his thoughts and lay them all out at once, examining each at his leisure until he was certain he could find a perfectly logical explanation for each. Once again, pragmatism had triumphed in the face of reckless emotion.

Of course, that was only if he didn’t account for bizarre dreams of Heavensturn cakes, laughing eyes, and a very strange sabotender.

[isthespiceoflife]

Well, we're finally here for Miami Art Week (casually referred to as 'Art Basel') for yet another post-pandemic yr, now in vanglorious 2022!

For its participation in Scope Miami Beach, ArtTime presents a selection of works by artists: Barnabe, Tsuyu Bridwell and Miles Regis (just above pic: "Triggered Awakenings"). Here's a video-walk-thru of last year's "Scope Art Show" I stumbled upon, right below.

There's lots to get to, see and do. Factor-in a must-visit to Untitled Art Fair, as well. If you get in, you could pretend you're an art expert :)

Hey, and some even come for anything but the art, unless you're gonna call food art too?

Yea, sometimes food could be considered art, most definitely. But let's move on, there's lots of events, different evolving neighborhoods to explore, parties and lounges, after all, we are in Miami/SoBe.

And oh, let's not forget concerts. There's one called "Mirror Mirror" honoring the late, iconic Virgil Abloh too. Grab your tix here. Sooner or later, you'll discover everyone's got (or trying to score!) their tix.

The weekend has a lot to offer, including a touchdown of the Soulection crew for their "Soulection Presents" show feat. Sango, Joe Kay, Uncle Waffles & Major League DJz.

As in any visit, once you're on the ground and start mingling, networking to get your feet wet, we all know you could probably add a few more hundred discoveries that you'll ditch the above for, or end up missing because you were told either when it's over, or while it's going on. Yea, we hate that too. So here's one more, just in case that 'friend' forgot to, you know, invite ya ass.

Anyway, let's not forget why we're here. Although the creative parallels of music, film, literature, fashion, design, cuisine and yes, art go hand-in-hand throughout various destinations, let's ((try to)) keep our focus.

We got design gurus, Surface Mag's crossings of Polygon technology and art, creatively speaking for W South Beach Hotel's hosting of 'Polygon x Surface', and maybe we'll catch one of their daily immersive events live, instead of reading about it while we're here. Yet another case of the cooler than cool, not being 'waitlist' cool!?

Another vibrant art show, Art Miami (& its sister fair) Context Art Fair, kicks-off on Wednesday, Nov. 30. You can grab tix right here.

[ledenews]

Newbridge Academy Opens New Childcare Center in Downtown Wheeling

Newbridge Academy for Kids’ (Newbridge Academy) celebrated the dedication of the renovated building and the ribbon-cutting of Wheeling’s newest licensed childcare center on Thursday, August 15.  Newbridge Academy, located at 1000 Main Street, serves as a welcoming gateway to downtown Wheeling, West Virginia, offering a nurturing environment where a child’s educational journey can flourish. As a nonprofit organization, Newbridge Academy is dedicated to building bridges toward a brighter future for every child. Newbridge Academy provides a wide range of services, including a 236-spot childcare center with comprehensive infant, toddler, and preschool programs, as well as daily and afterschool care for children up to age 12. Newbridge Academy is poised to be a transformative asset for businesses in need of reliable employees and for hardworking families in Ohio County who have long sought quality childcare options. Chris Figaretti, Lead Pastor of Newbridge Church, said “It has been breathtaking to watch this project come together so quickly. We saw a huge need in our community and decided to lead the way in bringing some relief to the people of the Ohio Valley. What we have ended up with has exceeded all our expectations. Our hope all along was to do this with such excellence that the rest of the community would want to be a part of it, and we feel like we have accomplished that.” Wheeling has historically been known as a childcare desert, with a severe lack of licensed childcare facilities to meet the growing demand. Existing centers often have extensive waitlists, creating financial strain for families and hindering local economic growth. Strategically located across from the historic Suspension Bridge, Newbridge Academy has revitalized a 1930s Art Deco building through $8 million in renovations, making it a cornerstone of Wheeling’s downtown revitalization efforts. This initiative represents a significant investment in the local economy, promising benefits for today and generations to come. Newbridge Academy will be offering bold childcare opportunities for hardworking families. “We will be offering flexible part-time enrollment options,” explained Executive Director Rachael Goldbaugh. “We will be able to enroll children 12 months through 5 years at 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 days a week per the childcare needs of each family. This is huge for work from home families that only spend a few days a week downtown for work.” Newbridge Academy has both an indoor and a natural play outdoor playground, as well as several age-appropriate classrooms, a media room, and a soon to be opened Café, where parents and guests can congregate. Both the outdoor playground and Newbridge Café will soon be open to the public. “Our nature-inspired natural playground on Market Plaza is the only one of its kind in Wheeling or the Ohio Valley. Our children will be able to play like they are in the woods while being in the beautifully renovated downtown area,” exclaimed Goldbaugh. “We are also thrilled that during evening hours and weekends when Newbridge Academy is closed, the outdoor playground will be opened to the public. The City of Wheeling helped to fund the playground through American Rescue Plan Act (ARPA) funding, so it is only fitting that we share the beautiful space with local families,” added Goldbaugh. The project is funded with historic and new market tax credits, City of Wheeling American Rescue Plan Act funds, a HUD Economic Development Initiative Congressionally Directed Spending Award, contributions from the generous congregation of Newbridge Church, private foundations, corporate sponsorships, and individual donors. Preregistration and employment interest inquiry is open at https://www.newbridge.academy. Up to date information can be found on social media at Newbridge Academy for Kids.  Electronic donations may be made through the website. Unique sponsorship opportunities are available. Checks may be mailed to 647 Warden Run Road; Wheeling, WV 26003. Interested donors and sponsors are asked to call (304)242-0463or visit https://www.newbridge.academy .  Read the full article

