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Jennifer Morningstar’s debut: all the news you need to know!

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In 2020 (maybe 2021, let’s be honest, everything post-2019 is going to be just one long blur for most of us), I announced that with the retirement of my Abigail Barnette pen name, I would shift my focus away from erotic romance and to erotica. I planned to launch this new venture by republishing In The Blood, a previously published vampire novel, under that new pseudonym. I opened it up to give it a quick once-over and suddenly I’m balls deep in a rewrite that takes it from paranormal erotica to full-out erotic horror. I thought, well, now Jennifer Morningstar is gonna be put on hold for a while.

Then, I was just tootling along in my files a few days ago and I ran across two books I had pretty much forgotten that I’d written. Infernal Devices and Bound In Brass are steampunk erotica previously published by a small press. The rights reverted to me and I never got around to re-publishing them. They’ve just been languishing in my writing folder. Languishing and being, well. Pretty hot.

Do you like straight-laced Victorian dudes who own and operate a secret steampunk sex dungeon? What if they had tattoos and like, piercings in places that would be covered by respectable Victorian dude clothes? What about sexually curious good girls who can’t resist a good time with an aether-powered fucking machine? Now, how do you feel about getting a second chance to snag some out-of-print titles with all those features?

WELL GUESS WHAT.

Coming December 30th, 2021:

A shirtless man with his forearms in front of his face. there's a tattoo of an ace of spades on his forearm. The title INFERNAL DEVICES is at the top of the image, at the bottom a frame of gears surrounds the text "Jennifer Morningstar"

The Two Aces. Victorian London’s most salacious secret, the club is a place where erotic fantasies are played out among clockwork automatons and aether-powered machines. Where nothing is off-limits and the pleasures are as wicked as the imagination will allow…

Permilia Deering goes to The Two Aces looking for the sexual excitement that she knows she will not find with the man to whom she is affianced, notorious cold-fish Wallace Sterling. On her first visit to the club, she meets the Ace of Spades, a masked stranger who drives her to heights of passion she’s never dreamed possible—and makes her seriously reconsider becoming a mannerly society wife.

When Wallace Sterling first glimpses his fiancée standing outside The Two Aces, he assumes she’s uncovered his secret identity—the Ace of Spades. But Permilia has no idea that her intended is living a double life, and Wallace worries that he’ll be out of the picture once she gets a taste of what the Ace of Spades can offer her…

PRE-ORDER NOW!

Amazon • Smashwords 

Coming February 1, 2022:

muscular man with his face in shadow. tattoo of the ace of hearts on his bicep. At the top, the title BOUND IN BRASS. At the bottom, in a frame of gears, is the author name, Jennifer Morningstar

The Two Aces. Victorian London’s most salacious secret, the club is a place where erotic fantasies are played out among clockwork automatons and aether-powered machines. Where nothing is off-limits and the pleasures are as wicked as the imagination will allow…

Tallulah Applewhite is an American widow abroad, finding all the pleasures Europe has to offer. She gets more than she bargained for when she ventures into The Two Aces and meets the man known as the Ace of Hearts. Their sexual encounters push her to the very limits of desire, and together they find just what her unhappy marriage was missing.

Horace Sterling has never wanted anything that he couldn’t have, but he’s surprised at how much he wants this fresh Georgia Peach. Uninhibited and alluring, she enflames his passion like no other. The only thing more scandalous than taking up with a widow who should be in mourning would be taking up with a married woman—and both he and Tallulah are in for the shock of their lives…

PRE-ORDER NOW!
But wait! There’s more!
In December, Jennifer Morningstar will also republish two steampunk short stories that have been available here and there for the past decade, but which have been out-of-print more than in-print. These will be totally free on YouPorn.com, where you’ll also get exclusive previews of Infernal Devices and Bound in Brass. Don’t want to visit a pornography site? The shorts will be available to purchase on Amazon and Smashwords.
Keep your eyes on the blog for more information as it becomes available (and check this pinned post for the Amazon pre-order links when they become available). I’m so excited to ring in the new year with a new direction, new pen name, and an air of general horniness.

Jill is my best friend. Jill is gone.

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Jill and I met in 1994, freshman year gym class. I was brand new. All the other kids were from local Catholic feeder schools. When the teacher sadistically instructed us to pick a partner during the very first day of class, the only two students left without a partner were Jill and me.

