#going to write a fix-it of some sort later today probably so be on the lookout for that i suppose

[litany-writes]

no one talk to me for the rest of the day 🫥

[kisses4reid]

convenient | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - studying while working at a convenience store is easier that thought when a regular happens to be a genius.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

warnings - school work, that always scares me. they’re the same age!!! early 20s. mention of condoms.

edit - bc this is getting so much love, i’m opening a taglist for part 2!!! just comment or put in a req to join the ‘convenient’ taglist 🫶

the chime of the door didn’t phase you, the creaks and squeaks of the store slowly becoming one with you. flipping onto the next page of your biology textbook, something that was unnecessarily expensive, you shake your hand to get rid of the cramp you slowly became aware of.

it was only when a wave of man’s cologne and a plastic bag stood in front of you that you ripped your eyes off of your books.

he was tall, skinny, had long(ish) hair and looked amazing. there wasn’t really anything else to say, other than that the thin smile he displayed toward you made you smile back.

“just these for today?” you ask, fixing your posture and pushing some loose strands back to their place behind your ears.

“yes, thank you.” he says, voice as timid as his appearance. it was a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him as his long fingers slip through his wallet to find a debit card. “have a good night.”

your eyes return to your textbook as you go to erase an answer you had previous written, obviously wrong.

“the heads of the phospholipid bilayer are hydrophilic, not phobic.” he says. it surprised you, making you return to his gaze slowly before realising you should probably reply instead of staring at the man.

“oh- yeah, thanks. i caught that it’s just, i guess i’ve been staring at the same words for so long i can’t differentiate them.” you give a small fake laugh as he nods, giving you a long look before coughing and leaving promptly. he leaves with his bag, and his hands fiddling with each other.

you can barely focus after that. customers come and go, and although you’ve only been doing the late shift for a week, this encounter with the unknown man couldn’t leave your mind. the way he dressed, his smell, his voice and how he corrected you (which would totally annoy you usually). you hoped he would return.

and he did. three days later, this time even later than the last.

you were stuck in a dark purple sweater, the aircon in the store blasting cold air that you were too lazy to fix. and although the air flipped pages of notes and questions, you were still stuck in a trance.

the blasting aircon blew a wind of mens cologne this time, it smelt like wood. your eyes glanced up from your books and trailed the familiar man, noticing how he was reusing the plastic bag from days before.

he returned to the checkout with apples, a 3 minute cannelloni, and a bag of coffee. he was now the one trailing you, “where did Latrice go?” you look up, chuckling a bit,

“Latrice is getting paid by her daughter-in-law to babysit the twins,” you reply, surprised you were willing to tell him so much information. he could be a stalker for all you know. or just a regular, obviously that’s way more likely. “trust me, i miss her as much as you do. $14.98.”

he nodded with a small smile and sliced his card down the side of the card reader.

you searched for him now, only after two encounters you were already craving some sort of human interaction at work. usually you avoided it since the only other ‘regulars’ were old men and mean teenagers. you had switched to writing a biology report on your computer, the sound of the keyboard almost covering the sound of the door bell.

a bag of apples, a 2 minute lasagne, a bag of coffee, and a banana muffin.

“big night?”

“uh- what?”

“you got a banana muffin. i thought you were starting to become predictable.” you bagged his things as he chuckled, looking over you and your laptop. you noticed only because you were also looking at him, “biology report. wanna read it?” you joked, but he didn’t catch that part.

now he was behind the register, sat on your wheelie stool reading and editing your report while walking you through everything he was changing. you didn’t understand most, but you were just happy to stay around him. you weren’t even scared of Old Alan, the guy who only buys cucumbers and condoms. nobodies ever asked him, don’t think anyone wants to know.

“what’s your word limit?”

“3500.”

“only 3500?” he gave you a raised eyebrow, voice getting slightly higher. he coughed, “sorry, that’s nearly impossible.”

you sigh, “i know… i’m y/n by the way. thought you should know who your helping cheat.”

“i’m not helping you cheat, i’m just… editing,” he hit backspace a few times with a lowered bottom lip, “my names spencer.”

you smiled and crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. spencer. yeah, that sounded nerdy enough.

pt. 2

[slattlicker]

can u write maybe some comfort fluff for reader going trough a depressive episode (totally not projecting wdym)

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * a low spoons sort of day ⋆.���࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: a rough morning, a quiet lunch, and a long-distance boyfriend who shows up on your doorstep—and stays. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧��✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: this one’s for you, babe. for the days when it’s hard to cry, hard to eat, hard to answer a text—you’re not broken, you’re just tired. and you deserve love anyway. and remember: you are kind, you are smart, you are loved. don’t let anyone dim your light—not even yourself. ♡ i know the original request was for something fluffy, and i hope the comfort & fluff still shines through even if it leaned a little more hurt/comfort than expected.

warnings: hurt/comfort · long-distance relationship · therapist · y/n has depression · depiction of a depressive episode · executive dysfunction · intrusive thoughts/self-isolation themes · difficulty expressing emotions · eating struggles (not ED-specific) · emotional vulnerability/tough conversation · tenderness, softness, and healing cuddles

✧✧✧

you wake up because the light’s too bright.

not because you’re rested. not because you want to.

the sun’s hitting you directly in the face—low, late morning maybe, and sharp enough to hurt. you squint against it but don’t move. not really. just pull the covers a little higher and let your eyes fall shut again.

the room smells stale. your water bottle’s empty. something vaguely crusty’s on the nightstand from two-days-ago's attempt at dinner—probably takeout. you don’t remember. it doesn’t matter.

your phone buzzed sometime around midnight. schlatt’s name lit up the screen with a message that read:

gonna be real busy tomorrow, babe. not sure i’ll be able to call til later. love you. talk soon <3

you’d typed out “it’s okay, good luck <3” and then erased it.

typed it again. erased it again.

settled on a heart emoji and turned your phone face-down.

it wasn’t that you were mad. you weren’t. it just felt like... too much effort. everything does lately.

you know what this is. it’s the weight. the fog. the numbness and the ache. you’ve been through this before—hell, you’ve even sat in the therapy chair and named it. depression. clinical, cyclical, chemical. you know the words. you’ve done the reading.

it still doesn’t make mornings easier.

still doesn’t make the thought of brushing your teeth any less impossible.

you breathe out, long and quiet. your chest feels heavy. your head feels heavier.

but eventually—because you have to—you sit up.

not all at once. just enough to lean forward, elbows on knees, palms to your face.

you don’t cry. that would take energy. all you do is sit there, eyes open, breathing, trying to find the strength to stand up.

✧✧✧

you’re halfway through your soup when your therapist asks, casually:

“so, how’d the sandwich experiment go?”

you sigh. shrug. pick at the bread crust you’ve been slowly tearing into pieces.

“i stared at it for twenty minutes and then put it back in the fridge.”

she hums. not judging. just listening.

“you still have it?”

“yeah.”

“maybe toast it tomorrow. new texture, new try.”

you nod, knowing damn well it’ll sit untouched for another two days before you throw it out. but it feels nice to be given a gentle solution instead of a lecture.

she’s halfway through her tofu rice bowl—same thing she always gets on tuesdays. she’s always warm about it, too. offers you bites even though you never accept. makes quiet comments about the sauce being better this week, or how someone finally fixed the squeaky door to the front office.

she’s easy to be around. familiar.

“you seem... heavier today,” she says eventually, tearing off a piece of your untouched bread and dipping it in her bowl. “wanna talk about that?”

you stir your soup.

“i think i’m the reason i’m alone.”

she doesn’t flinch. just lets the silence breathe for a moment.

you keep going—slow. hesitant. honest.

“i—i told myself i needed space. from people. from everything. i thought i was doing the right thing, you know? like, letting myself rest. not forcing it.”

“and now?”

you press your spoon down. feel it scrape the bottom of the cup.

“now it feels like i never learned how to come back.”

her eyes soften.

“i push people away,” you admit, voice smaller. “and then i punish myself for it. like—of course no one’s here. you made it this way.”

“self-sabotage is sneaky like that,” she says. “feels like protection at first. then it builds walls you forget how to climb.”

you nod. swallow. stir.

she waits a beat longer, then adds—gently:

“but you’re not trapped. not really. just out of practice.”

you glance up.

she offers a small shrug. “you isolated to survive. that’s not weakness. that’s strategy. now we just need new strategies.”

you blink at that.

she nudges your arm with hers.

“start small. text one person when you think you don’t deserve it. let someone see you before you’re ‘fixed.’ remind yourself—connection isn’t a reward. it’s a need.”

you’re quiet. still chewing.

“hey,” she says softly. “you’re here. that matters.”

you offer a crooked smile.

“only because i was bribed with soup.”

she laughs. “see? new strategy already.”

you huff a laugh—small, but real.

for the rest of the session, she keeps it light. talks about a book she’s reading. mentions how the neighbor’s cat keeps sneaking into the front office. you listen. you sip. you chew.

it helps. it's nice to have a conversation with someone who isn't your boyfriend.

when it’s time to leave, she presses a granola bar into your palm like a secret mission and says, “for post-session blood sugar.”

you thank her. she tells you she’ll see you next week.

you nod.

but your smile fades the second you hit the stairwell.

