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Cake day: September 13th, 2023

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  • [Transcript]

    “I think you’ve healed my ballet injuries enough for one day,” Maddie giggled, smirking. “But I do have one teeny-weeny wittle wound that could use a pounding from your Theragun,” she teased.

    As their lips were about to meet, the physical therapy office door slammed open. There stood Maddie’s father, looking furious. “What the hell is this?”

    “Dad, it’s not what it looks like,” Maddie stammered, her cheeks burning as bright pink as her tutu.

    James stood protectively in front of Maddie, his posture tense. “We were just-”

    “I know what you are…” Mr. Stevens hissed. He slammed James against the Stairmaster "Balleraggot”

    James hadn’t heard that word in years. He was brought right back to PT academy, to the hate he had faced simply because of who he couldn’t help but love. As his head hit the top step of the Stairmaster, he heard all the other familiar slurs, too: nutcracker, chasse chaser, plié-wad, and even tutu-fucker. He collapsed to the ground.

    “And you…” He turned to his daughter, who’d broken into tears.

    "Don’t think for one fucking second that we didn’t know. That’s right, your mother knew, may she rest in peace. All those years at performing arts high school… any normal daughter would’ve healed from the occasional sprain. Imagine the shame you brought onto your chemotherapy mother when she had to explain to the Rotary Club why her daughter spent her entire senior year in PT. Throwing herself at every new physical therapist. Imagine the tears in your chemommy’s eyes when we heard you in your bedroom, firing, up your Theragun for the fifth time on one of her last nights with us.”

    "Leave your daughter alone, " James bellowed, tears streaming down his face as he slowly stood up.

    “She’s hardly my daughter now,” Mr. Simmons laughed derisively.

    "Make me.”

    “Oh, I will.” James cocked his Theragun.


  • The Brightest Light of Sunshine

    Determined to walk away from a traumatic past, 22-year-old Grace Allen feels ready to take the next step in her healing journey—dipping a toe into the dating pool. Although she should probably start by making a friend or two, right?

    Samuel ‘Cal’ Callaghan isn’t who she had envisioned as her first male friend in… well, forever. With an intimidating build, tattoos everywhere, eight years her senior, and a little sister under his care, the last thing she expected was to warm up to him so easily. As their friendship evolves, Grace can’t help but wonder if Cal is exactly who she’s been looking for all this time.

    Cal can’t afford to lose sight of his priorities—making sure his tattoo parlor thrives and taking care of his little sister. Especially the latter. He wants to make sure 4-year-old Maddie has a healthy and happy childhood, despite their mother going off the rails and her father’s blatant neglect. There’s certainly no room for love in his life right now. But when a sweet blonde with a veiled past breaks down his walls, he finds it difficult to stick to his guns.









  • Daggerfall is long as fuck (in universe, the adventure takes at least ten years.) The dungeons are massive serpentine mazes. Multiple guilds and factions, although they don’t feature overarching questlines - lots of radiant quests, but they never really feel boring.

    It’s also fairly difficult - especially if you build a character without cheesing it with a guide. You need to be juggling multiple saves to prevent yourself being trapped in a certain death situation, mess up a quest, etc.

    There’s a modern remake, Daggerfall Unity, which a lot of people say is a good way to play it nowadays. The original DOS version is quite playable through DOSBox though, and there’s lots of little quality of life tools that you can find online.


  • You know that discussing the Bible is not the same as apologetics?

    I get religious trauma sucks, but the critical analysis of primary source texts from the ancient Near East has absolutely nothing to do with your shitty pastor giving you a hard time for being gay.

    I invite you to name a 9th century BCE society that fits whatever moral requirements you think are needed to make a culture worthy of historical study.







  • Or the crisis line.

    What happens is that they “triage” you, where depending on how you answer their script you get cops at your door and a trip to hell on earth, or you are on hold for 20 minutes to speak with someone who also is reading a script and doesn’t give a rats ass about you.

    Maybe states that aren’t Oklahoma have mental hospitals which are preferable to drinking yourself to sleep, but who knows.