But she said I couldn’t be her partner because she’d already partnered up with an invisible friend.

It wasn’t a joke. She refused to be my partner.

That’s how we became friends.

On January 6th, 2022, Jill died suddenly in her sleep.

In the course of our friendship, we went to all sorts of places together. We saw the Liberty Bell together. She pointed at a painting of Benjamin Franklin and John Adams reading the Declaration of Independence as Thomas Jefferson looked on.  She leaned over and said, “Hey, can I get your John Hancock on this?”

It’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.

Jill found the cold, impersonal nature of the “have a good summer” yearbook signature perfect for birthday cards and books and basically anything she could write on and give to me. She gave me the same birthday card every year. It’s a plain white card with “Happy Birthday! I got you a card! This is the front.” The inside read, “This is the inside.” And on the back, “This is the back.” When I recently directed a show, she came and brought me a card she made. “You directed a show! I got you a card. This is the front.”

Once, we were at the mall. Bath and Body Works had a seasonal candle with Elton John’s name on it. Jill picked it up, took the lid off, inhaled, then said to the sales associate, “This doesn’t smell anything like him.”

My heart is broken.

We had a running joke where we’d always ask each other, “are you mad at me?” We never were. Neither of us could remember a time we were ever in a fight.

When someone dies, their texts and messages don’t disappear. You can still see your ongoing conversation as if it could keep going. I sat in front of our open messenger chat and typed, “This time I really am mad at you.” I couldn’t send it. I don’t want her to think I’m really mad at her. It’s not her fault.

I don’t know how to be me without her.

We both made Spotify playlists about each other. Mine is titled, “Jill and Jen BFFs 4Eva” and she called hers, “IDK, my BFF Jen?” due to the fact that we constantly referenced that old cellphone commercial where the little girl is texting, “IDK, my BFF, Jill?” Both playlists have “our” song, “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas, on them. They also both have liberal doses of the Spice Girls because they were our thing. 

We had thousands, maybe tens of thousands, probably millions of things that were our thing.

There are more photos of Jill on the walls of my home than there are photos of my kids. To be fair, I’ve known Jill longer.

Once, we spent an entire day using MS Paint to draw “Ghost Frank” (he looks exactly how you’d imagine an MS Paint ghost to look) into photos with the Beach Boys. Ghost Frank is the fifth Beach Boy, no matter what John Stamos thinks. It’s just that nobody acknowledges Ghost Frank because he accused Brian Wilson of stealing his wallet. I tried to joke with Mr. Jen that I had to break the news to Ghost Frank and that he would be devastated. But Mr. Jen didn’t get it. Only Jill would get it.

Jill is gone.

Our jokes, our codes, the language of our friendship is a dead language now. Only one speaker is left and it is impossible to teach. It takes twenty-seven years to become fluent.

Jill is my best friend. Jill is gone.


I wrote this throughout the day yesterday after I got the call. I can’t decide who to be or how to be a Jenny who doesn’t have a Jill. So, I’m going to just run on autopilot. I’m going to work, I’m going to rehearsals, I’m going to consider whether or not I could sit through her funeral with dignity or if I can’t bear to think of a life where I’ve been to Jill’s funeral because Jill’s funeral was a thing that happened. But please, as you see me posting content here and over on Patreon, as you see me living my life as usual, please don’t think it’s because I don’t care about her. It’s just because I’m sleep-walking through life with a broken heart.

2021: What a Year of Chaotic Creation Taught Me

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Not to be all, “What I did over summer break” here, but I feel like doing something radical like “taking a whole year off and just doing whatever the fuck I feel like while supporting myself solely with blogging and my backlist” is worth examining. Because first of all

It was terrifying. Anybody who’s switched careers or considered switching careers or took a gap year of any kind knows the terror of “what if.” Specifically: what if I’m fucking up my entire life when I could keep my head down and slog. And that was a valid concern for me. I was killing off a pen name and moving away from writing romance, but I was also trying to move into other areas like art and youtube videos and animation and even game design. If not for yous all, I would have been flat on my ass. Patreon support and private donations kept me afloat throughout 2021 and believe me, it wouldn’t have been a very creative year if I’d been plunged into sudden poverty. So, thank you all for that, because I’d forgotten that