✧✧✧

you sit in your car with the door still open, keys in your hand, soup-to-go container cooling in your lap.

you don’t start the engine. don’t even close the door.

just sit there—half in, half out—like the drive home is some far-off thing you don’t quite have the energy to reach.

your fingers dig into the steering wheel like it might anchor you. like holding onto something will keep you from dissolving.

your phone is face down in the cupholder. still on do not disturb. you haven’t touched it all day.

you know exactly what’s sitting in there.

a text from your mom, asking if you’re mad at her.

a message from robyn, still unread—from three weeks ago.

a photo in the group chat from an inside joke you weren’t part of anymore.

a voice memo from emily that you said you’d listen to “when you felt better.” you never did.

three emails from work. one of them marked “urgent.”

and schlatt—probably just a little heart in response to yours. maybe an “i love you.” maybe nothing, this time.

you can feel your face tightening, your throat closing. you tell yourself not to cry.

you don’t deserve to cry. crying is for people who still try. you haven’t tried. you haven’t reached out. you haven’t done your dishes. you didn’t even put the soup in the fridge last night, just left it on your desk until it curdled.

you’re disgusting.

your chest starts to heave—quiet, shallow hiccups of air you can’t quite catch.

you grip the wheel harder.

you remember the voicemail from your cousin. the one you deleted without listening to, because she always talks for ten minutes and you couldn’t fake interest for ten minutes.

you remember the birthday party you skipped. the friend you “forgot” to text back.

the way you didn’t answer the door when someone came by to check on you.

you remember schlatt asking “are you sure you're okay?” a few days ago—and how you smiled, tight and fake and practiced, and said, “just tired.”

you feel your lip wobble. you dig your nails into the heel of your palm.

you used to cry all the time. when you were a kid. when you were softer. you used to sob in bathrooms and hallways and curled up on the couch with your mom’s old sweater.

now you just… stare. glassy-eyed. stunned.

your body doesn’t know whether it wants to scream or disappear.

you rest your head on the steering wheel. it’s warm. it smells like your skin.

your vision starts to swim.

you’re a terrible friend.

you’re a terrible daughter.

...probably a terrible girlfriend, too.

you’re lucky anyone even wants to text you.

and still, you ignore them.

still, you disappear.

and then you have the audacity to feel lonely.

your breath catches on a sharp inhale. almost a sob.

but no tears come.

not even that.

your chest tightens, rises, falls—too fast, too shallow—but your eyes stay dry.

you press your palms into your eyes anyway, like you can force it out, like pressure might trigger emotion. like grief is a switch you can flip if you just press hard enough.

nothing happens.

you sit there, hunched over the wheel, trembling—not from sadness, exactly, but from the sheer weight of everything you’ve refused to feel.

you want to scream.

you want anything to break the silence inside your head.

but instead, you just sit.

silent. stiff. breath catching like a misfiring engine.

you used to cry easily.

now?

you can’t even muster that.

and the numbness feels worse than the pain ever did.

eventually, your hands fall back into your lap. your grip loosens on the soup cup. the lid’s a little warped now, thumbprint pushed in from holding too tight.

you stare through the windshield—vacant, blank.

you are not okay.

…but you have to keep going, you guess.

✧✧✧

you unlock your door. red key. black door. drop your bag by the shoe rack. kick off your sneakers, one at a time. brace yourself for the stale quiet, the faint funk of laundry that needs folding, the dirty dishes you left in the sink yesterday because you’d “do them tomorrow”.

you don’t brace for this.

the smell hits first—garlic, roasted something, maybe herbs—and your brain short-circuits.

you freeze in the doorway.

the lights are soft. warm. the overhead one’s off, just the little lamp by the bookshelf on.

and your apartment? clean. 

your throw blanket’s folded. the counter’s wiped. the dishes are gone. the trash has been taken out. your couch even looks fluffed.

and then—

“hey, babe.”

you turn, wide-eyed.

and he’s there. he’s here.

schlatt—real, in your kitchen doorway—grinning like he knows he just turned your whole day upside down.

he’s wearing your apron. the ugly one with the cartoon sheep. holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a potholder in the other.

“don’t freak out,” he says, totally unbothered, “but i made chicken parm and also maybe reorganized your fridge.”

you blink at him. your mouth opens. nothing comes out. you feel like your body is buffering.

“how—what—?”

he shrugs. “caught a flight. figured i’d surprise you. you didn’t really think that i wouldn’t want to talk or even text you all day?”

you should smile. you should run to him. you should fall into his arms and laugh and kiss him and say thank god you’re here.

instead, your eyes blur.

your chest goes tight.

and the inside of your mouth tastes like panic.

he steps closer—tentative now, spoon still in hand.

“hey,” he says again, gentler. “you okay?”

you nod, quickly.

then shake your head.

then nod again.

“i—i’m fine,” you whisper. “i just… it’s a lot.”

he sets the spoon down. crosses the room to you slow, careful.

“too much?”

you shake your head again, even though—yeah. it is. it’s all too much. too clean, too warm, too loving, too good.

he stops in front of you. doesn’t reach for you yet. just looks.

you try to smile. it comes out warped.

“i’ve been barely holding it together all day,” you say, voice wobbly. “and then i come home and it’s clean and it smells good and you’re here and i—i’m not okay, and i should be, and that makes me feel like—like a horrible person—”

he catches you as your voice breaks.

wraps you up without hesitation. presses your face to his shoulder.

“hey, hey,” he murmurs. “stop that. don’t do that to yourself.”

your arms wrap around him slowly. your fingers curl in his shirt.

“you weren’t supposed to come today,” you mumble. “i didn’t get the chance to be… better.”

his hands rub slow circles on your back.

“you don’t have to be better,” he says, voice low and steady. “i'm just glad that you're home...would've been really awkward if you had hid out in your car for a few more hours…i probably would have burned dinner."

“…how did you know that i hide out in my car, schlatt?”

he exhales—quiet and sheepish. “because i do the same thing, baby.”

you blink against his chest. something in your ribcage shudders.

he rubs your back again, slow. “sometimes it’s the only place that feels… silent, y’know? like nothing’s expected of you in there. no dishes. no conversation. just…quiet.”

your throat tightens.

“so yeah,” he murmurs. “when you didn’t come in for a while, i figured you were out there, just… trying to be okay.”

he doesn’t say hiding. doesn’t say stalling.

just trying to be okay.

and for some reason, that’s what does it.

not the dinner. not the clean apartment. not even the smell of roasted garlic that’s still floating in from the kitchen.

it’s the quiet recognition.

the unspoken i get it.

and suddenly, your face crumples.

there’s no lead-up. no gasping breath or dramatic sob. just—release.

your shoulders cave inward. your fingers tighten in his shirt. the first hot tear slides down your cheek, then another, then another, and you just let it happen.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t freeze up.

doesn’t try to shush you or fix it or talk you out of it.

he just holds you.

softly. firmly. like you’re soft and warm and real, not just a rapidly deteriorating body.

his thumb grazes the back of your neck. his other hand cradles your waist, keeping you grounded while your chest shakes and your eyes spill and your words fall apart before they even make it to your mouth.

you’re not even sure what you’re crying about anymore.

it’s not just the depression.

not just the fear or the shame or the aching weight you’ve been dragging around.

it’s the relief too.

that he’s here.

that you don’t have to carry it alone tonight.

eventually, when the tears slow and your body’s less curled up and more leaned in, he presses a kiss to your temple.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “you hear me?”

you nod into his shoulder. he smells like your detergent.

“and hey,” he adds, a little lighter, “i made garlic bread too. with cheese. so i’m basically a five-star restaurant who's also your boyfriend.”

you sniff out a weak laugh. “you’re silly.”

“and you’re underfed. let’s fix that.”

✧✧✧

you eat in comfortable silence.

well—you eat.

he scarfs down two pieces of garlic bread and half his plate in ten minutes flat. you take smaller bites. the chicken’s soft, the sauce a little sweet. he must’ve used your good oregano—the one in the back of the cabinet, the one you keep forgetting you have.

you’re halfway through your food when he leans back in his chair, eyes soft, voice careful.

“can i ask you something?”

you glance up. nod.

“was today one of the bad ones?”

you lower your fork.

“yeah.”

he doesn’t push. just nods. lets you take your time.

you pick at the corner of your napkin.

“i’ve just… felt really alone lately,” you say. “and i keep trying to tell myself it’s temporary. or logical. or earned. but it doesn’t help.”

he nods again—not like he understands everything, but like he’s willing to try.

“i’ve been pulling away from people. even you,” you admit, quieter now. “and i hate it, but it feels like… like i don’t deserve anyone when i’m like this. like, i know it’s messed up thinking, but it’s so loud sometimes, and i just…i believe it.”

“can i say something?”

you nod, cautiously.

“you gotta stop thinking everyone’s gonna leave.”

your stomach twists. not from the food.

you stab at your chicken. “i’m not—i don’t think that, i just... i don’t know. i’ve been left before.”

“i know,” he says gently. “and that sucked. but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen every time.”

you shrug. “it kind of does, though. it’s a pattern.”

“or maybe it’s just fear talking,” he says. “fear has a way of convincing you that it’s a fact.”

"yeah, but...my fears have been confirmed before, schlatt. more than once..."

“i know they have,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “but baby... do you ever notice how you stopped giving people the chance to prove you wrong?”

"the only one who proved me wrong...was you, honey."

his mouth quirks—just a little, just for a second.

“then let that count for something.” his thumb keeps tracing, slow and steady. “’cause i’m not the exception. i’m just the start.”

you laugh a bit at that, shaking your head. "schlatt, it's not...it's not going to work like that. so easily..."

