I’d wear like 50% of those wings to a Ren Faire, yes.

I like to come from a place of yes, but sometimes I need to rewrite the question to get there.

This is a figure skater who got lost trying to find her next competition. Look it up.

How did this pose get released. This cannot be her best.

10/10 would wear these wings at a Ren Faire.

So like... ok these pieces exist. Now what? Like... there’s no runway to red carpet aspiration here, or even runway to store. Just... pageantry for... fun? Who even are these designers. Why. I don’t hate that this exists, just curious about the process and logic that brought us here.

Yea, that bitch totally had it coming.

/s.

Did she knit these herself?

I definitely feel fore everyone except Z. Verdict still out on the fiance. Also victim, or willing accomplice?

Though I would argue Zola also needed an intervention because surviving by a combination of luck and wit isn’t the best system. What if guy with dreads nabbed her too and forced her into sex slavery? What if…

I think this story didn’t glorify Z. His comeuppance at the end was still rewarding, even if the tone didn’t lead the reader to a “celebrate” mode.

Yea, very fucked up, but I never know how to react to victims perpetrating crimes and being shitty at the behest of their abuser. They obviously bear some/a lot?/a little?/nuanced? responsibility, but it feels cruel to say it’s 100% responsibility/culpability is on them.

he still pimped Jessa out several times

Don’t stop. It gets crazier.

where the fuck did you take drivers ed classes. i mean i had the older girl copping toblow jobs, but fell short of turning tricks, getting abducted by rival pimps, watching her boyfriend attempt suicide, witnessing a murder.

“i’m in the back on mute”

her voice is great.

That dumb bitch just got Lyme disease. smh. Wipe that damn smirk off your yellow dumb face, you fool, and let’s get you to the vet.

(I had Lyme. And it went untreated for a year. It was the worst.)

Spratt’s son!

The word is selfish.

Agreed. That was the one point I shrieked at him over. Most of the time I just write down his selfish wedding ideas in a book that will be like my love letter to the police when they investigate his disappearance.

Are you sure it’s Jim Webb. All this time (past two days) I s2g I thought it was Tim Webb. Imagine my embarrassment when I write in Tim Webb’s name for President of the PTA at the next meeting. Thanks, Anna, helped me dodge a bullet.