I’ve done scary things in the past and I just forgot about it. 2022 is actually the tenth anniversary of my Fifty Shades of Grey recaps. It was absolutely terrifying to write those. I knew that a career in traditional publishing would never happen for me again when I started tearing into another, more successful (and, as it turns out, wildly vindictive) author’s work. I truly believed I would write those for an audience of eight or so people and then fade into obscurity and further poverty, a failure like I always knew I would be. But my entire life changed. I took that risk and it led to writing arguably my most successful series ever. How did I manage to forget that it all started with doing something scary, taking a leap of faith that was actually more of a l’appel du vide thing? Ten years ago, I was burned out and at the end of my rope, but somehow I’d forgotten that steering hard in a totally different direction was the way to go. Now,

There is so much more joy in creating. I’d reached a point where I wasn’t having fun anymore. I could still create stuff, I could still pay the bills, but I’d become monumentally dissatisfied with what I was devoting my time to. Now, I’m fully engaged and having fun, even with the stuff I started before I went off to find myself. I don’t want to give the impression that I dislike working on stuff to share with you all or that you’re all some kind of massive obligation I resent. There are just times that it becomes overwhelming and frustrating because it’s not going as quickly as I would like or I’m not able to work at the same pace 2012 Jenny was able to pull off. I never resented my awesome Trout Nation citizens, but I’ve resented myself for not cranking out the hits faster. This, in turn, fed into this awful self-loathing about how ungrateful and lazy I am, until the thought of making or doing anything was a nightmare. Now that the burnout is gone, the self-loathing and inward resentment cleared up enough to handle another really important block, which was my failure to realize that

If people want my work, they’ll buy it. This was a mind-blowing thought I had when I saw someone post one of those tired “I made a thing go buy it maybe”-style promotional tweets (which I have been guilty of in the past): why the fuck do people spend so much time apologizing for creating something and selling it? Like it’s some kind of imposition on our fellow humans who, and I cannot stress this enough, will not buy something they do not want. I had started to feel like I was inconveniencing people by releasing a book and promoting it, by having a Patreon and charging for blog posts on there, I just felt like everything I created was me actively making a nuisance of myself. I was like Oliver Twist, please sir, can you buy this? And then I thought about this one author back in the day whose Twitter feed was just every five minutes, buy my book, buy my book, 5 stars, buy my book. Even in the midst of a personal tragedy, she found time to tweet that it had happened, then responded to all the supportive replies with “it would make me feel better if you’d buy my book and leave a review.” I know in my heart, to its very depths, that I have never been that obnoxious about my self-promotion, and I also know for a fact that I never bought a book from that author because of how obnoxious and opportunistic she was. And guess what? That’s everybody’s choice on the whole planet. My fear that someone will buy my books, read my blog, join my Patreon, look at my videos, etc. because they feel somehow forced and then they will hate me forever is completely unfounded. I’m not scamming anyone for making stuff and offering it for sale. I also learned that

I don’t like writing books. I really, really don’t. You know what I do like to write? I like writing The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp. I liked writing The Boss as a serial. I enjoy writing serials and I don’t enjoy sitting down, writing something in one big, long go, feeling lonely and invisible, putting it for sale, watching it make something of a blip for a few days, and then…that’s it. There’s really no sharing of the journey, no feeling that what I’m writing will even touch anybody’s eyeballs. I’m writing for an audience of one for a year, then I put it up for sale and…there it is. It’s just there. I’ve been cool with that in the past, during my traditional publishing career, because there wasn’t any other way. But after I wrote The Boss as a serial, I stayed dissatisfied for a lot of years, thinking more than once, “Gosh, I wish I could go back to what it was like writing The Boss.” I remember nights when I was so obsessed with getting that next chapter out, I’d be typing with one hand and cooking with the other. That was the energy that first drew me to writing through fanfic, and that’s the energy I need to get back to. On the fiction side, you’re going to see a pivot toward more serialized content that will later get published in book format for people who’d rather read it all in one go. But overall, my focus is going to be

BLOGGING.