[editorialistcom]

The Quest for the Ultimate Birkin Dupe

In the world of high fashion, few items are as coveted as the Hermès Birkin bag. Known for its impeccable craftsmanship and exclusivity, the Birkin is a symbol of luxury that many aspire to own. However, with price tags soaring above $20,000 and waitlists stretching for years, acquiring a Birkin is a dream far removed from reality for most. This is where the brilliance of a Birkin dupe comes into play, offering a taste of luxury without the astronomical cost.

Editorialist.com, a premier fashion destination, understands the allure of the Birkin and the desire for accessible alternatives. They have curated a list of the seven best Birkin bag alternatives that exude designer elegance at a fraction of the price. These dupes are more than just replicas; they are tributes to the Birkin’s design, offering similar aesthetics and functionality while maintaining their unique charm.

One standout option is the Tory Burch Lee Radziwill Leather Double Bag. Named after a fashion icon and resembling the Birkin’s structure and hardware, this bag is perfect for adding a touch of sophistication to any date night outfit. Another excellent choice for everyday use is DeMellier’s New York Tote, praised for its shape and durability, making it a reliable companion for all of life’s occasions.

For the working professional, Saint Laurent’s Manhattan Leather Tote is an ideal Birkin alternative. Its sturdy build and elegant design make it suitable for the office and beyond, embodying the spirit of the busy New York borough it’s named after.

Editorialist.com’s selection of Birkin dupes is not just about finding a cheaper substitute. It’s about celebrating the essence of what makes the Birkin special: timeless elegance, sophisticated charm, and exceptional craftsmanship. By offering these alternatives, Editorialist.com provides a way for fashion enthusiasts to enjoy the Birkin’s iconic style without the wait or the expense.

So, whether you’re an ardent admirer of the Birkin or simply seeking a high-quality designer bag, Editorialist.com’s Birkin dupes are worth exploring. They promise the same iconic style and luxury, ensuring that you don’t have to compromise on quality or design. Dive into their exquisite selection and discover your next statement accessory that will elevate your wardrobe with affordable luxury.

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View more: https://editorialist.com/fashion/accessories/how-to-style-celine-triomphe-belt/

[poprockrenaissance]

Test Results: ANA Pattern - Value : Nuclear, Speckled-Abnormal / Titer Value: 1:80 High