“i know,” he says, no hesitation. “i’m not askin’ you to flip a switch. we both know that relationships...romantic and platonic, take a ton of work.”

he squeezes your hand, just enough to ground you. you squeeze back, a little frustrated.

"everything is work, it feels like. i'm just...a huge work in progress. never to be completed. never to be fixed."

“you’re not broken,” he says, without missing a beat.

then, softer—more certain:

“you’re growing, and it is going to be tough to work through,” his fingers curl around yours, gentle but sure. “but you gotta understand something: i’m not here because you earned it. or because you were happy. or easy to deal with. or perfect."

he reaches for your hand. warm. grounding.

“i’m here because i love you.”

your breath catches.

“and yeah, sometimes it’s messy. sometimes you push me away. sometimes i have to step in before you spiral. but that’s not a dealbreaker, baby. that’s just... love.”

you don’t say anything. not yet. you just stare at him like you’re trying to memorize the shape of that sentence.

and he keeps going, quieter:

“i know it’s hard to believe. but people like me? we’re real. and we don’t just leave because things get hard. we stay. we show up. and you need to stop holding your breath waiting for that to change.”

your eyes burn. you try to blink it away, but it’s no use. the tears are already gathering.

“i don’t know how to believe that yet,” you whisper.

"let me ask you a really simple question, y/n. do you want me in your life?"

your voice catches in your throat. it takes a moment before you can answer.

“…yeah,” you say, barely audible. “of course i do.”

"good. because i want you too. and i will always want you in my life."

his forehead tips against yours, eyes closed like he’s sealing a promise.

“no version of you scares me off,” he murmurs. “not the tired one. not the sad one. not even the version that forgets she’s worthy of being loved.”

his hand squeezes yours again—firm, warm, anchoring.

“i’m not going anywhere. you got it? you're my girl.”

your breath catches.

not from the weight of your sadness—but from the warmth of his words. the certainty in them. like there was never a doubt. and it's really hard to try to argue with. because no matter how much your brain starts fishing for the rejection in his tone, you can't find anything.

"schlatt..."

"y/n, you're my girl because you're always there for me too. you're not some parasite, stuck to me, stealing all my energy and love. you're an amazing girlfriend who cares for me too. you're there when i'm having a tough time, you make me smile with all your stupid jokes, and you're always cheering for me on the sidelines."

your lips part—but no words come out.

not because you don’t have anything to say, but because he just said everything you never let yourself hope someone would.

your chest tightens, but not the way it usually does. this time, it’s not panic. it’s pressure—of something cracking open. something soft. something healing.

“you really… think that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

he huffs a quiet laugh. “baby, i know that.”

he pulls your joined hands to his chest, right over his heart. “you love hard, y’know that? and yeah, sometimes you get scared, and sometimes you spiral—but that love of yours? it’s never been a burden. not once.”

his voice dips. “you’re not hard to love, y/n. you've just got to let people in.”

✧✧✧

the dishes clink quietly in the sink.

you’re not really talking—just standing side by side, sleeves rolled up, warm water running. you wash. he rinses. sometimes your arms bump. sometimes he hums a bit under his breath. it’s not awkward. just soft. simple.

you cried again. of course you did. he didn’t say anything when you did—just handed you a towel, kissed your forehead, and asked if you wanted to help clean up. so you did.

now the plates are stacked, the counters wiped, and your kitchen doesn’t look like a war zone anymore. neither do you.

you let out a long, quiet breath, drying your hands on a dish towel. schlatt leans against the counter, watching you. something fond tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“what?” you ask, self-conscious but curious.

he grins. “i was gonna wait ‘til we were under the blanket, but i’m too proud of myself.”

he crosses the room, crouches by his bag, and—very dramatically—unearths a large, black garbage bag from within.

you stare at him. “what the hell is that?”

“no questions,” he says, tugging the knot loose. “just…have faith.”

and then—

out comes your 1-foot tall, soft-as-sin, midnight-colored rammy plush. a little wrinkled from travel.

you gasp. “you hid him?!”

he looks smug. “had to. no way i was gonna walk through airport security with that thing under my arm.”

“you flew with him??”

“he had his own seat.”

you laugh—one hand to your chest, the other reaching for rammy like he’s a long-lost limb.

“i thought i left him forever…”

“you did,” schlatt says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, chin on your shoulder. “and i rescued him from the side of my bed. like the brave, selfless man i am.”

you melt back into him, plush squished between your arms, giggling.

“you know,” he says, “he kept fallin’ over on the plane. guy’s got no balance.”

you laugh—real and loud and unexpected. “he’s got noodles for legs.”

“he’s got your sleep habits, too. zero posture. just collapses.”

“shut up,” you snort, cuddling rammy tighter.

you’re quiet a second.

then, softly: “thank you.”

his voice dips. “anytime, baby.”

✧✧✧

you pull your knees up, scoot a little closer to him on the couch, rammy tucked beside you so you can still cuddle with schlatt.

and schlatt—without hesitation—pulls the blanket off the backrest and drapes it over your shoulders like muscle memory. like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“so,” he murmurs, voice dropping low and fond, “you gonna let me watch some stupid reality show with you now? or are we cuddlin’ in complete silence like psychos?”

you laugh. “i mean, you are kind of insane.”

“and you’re emotionally avoidant,” he shoots back, smirking. “we balance each other out.”

you roll your eyes, but it makes your chest feel lighter.

he settles beside you and nudges your arm with his. “hey. got your phone nearby?”

you groan. “schlaaatt…”

“just hear me out,” he says, voice soft. “text one person. just one. someone you miss. even if it’s just ‘hi.’ that’s what your therapist suggested, yeah? you should try it.”

you make a face. “they probably think i’m ignoring them.”

“or,” he says, “they probably think you’re struggling. and they miss you, too.”

you fidget with your sleeve. “what if they don’t want to hear from me?”

“then they won’t answer,” he says simply. “and that’ll suck. but it won’t kill you. and you’ll know how they really feel. but if they do answer?”

he smiles. “you’ll remember how many people don’t want to leave.”

you chew your lip.

then—tentatively—you pick up your phone.

type out a simple message.

hey. i know it’s been a while. i miss you. hope you’re doing okay.

your thumb hovers.

he watches you, patient.

you hit send.

“okay,” you mutter. “done. no turning back.”

“atta girl,” he grins, kissing your temple. “now pick a show with at least one toxic relationship in it. i need to feel morally superior.”

you scroll through a few options, then pause on one. “this one has people getting engaged after like… thirty-six hours.”

“perfect,” he says. “set the bar low. i’ll look amazing by comparison.”

you nudge your shoulder into his. “you already do.”

he quiets at that. just for a second. but it’s a warm kind of quiet. like he heard it. like he’s storing it somewhere safe.

you hit play.

and for a while, it’s just easy. the couch is soft, the blanket is warm, rammy’s squished between your hip and the cushion like he’s always belonged there, and schlatt’s laugh rumbles low against your side every time someone says something outrageous.

you don’t even notice how relaxed you’ve gotten until he reaches for your hand again—and this time, you meet him halfway.

thumbs brushing. fingers interlocked.

no big speeches. no heavy moments.

just… ease.

and then your phone buzzes.

you glance over, expecting maybe a news alert or spam—

but it’s a reply.

from robyn, who you texted earlier.

you blink.

then read the message again.

hey! i’ve missed you. i’m really glad you reached out. wanna get lunch this weekend? my treat :)

your stomach swoops.

you stare.

schlatt notices. “what’s up?”

you show him the screen.

“well,” his whole face lights up. “would you look at that!”

you’re quiet a second—biting your lip, trying not to cry for the fourth time tonight.

“i guess… maybe i don’t have to start over,” you murmur. “maybe i just have to start again.”

“babe,” he says, pulling you in tight, “that was poetic as shit.”

you snort. “shut up.”

“no, no, keep going,” he grins, smothering your face in kissy pecks now. “say something else profound. i’m in the mood for growth and domesticity.”

you giggle, swatting at him, squirming under the affection.

he doesn’t stop. not until you’re laughing again—like really laughing.

and then he pulls you in, settles the both of you under the blanket again, and murmurs:

“see? not so hard to let people in.”

and this time, you don’t argue.

you just squeeze his hand. and let yourself feel loved.

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * end notes ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ thank you for being here. if you saw yourself in this piece, i hope you also saw the care you deserve. you are not a burden. your softness is not a flaw. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

[crepesuzette2023]

What We Need Is A Schedule

After the fun and games of one year ago, John and Paul are no longer fooling around. Lennon & McCartney talk about their job, songwriting. from THE BEATLES BOOK MONTHLY, No. 33, June 1966

JOHN: Now that Paul's back from his holidays, we're getting ready to do quite a bit of recording. We have to get two songs for a new single in the next couple of weeks and we've got to start work on another LP album. That means we want nearly twenty new numbers- allowing for a couple of spare ones in case something doesn't really work out when we get in the studio.

PAUL: I think song-writing is like any other kind of writing. You tend to put it off until somebody tells you it has to be finished by a particular date.

JOHN: When we're on our own and we think of an idea for a song, the main thing is to get it down so that it isn't forgotten. Words you can write on bits of paper but it's not that easy with a tune. We've found the best way of all is to use a tape recorder.

PAUL: With a tape you can put on the voice and add bits of guitar and things later when you get a good idea in your mind for a guitar phrase or an introduction.

JOHN: And it doesn't really matter if you haven't got all the lyrics worked out. You can just hum or go "la-la-la-la" for the bits you haven't written yet.

