#Definitely gonna work harder to post things next year

[warriorstale001]

Xtra Small One Shot: Chapter 19

A (sort of) Christmas special for Xtra Small featuring Nightmare and kid Cross fluff moments!

I apologise for my lack of content this year but I have BIG plans for writing next year.

I might even have a new, shorter fic in the works =).

Have a wonderful holiday season everyone!

[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[eucalyptus-lvs]

Good Luck Charm - Carmen Berzatto x Reader

This is the first story I've posted, but I have other ideas if you guys want more. Writing has become a new outlet for me so I appreciate any constructive criticism or any thoughts you may have. Carmy is such a fun character to write for and my own personal brain rot atm. I hope to do more in the future. I also like to listen to music while I write and I feel like Again by Still Woozy goes well with this one.<3

TW: Idk honestly. Mentions of dead brothers, debt, and a heated makeout?

"You think if you scrub any harder you'll put a hole in the floor?" 

He stood quickly. Startled by your presence in the kitchen. "What are you still doing here? Thought you left like an hour ago." 

"Well, I was gonna, but then I feared if I left without you you'd still be here when I come in for my shift tomorrow.” You took a few small steps forward. As if you were worried you'd scare him off. There always seemed to be this air around you two. One that was hard to ignore in the times you had spent alone together. “Then I thought you could use some time to wind down before I attempt to push you out the door so I tried to see if I could make any progress on Mikey's paperwork." 

"Did you?" Tossing the rag into the container and moving his hands to his hips. 

"I think that would depend on your definition of progress"

"Yeah, well I haven't exactly been able to figure that shit out either." 

"We'll figure it out, Carm."

He sighed and looked around the kitchen. "I've just got a couple more-" 

"Nope." You take strides across the kitchen to get to him. "Those couple things will turn into another couple things until you've managed to work yourself into an early grave from exhaustion. I mean you're a head chef and you frequently forget to eat. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." You laugh, trying to reach for the keys to the restaurant. Only for him to snatch them off the counter and out of arms reach. "Carmy-" 

"Nice try" He moved them out of reach again. 

"Will you just-" You attempt to reach for them again as he manages to move them further from you.

“Oooh, you were so close that time.” Leaning against the counter, he barks out a laugh. Probably a product of the years he had spent smoking. 

“Cut it out. C’mon.” You said shyly ducking your head a bit. 

“Sorry, just enjoyin’ this way too much.'' He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his growing grin. There was something about you that he found so comfortable. He wonders if that's the reason he finds himself being so bold in this moment. 

Leaning to the side, you prop yourself against the counter next to him. Settling in and resigning to the fact that he is not going to make getting him out the door easy for you. “You were one of those guys in high school, weren't you?” Narrowing your eyes a bit. 

“An’ what kinda guy would that be?” He challenged.

“Y'know- The guy. Mr. Fuckin’ Popular. Had the girls lining up for you. Always good for a laugh.” Your teasing tone let him know that you weren't all that upset at him poking fun at you. 

“Think the only laugh I'd be good for is if you knew how wrong you were.” 

“Bullshit.” You shot back, shaking your head. 

“No, really. I uh- pretty much stuck to myself. Just hung around Mikey and Richie. The family mostly. Was too fuckin’ awkward to make my own friends. Had this stutter too. Didn't really bother talkin’ to anyone if I didn't have to.” This time he ducked his head. Scratching the back of it like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Well, you don't seem to have a problem talking to me.” 

He shrugged. “It's different. Different time too.”

Your eyes met for a moment as you both took a pause. “I think we would have been good friends.” 

“Bullshit. You wouldn't have even noticed me.”

“I would have noticed you.” You affirmed with such conviction he almost believed it.

Looking at you now he imagines that if you had met then his life would look very different. He wouldn't have been a couple hundred grand in the hole with a sandwich shop he only had because his brother killed himself. You would have been there for all of it.

Chicago, Paris, Copenhagen, New York. Every destination and every major moment.

You would have been together. 

If he really indulges himself, he thinks maybe even with a kid on the way. Of all the what-ifs that came to mind, there was only one thing he knew for sure.

You were the real deal.

He allows himself to stay in this bubble with you and before he can think about any consequences he responds. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. Nodding your head as you both start to lean closer.