I'm scared. I thought all of my blood test results to rule out autoimmune diseases were going to come back normal... but two of them were delayed and came back the day after my follow up appointment with the pain specialist. He was going to give me a diagnosis of fibromyalgia (for now) as I fit the criteria, but now that these ANA test results are back showing ABNORMAL, it is very likely that I *DO* have an autoimmune disease like Lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, etc. After doing a little research on my own and talking to my doctor again, he agrees that the most likely contender could be... MS. Multiple Sclerosis. All of my other tests came back negative and I don't fit any of the other hallmark symptoms for things like Lupus. But I do fit MS symptoms, textbook at this point. My symptoms started after my concussion in October 2022, and MS has been linked to being triggered by head trauma. I've known there was something wrong with my body for a long time. Even before I hit my head. But ever since the beginning of 2023, I knew my vessel was malfunctioning. Nobody listened. My PCP failed me. My therapist failed me. My psychiatrist failed me. My Neurologist failed me. I AM SO SICK AND TIRED OF WOMEN BEING GASLIT AND DISMISSED WHEN THEY SEEK MEDICAL CARE. SO MANY PEOPLE DIE UNNECESSARILY DUE TO INCOMPETANT, MISOGYNISTIC, RACIST, and CORRUPT DOCTORS. AMERICA'S HEALTHCARE SYSTEM IS A LITERAL JOKE. I won't have answers till I see my new FEMALE neurologist in April and see a few more specialists and get more testing. But I know intuitively and am prepared for this battle. Everything I have been doing the past few years was all leading up to this. It is my purpose to spread the word and educate people on how important it is to fight for and advocate for the health of yourself and your loved ones. Don't just take one doctor's opinion for face value, especially if you felt like they didn't listen to you or their diagnosis (or lack thereof) feels wrong. The sad truth is the American healthcare system has become a GAME that involves A LOT OF HARD WORK and LUCK to actually get the right providers and care that you need. Its hard enough asking for help, yet people are expected to call dozens of offices just to get put on waitlists or find out the provider is terrible and you need to switch. I am angry. I am so angry at the world sometimes. I am mourning my youth. Mourning my family that keeps growing smaller and smaller every year. Mourning the heartbreak and devastation happening in every corner of the universe. I am not ready to slow down. I'm almost 32... I am just GETTING STARTED! Right now I have to believe in my own power and ability to make the changes necessary to live a healthy and active and abundant life, even if I might have more physical challenges than I was expecting. My dad had a wooden leg my whole life, amputation from the knee down after a motorcycle accident. I watched him walk through pain everywhere. He REFUSED to stop living life. Even when he got cancer and was weak and sick and miserable... he still kept going for the sake of LIVING. I miss him so much and every time I am in pain and start feeling sad, I will think of him. "I've got two legs". Bring it on autoimmune disease. Buck the fuck up. READY... SET.......... GO!!!!!!!!!

[jellypop-fashion]

Hermès Collier de Chien: A Luxury

Bracelet for Women

In the realm of Hermès jewelry, few pieces resonate quite like the Collier de Chien bracelet. Translated to "dog collar" in French, the name might raise eyebrows at first, but the bracelet's design and rich history have cemented its place as a coveted symbol of sophistication. Remember, you can get original Hermès accessories at a special price at Luxury With Discounts.

A Legacy of Innovation

The Collier de Chien story begins in 1949.  Inspired by the clean lines and functionality of a dog collar,  Hermès designer Christiane Vautrin crafted the first iteration from brown calfskin and a gold-plated clasp.  This innovative design, both chic and audacious, resonated with fashionistas and quickly became a conversation starter.

Beyond the Name and Material Magnificence

While the name "Collier de Chien" might seem unconventional, it perfectly captures the essence of the bracelet.  The clean lines and structured silhouette echo the form of a dog collar, yet the use of luxurious materials like leather, precious metals, and even diamonds elevates it to a piece of high fashion.

Hermès offers the Collier de Chien bracelet in a stunning array of materials, catering to diverse tastes and budgets. Classic options include smooth calfskin or rich alligator leather, each showcasing Hermès's exceptional craftsmanship. For a touch of opulence, the bracelet comes in rose gold, white gold, or even platinum, often adorned with sparkling diamonds.

Size Matters and A Modern Heirloom

The beauty of the Collier de Chien lies in its versatility.  The original design was a single size, but Hermès has expanded the collection to offer options for a wider range of preferences. The most popular size is the "small model," ideal for a touch of understated elegance. A larger "guépard" version offers a bolder statement, while a miniature "chiot" size adds a delicate charm.

The Hermès Collier de Chien bracelet transcends fleeting trends. Its timeless design ensures it remains a relevant fashion statement for years to come.  The use of high-quality materials guarantees lasting wear, making it a piece you can treasure for generations.

Investing in Luxury and Finding Your Perfect Match

The Hermès Collier de Chien bracelet represents a significant investment. Prices start around $8,500 for a small model in calfskin and can climb considerably higher depending on the chosen material, size, and any additional embellishments. Owning a Collier de Chien isn't just about acquiring a bracelet; it's about indulging in a piece of Hermès heritage and timeless design.

Due to its enduring popularity, the Collier de Chien bracelet can be challenging to find in Hermès boutiques.  There may be waitlists for potential buyers due to the brand's allocation system. Pre-owned luxury platforms offer another avenue for acquiring this coveted piece, but expect a premium over retail price.