PAUL: Then John and I get together and play over the tapes we've made.

JOHN: Paul's much more of an expert about recording his songs. Some of his tapes are fantastic--they're dubbed and everything so that you get the full group sound--not like mine which are just my own voice and one guitar.

PAUL: Just like any other kind of writing, it's impossible to walk about doing other things and suddenly say to yourself "Ah, l've got a song coming on. Here it comes now" and rush to your tape recorder.

JOHN: I dunno. Sometimes you can start off a new song like that. It depends.

PAUL: We've been talking about this and we've decided we ought to force ourselves to arrange days for songwriting together in advance.

JOHN: It's too easy to put it off if we just meet without any plan and say "Shall we write something today?". If you do that you feel as though you're losing a free day. What we're going to do is make dates beforehand and sort of say "Right Wednesday and Friday of this week are for songwriting. And Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of next week". Then we'll know it's something we've to keep to.

PAUL: We'll try to fix times and keep to them. Get into a room with guitars and a piano and a tape recorder and work things out.

JOHN: I said at the start we would need twenty new numbers. Actually, both of us have some half-started stuff which needs finishing. Some of Paul's tapes are almost complete too. We'll probably get five or six songs out of these and then begin thinking up new ones.

PAUL: One of the only real differences between the way we prepare for recording sessions now and the way we did it years ago is that we know more about recording techniques.

JOHN: Earlier on we'd go into the studio and George Martin would say after he'd heard something "Well, that's going to be O.K. but why don't you try putting a so-and-so in there." And he'd suggest an organ sound or double-tracking on something. Now we know just how much can be done in the studio we can think up new sounds and different instruments to use before a session.

PAUL: Means we should get more done at a session.

JOHN: Ah, I've got a song coming on. Here it comes now!

PAUL: Right! Let's get back to work.

Photos accompanying the taped "interview" (J & P talking to tape recorder)

[sacred-coffin]

I want to write but today is edibles days so I'm just going to type out some thoughts about Terzo in light of some headcanons / Canon info I have consumed recently. Putting it under a cut bc it might be long

So, this is mostly from reading about Terzo "hating every body, but especially himself" and just. The idea that he grew up thinking he was no one's favorite (even if he did have a very loving mother) because, even in a place like the clergy, he is still, somehow, a black sheep.

Personally, I think he's gay, which is not a BAD thing in the clergy, but I can see it making a lot of women frustrated with him. That was just a little bit less attention he got. Epecially because his older half brothers are major heartthrobs.

Growing up, it just feels like Primo and Secondo have more succes than him. They're more like their father, after all, and being liked by Nihil helps protect them from Sister Imperator's jealousy (until she can get Copia in their place). But Terzo? Nihil didn't think he had what it takes to be Papa.

I saw another person contemplating Terzo being very into punk and goth music/culture, and of course the the clergy is all about being counter culture- but not like THAT. His mother loved it, of course, and not everyone was disapproving of him, but enough people with more authority than him we disappointed. The Emerituses are supposed to be CLASSY, or something like that.

I think his brothers weren't as disappointed with him at least, but they were a little bit in that sort of "older sibling" way, if that makes sense. They had moments of fighting and then getting along later like most siblings. Of course, that doesn't extend to Copia- I personally think Copia was introduced as an orphan who just happened to be Sister Imperator's favorite, star pupil, etc. etc. Growing up there were rumors that he might be her son, that he might be Nihil's son, but no one dared talk too loudly about it. Terzo and his brothers probably didn't think Copia was their brother, or if they did they didn't care to try and include him. Still, Sister Imperator's favoritism for Copia made Terzo even MORE upset. Copia did try to be friendly with him, but Terzo was very cold to him.

I also like to think about how Omega has been around for a very long time in the Clergy. He definetly saw Terzo grow up, in a way. (NOT like, from childhood, but maybe teenage/early adulthood?) And he always took a liking to him. Terzo's mother & omega were probably his biggest hype squad, but they weren't enough to keep him from getting depressed and jaded. It also probably took Terzo a long time to actually believe that Omega was being genuine with him. I think it'd be sweet if it finally hit Terzo that Omega REALLY liked him when he became Papa. Omega was so happy for him and excited to work with him, and Terzo had his "oh." moment.

Speaking of becoming Papa, we can all agree that he just oozed charm and charisma when he got on stage. It feels very contradictory to everything I've said up until this point, right? But I think that it was kind of like, a sudden boost to his, well, EVERYTHING when he became Papa. A sort of, "fuck you" to everyone who doubted him. Who cares if his father and Sister Imperator aren't super enthused about him being Papa? He's made it there.

Sure, that doesn't FIX him. But being on stage hypes his ego up so much, and being up there with Omega helps too, it kinda gives him that "fake it till you make it" energy. And for a time he was really making it.

But then Copia became Cardinal. And as much as Nihil didn't like him being Papa either, it wasn't hard for Sister Imperator to convince him.

And, well, you know how it goes from there.

Anyways, I'm going to project onto him now and say he was definitely bipolar and definitely never medicated. This made it hard for him to consistently believe that the people in his life that DID care about him were being genuine, he'd have long weeks of being depressed and apathetic. But being on stage, the center of attention, that's a mania trigger babeyyy

[mercuriians]

my paradise

jjk,, k. nanami x fem! reader

content info — short drabble, angst horribly and lazily disguised as fluff. <3 this fic was borne out of my own anguish upon witnessing certain spoilers. (gege hates us all)

author’s note — sorry for being mia. you guys all know how life can be. luckily i’m on break so i’ll do my best to send out at least one finished request 🙂‍↕️ i’ll fix this post’s format later, for now i hope you guys enjoy my first attempt at writing jjk.

"do you think heaven exists?"

you utter your question so softly, so innocently, in a timid whisper that seems like it barely even leaves your lips in the first place. the moonlight seeping from the window is dim, just enough to surround the room in a bleak, lazy kind of aura. nanami's just about ready to drift away into slumber—where it's dreamless and monotonous, and he simply just exists—but somehow there's a feeling that tugs at him. telling him that he should turn his body to face you, to see whether there's childlike curiosity within your eyes or quiet desolation.

so that's what he does. twisting around in the ivory bedsheets, he examines your expression with an air of diligence that probably shouldn't even be possible in the near-midnight hour. nanami ends up being a bit surprised. somehow you look calm. tranquil. like there's nothing else in the world worth focusing on but him.

but he still treads carefully, cautiously. "why do you ask, love?" nanami's voice is a bit hoarse, a little rusty from the lengthy time he's been silent.

perceptively, he sees the column of your throat move slightly as you swallow. "while i was on break earlier today, yuji asked me something," you admit. "he wanted to know how he could, in his words, 'give people a proper death' when the time came. and i guess that made me think about where we even go when we finally depart from this world. where our souls go to rest."

there's a small, intimate pause as nanami waits for you to continue.

"when we were kids, we were always told that there's a place for the good people and for the bad. obviously it's comforting to let yourself believe that it's all really that black-and-white, but i don't know." your voice trails off again. nanami doesn't know how much time passes when he sees your eyes become clouded over, like you're focused on something faraway. something distant, maybe something that wasn’t even there to begin with. "would there be some sort of paradise waiting for us when we die? would we even deserve that, kento?” you whisper.

he holds his breath.

it was exceedingly rare for you to succumb to such sentimentality. you were almost always driven with diligence, fueled by the need to stick to your schedule of early mornings, midday coffee breaks, and late shifts. in a world where curses ruthlessly threatened to enforce a strict hierarchy of chaos, he recognized the all-too-significant desire to at least maintain a reliable form of organization. especially considering the fact that you were both first-grade sorcerers. some of the very best.

but now, nanami's realizing that maybe, maybe the reason why you were always so vigilant is because there was no other option. there was no time to wallow in self-pity, to question why you both had to live in such a merciless society, to scream out in frustration and curse out every single damn thing in existence and wish that things had been at least a little bit easier.

either you accepted the cards you were dealt with, or you opted out of the game permanently.

nanami quickly wonders what that means for himself. but he shakes off the thought, shakes off the negativity that crept up on him for a split-second with the expertise that he's collected and honed over the years.

right now, his only objective revolved around you.

gently, he reaches out, touching your face with the calloused tips of his fingers. for a moment, he traces the smoothness of your skin, like a paintbrush to a canvas, before moving a loose strand of hair behind your ear. the way you look up at him with eyes just short of being teary makes his chest tighten, but he perseveres for you.

it's all for you. whether he likes it or not.

"i don't know the answer to that, and any sane person living on this planet wouldn't know either," nanami finally utters. as his words hit the empty air, he sees your pink lips curve upwards by the slightest bit. it’s like you can’t help but be amused by his trademark bluntness. even in the middle of such a bleak conversation, nanami’s glad that he can at least bring you some resemblance of joy.

“but the way i see it,” he continues, hand dipping down to find yours almost instinctively, “none of that matters.”

your brows furrow. you curl into his comforting figure. “what do you mean?”

nanami’s eyes meet yours. “i couldn’t give less of a damn about what happens after death. not when i’m here with you in this moment,” he whispers, unable to restrain himself from inching closer, closer towards your face, “and hopefully the millions after.”

his lips brush against your own. it’s tentative, even almost shy—his way of asking you if this is alright.

you seal the gap without a second thought.

nanami pulls you closer. his arms wrap around your waist, as if he was unwilling to ever let go.

the intimacy of it all is enough to make him forget that for a moment, he was lost in thought, lost in the realization that people truly were helpless to whatever happened in the afterlife. but really, above all else, he was a soldier—had been since the day he enrolled at jujutsu high. and as long as you were safe, nothing else would matter. including his own—insignificant, small, dispensable—life.

at that moment, nanami’s armor became yours instead.