I don’t know why I keep clinging to this idea that because I started out as a fiction writer, I must stay a fiction writer forever or die penniless in the streets. I don’t have to. Fiction is about to become a side job, a hobby/job, so I can focus on the writing that I realized I enjoy a lot more. That’s writing stuff here and sharing it with all of you and reading but never responding to your comments because I get easily overwhelmed. I like saying stuff and having people say stuff, often smarter stuff, back. I like feeling that I’m not just putting words into the void, the way I do with writing. What I learned is that to create, I need to have a community of like-minded people to share those ideas and projects with and I need to feel like I’m not working in a dark little office alone.

Thanks for bearing with me during a year of sparse blog content while I went out and:

  • Started designing t-shirts and stuff
  • Tried my hand at learning animation
  • Spent some time figuring out Godot and whether or not I’d like to make a videogame
  • Directed a production of Moana Jr. that broke records at its theater

Okay, quick break to be a proud director:

in a scene from Moana Jr., Moana and Gramma Tala share a hongi in the moment before Gramma's death

(This was my favorite scene of the show. These kids are, I believe, fourteen and seventeen and they made me cry every night.)

And of course, just time to figure out what I need to keep going in the “unprecedented times” we’re all so #blessed to be living in. I hope that everybody finds at least some little way to be an explorer this year, and may you all find your way through the burnout.

 

This Viral BookTok Recommendation Is Better Than It Should Be (part two)

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In part one, I told you of the wonders of blue alien peenus.

Now, we’re gonna talk about jacking off minotaurs.

It’s not a joke, it’s not a Chuck Tingle book. Morning Glory Milking Farm is an urban fantasy romance set in a charmingly bonkers world in which various fairytale creatures live and work side-by-side with people in the normal, boring world. It’s part of a series by C.M. Nascosta, but at this point, I’m only recommending Morning Glory Milking Farm because I DNFed the other book due to reasons we’ll discuss within this review.

a cringeworthy photoshop job of a minotaur's shadow behind an old-style glass milk bottle that's overflowing, and a pair of dainty hands putting on black rubber gloves. text: Morning Glory Milking Farm C.M. Nacosta a monster bait romance

On cover alone, this book would have never ended up on my Kindle. And to be perfectly honest, now that I’ve read the book? The cover is fucking gross. However, what’s inside the cover is what matters with this one. And yes, what’s inside the cover is a story about a woman who jacks off minotaurs…into old-school glass milk bottles.

You know what? Let’s not focus on the cover.

The human heroine, Violet, is struggling financially when she finally lands a well-paying job with a pharmaceutical company in nearby Cambric Creek, a community of mythological creatures. Turns out, minotaur semen has scientific and medical applications, and these guys make a little extra cash for selling it. Violet’s job is to, well.

Look, she jacks off minotaurs. There’s no other way to put it. That’s the job. she sits under a massage-table type bench with a hole in it and jacks them off. It’s clearly inspired by milking table porn, so if that’s your kink, there’s plenty of that going on in here and it’s surprisingly hot. Just like with Ice Planet Barbarians, it’s a story that you could find on Literotica.com, in the best possible way. There’s solid worldbuilding, there’s heat, there’s humor, and a surprisingly slow burn on the romance plot, considering the heroine gets well acquainted with the hero’s undercarriage as the meet-cute.

Rourke is a minotaur whose POV we’re never in, so despite how much I liked this book, I can’t say that I know anything about his character beyond “he’s hot and has a fancy minotaur dick.” This is another part that has confused me; the way his dick is described, it sounds more like a horse dick than a bull dick, but that doesn’t really matter when as a minotaur, he’d just have a regular human dick, right?

Don’t get hung up on the dicks. Violet is likable, the scenes at the “milking farm” are hot, and eventually, someone fucks a minotaur. The worldbuilding is exciting to me. I mean, it’s mythological creatures living human-ish lives among humans in human-style settings. I was so excited when I realized that was the set-up. I wanted to call up C.M. Nascosta and be like, “HEY, ME TOO!” Those types of settings are so fun to write and read, and this is like if she took ’00s urban fantasy worldbuilding and went, “you know what would look great in this? Minotaur erotica.”

Now, my original intent was to finish another of Nascosta’s monster romances set in Cambric Creek, Girls Weekend. The concept was cool and I really expected to be adding it to this post as another “must-read” but I can’t. Unfortunately, Girls Weekend falls into a trap that that’s hinted at near the end of Morning Glory Milking Farm: species becomes a stand-in for race.