[spreta-invidia]

Do you have a daemyra fic rec list please? I’m desperately searching but they don’t live up to what you write I love your writing so much !! ❤️

Thank you so much!!! <3 That means so much to me! Thank you for reading and loving my writing.

I didn't have an actual Daemyra rec list, but I put a short one together today! There's so much fic in this fandom that I love, and so much that I have in my tbr queue also!

One Shots (canon or canon AU)

Those Happy Golden Years by SeveDeChampagne: This is actually a series of one shots set between episodes 7 and 9 that I think are just lovely. This is also maybe my favorite subgenre of Daemyra fic?

girls have their secrets by ginvael: This fits the subgenre above also! This is more focused on Rhaenyra, Baela, and Rhaena, and their relationships as the girls grow up. I really love ginvael's writing.

watching, always from the outskirts by vintagemocha: This is Alicent POV, but hear me out- it's great. The outsider POV works so well here to show Daemyra through the years.

burn for me by luthien_under_bough: Dark young queen Rhaenyra demands a special declaration of fealty from Daemon. Luthien's writing is so, so good basically always, and in this piece what got me was her use of detail. Also. Hot.

Multi-chapter (canon or canon AU)

Lavender Haze by madgirlslovesong: I think this is my favorite take on the idea of a disinherited Rhaenyra. This fic pairs really wonderful emotion with really interesting plotting/politics, and some excellent Daemyra content.

Bigger than the Whole Sky by CharlieLeau: Would you like your heart to be broken and broken and then mended? Then this is the fic for you! Instead of bearing her three sons during the ten year separation, in this fic Rhaenyra suffers a series of miscarriages, so the Rhaenyra Daemon reunites with is very different than in canon.

WIPs (canon or canon AU)

Threads of Black, Threads of Green by madgirlslovesong: I described this the other day as "if HotD was actually like ASOIAF" which is probably the highest compliment I can give. The hunt for the white hart inspires Rhaenyra to step up her political game. I caught up with this over two nights and I was so tired at work. Worth it.

Battlefields by calenlily: I'm a sucker for warrior Rhaenyra, but especially in the way calenlily does it here: very much a young woman in a new arena, with missteps and moments of glory both. Super excited for the rest of this. (Calenlily is another writer whose work I enjoy very much!)

Maternal Love by ginvael: An Aemma fix-it! I LOVE time travel fix-its, and this is one of my favs. There are some excellent moments between Aemma and Rhaenyra here.

Speaking of time travel fix-its... I think these two are abandoned, but I love what's there: Beyond the Black Door and five seconds later.

Modern AUs

Petrichor by sweetestsorrows: Really great Rhaenyra POV that takes the reader on a seven-year roller coaster through her relationship with Daemon.

entropy by firecollide (WIP): One of the first modern AUs I read in this fandom! In addition to being super fun, this fic also reignited my love for Arctic Monkeys.

This is definitely incomplete as lists go. I am perpetually behind on things and sort of a sloppy bookmarker (and also not a great comment leaver, though I am trying so hard to get better at that- it means SO much to me when people leave comments that it's almost talked me out of the incessant "oh god why does anyone care what you have to say, ugh you're probably sounding like an idiot" that goes through my head often/always tbh). There are gaps in here I should fill, and some fics are not available right now that any list of my favs feels naked without (High Hopes, I'm looking at you).

Let me know if you love any of these in particular! <3

[naamahdarling]

Do you like to sing? If so, what's your favorite type of music to sing?

I actually contacted a local place today about taking vocal lessons, after a friend offered to pay for four! Fingers crossed they will take me.

It makes sense I would like to sing. I have a lot of musically tolerable and sometimes gifted people in my bloodline, including an opera singer, my great aunt or something? Who I look freakishly like.

I LOVE to sing and have wanted lessons since I was a child. My grandmother asserted I should try a musical instrument instead (for which I have no aptitude) because she was under the impression that I, at 11, wasn't old enough. So I never learned beyond some basic stuff in chorus in school, and I never had one on one lessons.

I want to be able to sing around or for loved ones, but mostly just want the pleasure of it going around the house or in the car. I don't sing around people right now because while the basic properties of my voice are great, I have issues with key and pitch which probably aren't too bad but make me very self-conscious. But that can be fixed!

And what does it harm to try? I have very modest goals (fix my pitch issues, refine my lower range and try to preserve my upper range a bit, and learn how to sing without hurting my voice). I can probably meet those goals to my own satisfaction very quickly. I don't have high standards or any aspirations.

I like to sing anything that is tuneful or highly emotive. Easy stuff I guess. I like some folk/filk, Broadway style stuff, a lot of 80s classic rock stuff, power ballads, and some 90s alternative like Depeche Mode. I love Queen, Madonna. I want to be able to sing the entirety of The Last Unicorn soundtrack. I am not super well versed in it but I like a lot of Irish and English folk songs and things in that tradition. I like things that are dark, or wistful, Long Lankin and Lagan Love come to mind, and some Hozier. I also LOVE a good "I Want" song like Into the Unknown or A Whole New World, that kind of thing.

So I guess it's the kind of very basic assortment that you would expect from someone who was a little girl who loved pop-rock radio and animated movies, plus a much later inclination towards darker traditional stuff and a little bit of folk.

And I do occasionally, quietly, without talking about it, write tunes from time to time. I just... can't write it down, I can't understand the notes on sheet music. So I would like to be able to record them accurately just for my own pleasure, which means singing the right notes.

Anyway yeah that was a sort of scary email to send, I don't know if these people will be weird about the trans thing, or will want to take me on, and it means I will have to listen to my own voice (ew) and sing in front of someone good at it. But...why not try, yeah?

[just-a-floofy-catt]

I took a bit of a break from posting cus im tired as balls atm lmao

But i wanted to atleast chuck something out today so heres the ref/original idea sheet of Avery, my fnaf sb self-insert/oc from a while ago :)

(Ive already kinda shown this b4 but now it just looks nicer)

(And has all the writing stuff below the pic in this post)

Also here's some bonus info on him and his role and all :)

• Hes a trans dude (he/they pronouns) that "is built like a twink and dresses like a femboy" (silly quote from my friend lmao😭), and has an extremely ambiguous voice - British accent btw (grew up in the UK, he moved over to his current residence and lives w a roommate who was his online friend).

• Hes can occasionally be a lil bit of a freak behind the scenes XD. Has indulged in alot of fanfiction, draws some questionable stuff for money and also generally can have pretty crude and vulgar humor sometimes lmao.

• Hes pretty creative with a long ass list of hobbies. Loves fashion and costumes, is an artist, avid sewer and just generally loves making things with his hands in his spare time (100% brings his crochet to work XD)

• Has almost crippling anxiety about literally almost everything.

• Hes very polite and tolerates alot of bullshit to avoid conflict, but inside he is 100% raging with the heat of 1000 suns despite the fact hes outwardly shaking enough to be practically vibrating. He will definitely talk shit about the situation to himself in great, excruciating, dramatic detail with alot of angry cursing later and then probably cry about it.

• The boi is a little try-hard that will do their job above minimum effort in order to get praise, or out of fear for getting in trouble.

• Hes typically empathetic to a fault and a straight up (un)qualified therapist.

• Oh, also, hes a raging insomniac.

- First got the job because art commissions were a little slow and, hey, a more reliable source of money at the time wouldnt hurt.

- He was always kinda curious about the place because the scary stories about it were fun to pick apart and he loved the designs of all the animatronics (pft furry).

- He showed up to the interview scared shitless but they hired him almost on the spot, much to his confusion, as he was probably less than entirely qualified for this sort of job.

- From his very first day, he showed up pushing the dress code XD. But, he was indeed wearing the uniform, so he was technically following the rules(THEY COULDNT DO SHIT TO HIM 🥰) (well they could) (but the understaffing issue was more prioritised).

- His coworkers genuinely have no fucking clue how he manages to give enough of a shit to put that much stuff on every morning. The fits are always very over the top, considering all he had to do was put the damn uniform on, but alas, he usually showed up in head to toe accessories and such. It's honestly the best way he can make himself go into work. If he's gonna work a kinda shitty job that doesn't fit his schedule that well and have to do it on barely any sleep, THEN FUCK YEAH HES GONNA DO IT WHILE LOOKIN GOOD. Thats his philosophy on it, atleast XD.

- At first while he settles into the job hes just given shifts in general areas, working joint shifts with more trained security guards or maintenance people or animatronic handlers (those were his favourites. He always got excited like a little kid when getting to see any of the animatronics) to get him used to the place.

Fazbear ent. Was clearly desperate for employees as they were almost always understaffed, but it seemed that they weren't willing to give many employees a strict job role. Rather, expecting them to be a jack of all trades as to try and fix that little issue.

This also happened to apply to Avery, explaining why he was given such oddly scattered and different jobs to settle him in.

- Even as he did start becoming independent, this didnt much change.

One night he could be watching security cameras in the office, the next he could be counting stock at a gift shop, the next he could be helping out with minor maintenance tasks on the robots (despite his ZERO FUCKING KNOWLEDGE ON THEM. Great job there Faz.Ent. Oh well. As time went on he did get atleast a little accustomed to it and managed not to electrically fry his no-robotics-degree-having ass. And he also gained a bestie in the Parts and Services Department, so that was pretty helpful too).

Shit was pretty damn good.

- Thats when they 'suddenly' decide that daycare security is necessary. Something about parents becoming increasingly weary of the odd 'Daycare Attendant' animatronic.

With Avery being their newest hire and most likely to agree to take the position, he immediately gets targeted.

- Now, Avery isnt fond of kids.

Theyre annoying little shits.

So the second he hears 'daycare' hes like "fuck no".

Not to mention that his uh... 'look' (that management had still protested until eventually giving up) would probably set off some entitled mothers or something, and he'd rather not have parents screaming in his face about it.

- Alas, hes eventually convinced into it, under the condition that he gets to stay behind the security desk and not be bothered at all.

- Theyve had security there before, after a few... incidents... but it seemed like they were putting him on a more long term intended job.

- Turns out, from what he can gather from coworkers, a few people have been assigned to the daycare in the past for multiple different roles, but noone really enjoyed it and everyone avoided the place as much as possible. Sun just generally freaked everyone out with that weird... desperation he always had (which was definitely a part of what the parents had also been complaining about) and Moon just scared them all shitless, with the night security guards always looking over their shoulder in hopes of not crossing patrol with him. Noone really downright hated them, some even felt sympathy, but most were just too unsettled to interact with them.

- Avery, being a bit of a pussy, is even further put off from the job by these sentiments.

However, he perseveres and dresses his best to try and convince himself that itd be fine (aka, that if he died atleast hed die pretty).

- The daycare actually had its own themed uniform alongside the plain guard uniform, as did alot of other places in the pizzaplex. However, since the employees were given a choice, basically everyone chose to not don the more whimsical fits, and instead just use their badge to show the specific job or branch they were supposed to be legally assigned to.

- Avery, on the other hand, fucking lived for that shit. XD

Styled it like a girlboss and walked into work at exactly 6.30am, 30 minutes before the daycare opened, prepared to look perfectly the part for his job.

- When he walked into the daycare (he avoided the slide... hm.. maybe if he ever has a night shift here....) and the lights were already on and bright enough to blind a bitch.

Oh well, their electric bill, not his problem.

- He immediately settled behind the desk, planning to keep his ass planted there for the next few hours with one earbud in, hidden under his hair, as he would halfheartedly watch the kids.

But...

Something felt off.

Really fucking weird.

He was definitely being *watched*.

Observed.

Ugh, creepy.

He ignored it, blaming it on lack of sleep.

And thats about as far as i got plan wise for his lil plotline XD

Yippee

[unsociableandtaciturnbarbie]

Here we have a Tik Tok which I randomly scrolled upon two nights ago (whether it got added to my favorites collection is between me and whoever is monitoring my Tik Tok activity). This Tik Tok is fairly simple, but it’s really funny to me. It starts with a picture of a bunch of nurses/doctors running with a stretcher captioned, “she’s losing blood what’s her type?!?”, then the next slide is a collage of nine photos of Matthew Macfayden’s Mr. Darcy from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie (1 of the 9 photos being the Hand Flex itself). The joke here is that the doctors were asking about the patient’s blood type and instead we are provided with the patient’s type in men (Type, according to urban dictionary, is “a preference or what you look for in a significant other”). This is accompanied by lyrics from the song Soaked by Shy Smith (feel free to look up the lyrics, but I’m afraid of Tumblr’s moderation). This template with the play on the word “type” is used across Tik Tok for all sorts of characters and celebrities both real and fictional (Please read “all sorts of characters” as “I’ve seen a Simon from Alvin and the Chipmunks one under the same sound”). I’d categorize this template as one of the many varieties of thirst traps which the internet has to offer and just thinking about Mr. Darcy in the context of a thirst trap is incredibly funny to me. This thirst trap in particular was really good, I think, in its use of the song Soaked because two of the included photos are of him obviously having just come out of the rain (part of what I like to call the Wet Darcy Effect) and even though I don’t think that’s what the writer of the song was going for I like to imagine it was. The fact that the Hand Flex got its own picture in the collage also really made this Tik Tok complete for me. Side note: When I first watched the 2005 version I didn’t really care about the hand flex, but my mom pointed out that it’s probably the only time in this era that a man and woman would be making skin to skin contact except for maybe dancing (even then they should technically be wearing gloves). So, the hand flex is meant to be a sort of reaction to sparks Darcy is feeling just by helping her up into a carriage…I was soon converted to a Hand Flex fan. This is a really good example for me though of what we started to get into at the end of class today with “Darcymania”. What is it about Mr. Darcy that makes him such an object of internet fascination? Jane Austen wasn’t exactly writing him to be some sort of incredibly hot heartthrob with crazy sexual appeal; he’s just described as a handsome rich man with a tendency to be incredibly awkward and possibly even proud in social situations (which during regency times made him a catch for sure, but modern standards tend to be raised past money). And yet, the Wet Darcy Effect has spread its ripples of staring at soaking wet regency men through popular media from TikTok thirst traps to Bridgerton (see image below).

I think there’s definitely a level of adaptations having influence here, especially with something like Mr. Darcy in the rain or in a pond that never actually happens in the book. But, there’s also something to be said about Mr. Darcy the book character. As an avid romance consumer, I do think there’s something incredibly romantic about falling in love with someone you’re determined to hate, as Mr. Darcy does in the book. Even in the first few chapters we’re getting lines that are certainly making my heart melt like, “Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.” Additionally (as we’ll get into later so I don’t want to spoil it too much) he’s willing to accept the consequences of his actions and rectify them for her. If we’re thinking about Mr. Darcy with a sort of “I can fix him mindset���, then I’d argue he does the fixing by himself by the end of the book. I wish I could come to a conclusion on why the internet has made the jump from “Mr. Darcy is a good romantic interest” to “Let’s make thirst traps and put him half-dressed on candles like you would with religious figures (see below)”, but I cannot. As someone who has personally made the jump from “Hey, he’s kind of an intriguing character” to “my roommates buy me things with his face on them”, I can kind of see the appeal, but crossing the line to sexualizing him and making thirst traps has never once occurred to me so there’s definitely still some missing pieces.

Here's the Tik Tok link for crediting purposes:

[itsnobodysproblem]

🍪🦉🧸for the ask game? No pressure of course <3

(also I didn't realise they were all the same colour scheme when I chose them lmao)

(Oh i also didn't notice they're the same colour)

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

I read the questions the emojis stand for. I'm with my friend, I can't answer right then. I discuss with friend the question. She says oreo, but apparently she only chose that cause i like oreos. Eh.

I part ways with friend. I'm walking home.

"I should listen to a podcast."

The podcast within five minutes of me playing it: "if you were a biscuit which biscuit would you be [...]"

Hm.

Anyway probably one of those pims biscuits? Yeah, why not. And i like those too. Or i used to? I've had too many of them lately so yeah i think I'm a bit sick of them. But still.

🦉 Are you a morning person or a night owl?

Oh you KNOW I'm a night owl. Fell asleep yesterday (today) at like 6 am. Or later. Not good. I keep trying to fix my schedule and failing. Oh well. (I do like it at night though. It's quiet. And I write the best at night)

🧸 Favorite place to nap?

100% the ratty two person couch in the living room. Ratty not because it's old (it's around 5yo probably) but because the cats scratch it like it's their job. The poor arms (of the couch). The cotton inside was visible and threatening to spill out at some point. Mom found some sort of padding material around the house and repaired the arms so now the couch is green with two yellowish patches, one on each arm. The cats are working on destroying those too.

There's also a little yellow heart sewn into it, covering a.. burn mark, i think? (I made the heart)

Anyway yes it's a good nap spot cause yk you're just sitting on the couch and oh you're a bit sleepy? Scoot down a bit and bam. Nap time. I've slept over the night on this couch. By choice. And yes if you recall that i mentioned it's a two person couch, yes i don't fit to lie down straight. My legs are either on or over one of the arms (unless i curl up). But i actually like having my legs over the edge. And elevated.

And it's really funny when I'm like between falling asleep and being awake and i hear my mom enter the room and go "look at her... Jesus Christ, how can she sleep like that?" Bonus points if she also asks my roommate if she's seen me lol

Ask game here, for the curious

[lanternfox-official]

I’m hosting my first idolfest at SSAS Toracon tomorrow. I am a bit nervous. It was a struggle to gather enough idols to perform at first. I was only allotted an hour for the fest, so at most, I could have had 5 performers with 8-minute sets, including me. In the end, I gathered four, including me, which I’m still happy with. Unfortunately, one of them is ill and said she probably can’t make it, but she’ll let me know for sure tomorrow. Nothing to be done about that; I’m still happy there’s three of us. Funnily enough, 3 of the 4 performers are all apart of the group Pick Your Poison, the only exception being the idol that’s ill. However, the one member is performing with their solo persona Necrosis. The second—my partner—is performing under our group name and debuting their solo. This is their first time onstage so I know they’re very nervous, but I have full confidence that they’ll do great. The third is, of course, me performing as Minghao.