Once Violet and Rourke are dating, she meets his neighbors, an orc and an elf who are in a romantic relationship together. Their story is one of the plot threads in Girls Weekend, which I DNFed when it started to read a lot like sex tourism fantasies of visiting far-off places and having sex with the not-white men who live in them. In this case, the orcs read like they were a green-washed version of porn-fetishized Black guys and the pastel-colored heroines talk about them like sex is a sure thing because orcs are sex-hungry brutes. The fact that one of the elves meets up with a character who’s, for lack of a better word, biracial, and immediately describes him as having a narrower nose than other orcs was a red flag; so was the fact that upon finding out one of his parents was an elf, the elf character notes that this makes him more attractive to her.

The problem is, species getting swapped for race in fiction is a 90º slope that’s marked as a bunny hill.  You’d think you could avoid doing it by accident, but unless you’re hyperaware of stuff, you can end up rolling down the hill ass-over-tea-kettle. The monster erotica subgenre is a pounding avalanche of that trope right now, and unfortunately, Girls Weekend is another snowflake added to the pile.

But Morning Glory Milking Farm doesn’t delve quite so deeply into the idea of “biracial” orcs or interspecies relationships. The human/minotaur incompatibility of Violet and Rourke is largely constrained to stuff like having to get special detergent to break down the quarts of bull semen that end up on her sheets when he ejaculates and how to make a relationship work when one of you can’t comfortably fit inside the other’s apartment. There’s a brief conversation with the couple from Girls Weekend in which the elf hints at difficulties being in an interspecies relationship, but the culture clash element isn’t a major theme in Morning Glory Milking Farm.

I really loved and highly recommend Morning Glory Milking Farm, because it’s a fun time. Girls Weekend let me down, but I’ll give another book by C.M. Nascosta a try, in the hopes that Girls Weekend is just a dud and the same mistakes won’t get repeated. And you should give Morning Glory Milking Farm a try. It’s cute, it’s funny, it’s filthy, and it surprisingly lives up to its hype.

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave SPECIAL EDITION

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In the last recap of Tracy Wolff’s Crave, I noted that the reference to the CW show Legacies made me a little uncomfortable, considering that the publisher’s other big hit was a series that blatantly ripped-off the original series of Roswell. I did some poking around and it definitely sounded like there were similarities, but nothing I hadn’t expected to find similar. It just looked like a bunch of common tropes.

I decided I’d just give Legacies a little watch. And I did. And I recorded it. And had to get it copyright approved on YouTube, which means that the ads you see in the video were put there by Warner Bros. Television as payback for using their content. Which, by the by, is a neat feature; I’ve got another react video waiting for a decision on a claim and it’s like, come on. Give people a break for react videos. If they’re not showing the entire movie who cares? It’s criticism and commentary for fuck’s sake. Not a bootleg.

SO ANYWAY. Here’s my video with my verdict, which I think most everybody here is going to agree with.

Oh! And while you’re watching the ol’ YouTube, subscribe to my channel. Even if you never watch YouTube or you never watch my videos (which is always okay, they’re really only on there because I think it’s fun), I’m trying to get to 1,000 subscribers so I can get back to doing my live Saturday night tarot get-togethers. YouTube took the mobile live stream function away from accounts under 1,000 subscribers and because my internet connection is so unpredictable in my rural, I’d been relying on 4G to do these broadcasts. After trying a few different methods and platforms, I had to call it quits. I would really love to hit 1,000 YouTube subscriptions so that I could get back to that!

Right. Okay. Video time. Jealous Haters AV Club.

FREE SHORT STORY FROM JENNIFER MORNINGSTAR!

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Slight change of plans; I was going to release this on Jennifer Morningstar’s YouPorn account, but there’s been a slight delay in getting that set up. So, please enjoy this Smashwords freebie, back from the out-of-print void!

A riveted metal background with an oval frame around the image of a corseted woman with her black lace gloved hands atop her cleavage. Text: The Pirate, The Bride, and The Jewel of the Skies, Jennifer Morningstar"

 

Jilted bride Lady Catherine Stelling would have never considered running away with a rogue, but that was before notorious pirate Christopher Valentine set his sights on her faithless fiance’s prized airship.