I have to wake up at 8:00 and leave the house by 9:00. I’ll arrive at 10:30 to set up the table for the meet and greet and stay put there pretty much all day. As per usual for conventions, I can’t help by think I’m going to forget something even though I made a thorough packing and to-do list. The idolfest is at 3:00, followed by the meet and greet at 4:00. After that, my partner and I will go to hot pot as a belated celebration of the Lunar New Year. I’m debating about what to do for food tomorrow during the day. There’ll be butterbeer so, of course, I’m going to partake in that. Other than that, though, I’m not sure. I could bring some snacks; I’m sure I have something in the cabinet.

It’s kind of a running joke that when I perform, I always have some sort of wardrobe malfunction. At my debut for Pick Your Poison, I was wearing a beaded necklace that shattered onstage. Someone came up to me later and told me he thought it was on purpose because it exploded “with aura.” When another Pick Your Poison member and I were filming a dance cover, the sole of my boot came partially off. At both performances and practices, I’ve had my rings fly off my fingers. However, that was all for PYP. For Minghao, I have also had my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions. My ears have fallen, my tails have detached, the bells have broken off of my rope belt, and the rope belt itself has become untied and fallen off. I did a few dress rehearsals since fixing those issues, and everything has stayed in place thus far, so I hope that’ll be the case tomorrow too.

My setlist for tomorrow is Kyounosuke’s version of Tokio Funka (shortened to 1:30) and Gokurakujodo by Garnidelia. I recorded some voice lines to play before, in between, and after my songs.

I’m curious how my merch will sell tomorrow, if at all. I shared the keychains I’d made with the other members of PYP and two have said they wanted one because they look cute, so I think that’ll be my most popular piece of merch. I hope someone asks for my autograph. That’s kind of a small, silly dream of mine.

This is a bit unrelated, but I suppose I’ll still mention it here since it happened today. I had a meeting with the director of PlayCon who agreed to let me host an idolfest there! That convention is in April. I applied to do a panel idolfest at SwampCon, so I’m waiting on that result. As far as performances I’m not hosting, I applied to the ACE Anime Big Top which’ll take place in mid February and to SwampCon’s dance contest. PYP did apply for SwampCon’s main stage idolfest, but we didn’t get in. It was disappointing, but we just have to truck on forward. It was supposed to be our last member’s debut. I’m especially hoping my panel idolfest gets accepted now because I want her to have the chance to debut, even if it’s not on a main stage. I don’t care about the contest aspect for SwampCon’s dance contest, I just saw a potential opportunity to perform and took it.

I suppose I don’t have much else to write for now. The beefier post will be tomorrow after it happens. I should go to bed soon. It’s only 10:00, but I feel particularly tired and I have to be up early.

31 January 2025

[abishekmuses]

Circadian Nightmare

In my childhood, whenever I used to get cranky, irritated or complained about something/ demanded something, my grandma would tell my mum "he's hungry. Give him something to eat".

I'd indignantly protest and throw an even bigger tantrum at being told what my problem was versus the thing I was saying was my problem. Jeez tough kid I must have been to raise.

Likewise, whenever people told me to "go to bed on time" or "eat my meals on time", I'd dismiss this sort of stuff as banal. "I have bigger concerns that these mundane nothings that everyone concerns themselves with, I'd think condescendingly."

Today, I realise just how much of human behaviour, emotional balance and mental health depends on keeping our biological cycles regulated. I had a super regular schedule throughout late february and March. Staying up all night on MSR (8th march) and two days later for the Velliangiri trek messed up my cycle.

I lost my circadian balance, so to speak, and found myself struggling with practically every aspect of my life. My emotions started spilling all over the place - not pretty!

The last few days, I've been patiently trying to work with my damaged routine trying to get it back to where it was - but so far, I'm failing. I've been staying up nights and sleeping till afternoons.

Today, I realised that this is unfortunately how I've lived most of my adult life. No wonder I had such a torrid time of it! Jeez! For all you intellectuals out there who sneer at the idea of being limited by biology - please do deign to orient your circadian rhythms.

I understand this might be maddeningly obvious to most people who aren't as thick as I am but there's got to be someone who is stupid and smart in the same way I was/am - so i thought I'd write this down.

Now I'm curious about this - why do some people struggle so much to maintain well-regulated circadian rhythms? Where does it start? I know the theory about too much electronics etc - but I think that's not it -I had a good thing going; Lost it; And I seem to struggle with getting back into it - why is that? It's not like I suddenly started binging on screen time after those two nights.

What are some hacks to get back into a regulated sleep-wake cycle? As I write this, i'm filled with so much regret - a tragic sense of loss almost - I wish I'd fixed this stuff earlier - like way earlier. It's so sad to find out that the reasons for why your life disappointed you in some of these "big" ways were actually so simple and workaday. Oh well, retrospect is a toxic seductress - won't go there!

Hopefully, my yoga practice will help me get on top of this issue that's been such an unnamed nemesis in my life.

I want to continue thinking about this topic just to drill it into my skull that my grandma was right - I'm probably hungry or under-slept or tired - it's not the socialists that are the problem. it's not ocean pollution. It's not people around me friggin' breathing audibly!

I want to end with a phrase that's cracked me up to no end recently - it's from Jonny Miller of Nervous System Mastery - "Stay regulated out there!"

#sleepcycle #stayregulated #biorhythms #lifelessons

[mariyekos]

I'm currently working on 3 D*MC fics as my mind latches onto different plot points and different ways to explore a character, and man, I really hope I'll be able to finish at least one of these by next month.

First one is my time travel fic that is currently stalled because I'm paralyzed by trying to fix early parts in the story. Some of them I need to change because I didn't realize I'd missed something big/had messed up canon until much later, or because I thought of something good later in the story that required changing earlier parts in order to maintain continuity. There's also the issue of characterization. I have a bad habit of swinging too far to the extremes with emotions, so I'm trying to temper both the characters and the overall mood so things don't feel too crazy. This one's currently 76.3k words. I feel like it'll end around 90-100k. I might cut out a few thousand words and shove them in a different fic as part of the same series because they don't feel super relevant to the main story, but could be a cute aside.

Second one is a fic I feel like I probably won't finish, because I'm hitting the mood of it with fic three and it was the mood that made me want to write it. It's a post-D/MC3 fic about Dante fighting with the increased presence/power of his demon side post-awakening his Trigger. In my daily wordcount doc, my comment when I started it was "obsessive gore time" for some context. It's about feeling too big for your own skin, and the fight between the urges that feel right to half of you but are disgusting to the other half, and how Dante tried so navigate that. 4.6k words at the moment and probably halfway done.

Third is a fic adapting what I wrote in another post that I will hopefully link in a quick edit to this post. Short version is at the end of DMC1, Dante finds Vergil in hell and raises the Qliphoth himself to fix Vergil. This fic also goes into that sort of obsessive mindset, though in a different way. Fic two is Dante going "what is wrong with me?" while fic three is Dante going "there is nothing wrong with me! definitely not! everything is terrible and maybe I'm doing some morally questionable things but hey it'll work out and it's not that bad so it'll be fiiiine (it will not be fine and what he is doing is nor forgiveable, but he's so desperate to save Vergil and not kill his brother again that he's wearing rose tinted glasses as an excuse to avoid all the red flags)". I worked on it today so it's the one that has currently captured my brain. It's currently 3.6k words and nowhere near done. I'm thinking 15k for this one, but I'm really not sure.

Anyway! That's a little look at what I'm working on now. I also kind of want to go back and fix some characterization/writing in the one D*MC Dante & Lady fic I have published so I might do that... I usually don't edit published fics in any way other than fixing typos/weird grammar, but this one is bugging me so I just might. We'll see.

[rapifessor]

Pokéchronology, Volume I: Yellow

Day 6

This post will be on the shorter side, as I didn't have much time to play thanks to being much busier at work today. I also ended up playing through a pretty long sequence, which didn't help but in the end I think things worked out nicely.

If you don't like Pokémon Yellow spoilers, don't keep reading!

Getting Organized

Before going off to progress the game, I want to sort out a few things. First, there are some other Pokémon I caught earlier that I hadn't mentioned. I write these posts at the end of the day so I have to try and remember every little thing that happened, and it's hard to keep track of all the Pokémon I catch.

So, I've got a Magnemite named Insanic, a Drowzee named Sumba, another Clefairy named Berryfairy, Doug the Diglett, and Gnatman the Venonat. I might have mentioned Gnatman already. Told you it's hard to keep track. Maybe I should write some condensed notes as I do things, but I dunno. It'd probably be way too annoying to stop every time I catch a Pokémon. A better idea would be to just look at my box in the PC before calling it quits and writing a post.

Moving on. I debated about whether I should evolve my Eevee into Flareon or Vaporeon. At first glance, Flareon seems like the more attractive option, since I didn't yet have a good Fire type. On the other hand, Vaporeon learns Ice moves, which give me coverage against Dragon types that might become a problem later. In the end I decided on Vaporeon as I felt I could deal with all the types Fire would give me an edge against easily enough.

Unfortunately, Starry didn't learn any Water moves after evolving for some reason. No matter, as I would need to level them up to gain access to their Ice moves anyway. To that end, I visited the daycare to reclaim Pear, who was now on the cusp of evolving into Fearow, who I plan on teaching Fly to once I get the HM. I replaced them with Starry and set off to check out Saffron City.

Saffron City

I only planned on checking out what this city had to offer before heading off to Route 16 and going to some of the other gyms. I'm not ready to challenge Sabrina yet; her Pokémon are all Psychic type of course, which is only resisted by itself and they're all level 50, while my Pokémon are still considerably below that.

As it happens, I couldn't enter Saffron Gym even if I wanted to, as Team Rocket has descended upon the city like a plague. I would put a stop to that soon enough, but I wanted to explore the city some more.

Compared to Celadon, there's really not much going on in Saffron City. I got the TM for Psychic, which I used on Miles, by going to "Mr. Psychic's" House. Other than that there seems to just be the Silph Building, which is the center of trouble in the city. Maybe there will be more to do here later, but for now it's rather barren despite its size.

Silph Building

On to the main event. Team Rocket is at it again, and as usual it's up to me, a 10 year-old kid apparently, to fuck up their shit. But this time, the Pokémon they command in battle are noticeably stronger. They're in the high 20's at a minimum, with some surpassing 30. One of the Rockets or Scientists even had five Pokémon if I remember correctly. The only Pokémon I had above level 30 were Prinzessin, Miles, and Mycoboss, and not by much.

At the end of the day though, they're all Pokémon I can dispatch with ease. In fact, that's why my highest leveled Pokémon are what they are; the game keeps spamming me with Normal and Poison types, which Prinzessin and Miles, respectively, excel at dispatching.

It wasn't long before I got the TM for Earthquake as well. You know what that means: Prinzessin now has a VERY strong Ground move at her disposal, which she gets STAB for, and makes her into the ultimate counter to Electric types. Not only is she straight up immune to Electric, she's also able to demolish them in a single attack. Every Voltorb and Magnemite that previously gave me trouble with their fixed-damage moves and lack of weakness to my team is now as good as dead.

As I battled my way through Rockets and Scientists and a random Juggler whose gimmick seems to be that they switch Pokémon unlike other trainers, I got a ton of useful items. I had to make a couple trips out of the building to stash the goodies because there were so many (again, this is where the lack of inventory space becomes frustrating. I hope this restriction gets removed quickly in subsequent generations).

The Gary Cometh

Eventually, I found my way into the isolated room on one of the floors, where I once again come face to face with who else but Gary. Since it hasn't been that long since the last battle with him, I wasn't expecting too much different from him. Sure, he's got that Fearow but BIG RAT knows Thunderbolt now. I shouldn't have too much trouble.

Boy, was I wrong, because Jesus CHRIST his Pokémon are strong. Their levels are all in the high 30's at least, essentially 10 levels above all my Pokémon, AND they're all fully evolved. Gary opens with his newly-evolved Sandslash. Thinking I could simply destroy it, I brought out Ominous and got hit by a Sand Attack. Sandslash is faster though, and they deal a whopping 70 damage to Ominous with Slash before I can even get off a Bubble Beam. My move hits, but it doesn't even deal half of Sandslash's HP in damage. We're off to a rough start. Ominous is my best counter to Sandslash, so I have to keep it out but I need to use a Super Potion to keep it alive. Sandslash uses Sand Attack again, giving Ominous a chance to attack once more. They get hit with another critical Slash, and dropped to low HP again. Miraculously, my second Bubble Beam connects, and deals a critical hit, taking out Sandslash.

Next is Ninetales. A much easier opponent to fight compared to Sandslash. I keep Ominous out and heal them again. My first Bubble Beam misses, but I land the second one and deal enough damage to drop Ninetales below half HP. One more Bubble Beam shuts down Ninetales.

Cloyster comes in, and I take a moment to decide who to switch to with Ominous being wounded and without a type advantage. Given the level difference between my Pokémon and Gary's, I thought that fighting defensively would be the best option. I switch to Mycoboss, intending to use Mega Drain to outlast Cloyster. What I failed to realize was that Cloyster knows Aurora Beam, and is an Ice type to boot. Mycoboss is annihilated in a single hit. Having no choice, I send in BIG RAT, the only other Pokémon I have with a type advantage. A Thunderbolt makes a considerable dent in Cloyster's HP, but I would need two more to defeat it. I get in a second Thunderbolt and Cloyster just barely survives. Unfortunately, BIG RAT wasn't fully healed, and he fell to Cloyster's Aurora Beam. The only Pokémon I have left that's not weak to this move is Miles, so I send him in to finish the job.

Gary's penultimate Pokémon is Kadabra. I realize I need Mycoboss alive to take them down, though in hindsight I could have kept Miles in and used Body Slam to deal damage while resisting Kadabra's powerful Psychic moves. I use a Revive and send Mycoboss back in. I take a lot of damage from the Confusion, but Leech Life heals some of it back and deals a lot of damage in return. But the next move that hits Mycoboss is Psybeam, which is MUCH more powerful. Mycoboss just barely survives, with only 3 HP remaining to finish off Kadabra.

Finally, Jolteon comes in. They're Gary's highest level Pokémon, at level 40. I wasn't remotely worried, though. One thing that's been consistent throughout every Gary battle except for the first two is that my strongest Pokémon has an OVERWHELMING advantage over his starter. This puny Electric type can do nothing to me. I switch to Prinzessin. Jolteon misses their Pin Missile. Then misses it again. I say "lol see ya nerd" and one-shot them with Earthquake.

Getting the Master Ball

With Gary suffering another consecutive defeat against me, I speak to the Silph employee standing nearby and receive a Lapras. I named them Holy, because holy shit it's a Lapras. I return to the ninth floor of the Silph Building to heal, then proceed to the eleventh to crash Team Rocket's business meeting.

Jessie and James pathetically challenge me again only to get swept by one Prinzessin again. Then it's time for Giovanni to make his next appearance. He poses a bit more of a challenge this time, as he has a Nidoqueen of his own. Since Giovanni had sent out Rhyhorn just before though, I already had Ominous out ready to destroy her because she's still weak to Water. It seems Gary challenged me because he wanted to make sure I was ready to take on Giovanni, but he probably should have done it the other way around. Anyway, the Master Ball is now mine.

Wow, what a ride. That Gary fight was probably the best I've had so far, and it could have gone a lot worse. If I hadn't gotten lucky with move RNG, from what Gary's Pokémon used to hitting with reduced accuracy and landing a crit at a crucial moment, I would have been in for a much tougher fight. I just realized that Pin Missile is a Bug type move as well, which Prinzessin is actually weak to. If it managed to hit more than a couple of times, I might have been in trouble because Jolteon easily outspeeds Prinzessin.

One thing I've learned from this battle is that I need some way to deal with Ice moves. Most of my Pokémon are soft to Ice, and I have to expect that I'll run into that Cloyster again in my next showdown with Gary. Which means ideally, I'd have a Pokémon that resists Ice and can use moves that are super effective against Water. The best I had for resistance was Water types, but Vaporeon can't learn any Electric moves. I did some research and eventually realized that the Lapras I just got would be perfect for this.

Not only is Lapras Water/Ice type, which gives them maximum resistance to Ice moves, they also learn Ice moves of their own, and they're capable of learning Thunderbolt via TM. As if that wasn't enough, Lapras has excellent stats and makes for an extremely potent Special attacker. And here I'm stuck with a Vaporeon because I didn't think I would be getting a much better user of Ice moves pretty much immediately.

Training up Lapras is therefore one of my top priorities. I don't think there will be much that's able to stand in my way once that's accomplished. I'm already set to demolish all of the gyms going forward, which just leaves the Pokémon League. I don't know what's in store for me there, but as much as possible, I'd like to be prepared. Once I've beaten most of the gyms, I'll make sure my team is ready for anything.

[ang3l0fde4th4ndd0gs]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67563766

Here's the whole short story. I forgot to reblog with a link to the 3rd chapter after I published it but at least I got a little bit about Azzy's actual career down.

But now I'mma make this man deal with his shit. So probably oneshots, ngl for like days between the filming of the first season of his show to the second.

Which will absolutely make me reach my goal of making it a longer book count than the series before it because there's 6 months between filming. Makes it harder for me to write Keiko's series though even though his starts at the very beginning of his turnover instead of sort of where Azrael will leave off.

But I am getting there. I want Shattered Gold to be 150k. Probably going to go up to 200k for Infamous though. I'm determined to finish Azrael's series before I write chapter three of The Beginning Of The Black Rose.

Everything's becoming a lot tho. I have a friend to go chill with tomorrow so obviously I won't be writing all day. Love my best friend so much tho she's a lotta fun. Then I have a garage sale this weekend and probably will be in and out of food pantries throughout the week next week because I make no money lol.

My husband and I might go thrifting after he gets paid and hit up a few places so I can actually do my job.

Definitely need to work a bit today though. I have like 3 things to list and 1 thing to ship so I'm gonna do that for sure. Just so that we have a little bit taken care of.

Got a rice cooker too. I'm very excited about that. Cause DUDE ya bitch consumes so much rice it's not even funny.

Obviously I'll repost more later but for now I'm gonna eat and write the first oneshot of like... 27.

Hopefully those oneshots add up to like the 130 I need but if not I'm good with writing some of the love scenes for The Tower.

So I posted this wrong. However I did realize something while I was fixing it.

I hit my fuckin goal. Sooooo. That's awesome. Definitely 1.5 million is the next goal just to keep myself from stressing so much lmfao.

But once I hit that, you already KNOW I'mma be working on the 2 million mark.

I'm just proud of myself for actually doing it. Glad this book kinda pushed me over the mark too.

Doing my best to keep up with writing but legitimately made a deal with my mother that I'd keep trying to make like 600-700 a week to support my own lifestyle while paying rent so it is becoming 100% harder. So if you keep up with my ao3 at all, you might have to expect slower updates because dude, that much is like 15 hours of work a day. Not that I sleep much but STILL.