Read this fun, silly, sexy steampunk story here!

And don’t forget, I’m bringing more of my sexy steampunk back from the void! Look for details here!

High Thoughts About Animals

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The weather where I live is b-a-n-a-n-a-s where I live right now. Pain levels? Oh, through the god damn roof. I’m high as heck as a result. And I have thoughts about animals.

  • I think cats can read. My dearly departed cat BFF used to sit in my lap when I worked from bed. She’d put her paws over my wrist as I typed, and she kept her eyes on the screen. Every so often, she’d turn her head and look at me with such a judgmental expression that I am certain she could read what I’d just written and she did not like it.
  • If I had too much money I would die by tiger. I have this dream of winning the lottery (which I never play) and opening a tiger sanctuary like Carole Baskin’s. But I would die because I would pet the tigers. I wouldn’t be able to resist. I know it’s bad from a conservation standpoint. And I know it’s dangerous because they’re frickin’ tigers. But I would do it anyway because I have no self-control. They’re frickin’ tigers.
  • I’m afraid to realize my dream of eventually dying by tiger. My housecat, Baymax, is less than a year old and he makes me afraid of tigers. Baymax is a loving cuddle bug like 90% of the time. The other 10%, he’s a primal beast, lunging at faces and viciously attacking feet under blankets. Today, as Baymax had my whole nose in his mouth (a tooth in each nostril), I was like…what the fuck? Why do people keep tigers at their house? I would be dead right now.
  • And yet, I keep dogs that could easily kill me in my house with me. I don’t think my little pit bull could kill me. She could seriously hurt me, for sure, but I can physically overpower her dumb ass when she tries to do something aggressive. My older pit bull? Definitely she could. But I’m cool just chilling on the couch with her, trusting her not to kill and eat me.
  • I can’t believe birds and chickens and shit like that are dinosaurs. Why is this not something we’re marveling at every single day? You know those fat little round boy birds with black heads and little white cheeks? I read somewhere that those are descending from T-Rexes. WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS MORE?
  • I think some animals probably don’t give a shit about captivity. I’ve been thinking about getting a jumping spider recently but I was like, oh no, what if I do that and it’s actually cruel to keep them in a terrarium after all? And then I thought about if I was a spider, wouldn’t I dig a life where predators were not a thing, the temperature was always just right, and I always had exactly how much food and water I needed? I think the same thing about hamsters. The only thing a hamster in the wild wants is to be left the fuck alone and to eat and burrow. I don’t think they mind living in people’s houses when they’re getting what they need.
  • I think a lot of animals do and people who keep them are bullies. Why do you want a pet tiger? Those things want to go around places. I think the fact that we have to keep cats indoors is cruel, to be honest. I get that it’s a responsible thing to do but at the same time I’m like, man. Why do I think I’m the boss of these cats? But it’s like, a million times worse when it’s not a domesticated species.
  • Don’t get me started on octopuses. It should be illegal for private individuals to have pet octopuses. They’re so much smarter than we are and I know that we don’t know everything about them yet. They die of boredom in home aquariums. That’s fucked up.
  • Same for chimps and other apes. There doesn’t seem to be much difference between humans and chimpanzees and gorillas and stuff. They’re way too much like us.
  • I’m afraid of chimps and other apes. I can barely squeak by on picking up human social cues. How the hell am I supposed to figure out how to communicate with a gorilla without making a fatal faux pas? They have all these cultural rules and behaviors that are part of survival, so they take that shit seriously. My plan for if I ever run into a gorilla or a chimp or a bonobo is to just lay on the ground and hope it doesn’t notice me.

Well, it’s time for a nap. I’ll be getting high when I wake up so please share your animal thoughts.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

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CW: Infant loss, parent estrangement, grief, self-pity

The holidays are hard for a lot of people. I recognize that I don’t have the patent on that. I also recognize that not everyone feels the need to state that fact, almost as an apology for daring to have their own bad feelings about the holiday season, but I have been trained by determined child therapists to always remember that the feelings of others are bigger, deeper, more real than what I experience and therefore I should always acknowledge those (neurotypical) feelings first so as not to make everything about myself.

That’s a huge theme in this story.

The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp, Chapter Nine

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Need to catch up?