Timedly you take your time to meet in the middle. Each gives the other an opportunity to back out, but neither of you takes it. Once your lips touched it felt like a shock to his system. You'd usually been so soft, almost cautious in your dealings with him. 

But this was not that.

You pressed yourself against him. Kissing him fiercely and with so much need he was worried that if he tried to open his eyes it would have all been a dream. Another cruel joke his mind had played on him only to wake up alone. Reminding him of all the things he never felt he could have.

Your hands card up into his hair, tugging at the stands. He lets out a deep groan as he switches positions to place you between himself and the counter.

He realizes now how much of a habit it is for you to look out for him. While everyone took the first chance they got to go home, you stayed behind to make sure he would get rest. Then, you took that extra time to try and figure out the clusterfuck of paperwork sitting on his desk.

You show no signs of discomfort as his hands begin to trail your body. Pushing you further against the counter to get as close to you as physically possible. He almost thought he could feel your heart pounding as your chest pressed against his, but knew it was more likely that it was his own. So caught up in you that every detail of this moment felt fuzzy and distorted.

So caught up he didn't realize you started grinding against each other.

One hand cupped around the back of your neck to keep you in place. The other moved down to your ass to aid your movement as you hooked a leg over his hip. His chest burned and heaved. Breath heavy from being cut off from oxygen for so long, but not wanting to break the moment. He wanted to give you something to remember. Not screaming during lunch rush or getting into a fistfight with a guy in a fuckin’ carrot costume.

Something good.

There weren't many times in his life he felt particularly lucky, but when he moved his head down to mouth at your neck. He'd never felt so lucky in his life.

Your head tipped back, letting out a chocked sigh. Followed by the ‘uh, uh, uh’ perfectly timed with the movement of your hips against his growing length. Gripping a hand on the back of his shirt to keep him in place. He imagines that this is the closest he will get to redemption, to happiness, after having spent years in the hellscape that was the New York kitchen. 

When he tried to lift you on the counter the large metal mixing bowl sitting to the side of you came crashing to the ground. The loud reverberation causes you to break away from each other. Effectively bursting the blissfully passionate bubble. 

Your hand moved to your neck where his mouth had been. Almost certain there would be marks left behind to remind you of this moment for days to come. As you both tried to regulate your breathing Carmy couldn't help staring. Opening his mouth like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite articulate what that thing was. You slide off the counter and attempt to straighten your clothes while keeping your eyes on the floor. You always had a hard time meeting his gaze when he looked at you like that. Like if he looked hard enough he might find something that wasn't there before. 

“It's probably a good thing we got interrupted. Things were getting kinda heated.” You forced a chuckle. 

Shit.

This was it.

You're about to tell him this was all a mistake. A heat of the moment thing that you got caught up in and you now regret. As quickly as he had you, he was gonna lose you. Another goddamn shoe was gonna drop. “No, y-yeah. I don’ want you to think-”

Your gaze returned to him. “I think if we took this any further we'd be violating about a dozen health codes after you were just on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor.”  

“I could get on my hands and knees again.” He let out, slightly dazed. Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Jesus- Carmy.” you laugh, not knowing how else to respond. Sliding your hands down your face as it heats up in a heavy blush. 

“I-I didn't mean it like that.” But now he’s definitely thinking it.

He also thinks, rather darkly, that he's never been happier not to have an HR department. 

Truthfully, he didn't know what he meant by the comment. He just knew he wanted you and you didn't seem opposed to the idea. You haven't run away yet and that alone is enough to quiet the spiral he normally defaults to in moments of uncertainty. He had doubted himself a lot in his life, but he was sure with the way you kissed him that you wanted him the way he wanted you. “We've had a long night. Walk ya’ home?” 

“Maybe you could come up? I know for a fact you haven't eaten. I may not be award-winning, but I'm sure I could manage something edible.” The smile on your face grows slightly at the prospect.

“Yeah, that's uh- that sounds good. Let's grab our stuff and we’ll head out.” Hand grazing your lower back as he moved to guide you to the lockers.

He wonders if, for the first time in a long time, his luck has turned around.

[neonoddeye]

A lesson in physics | College! Gojo Satoru x Reader

In these trying times, I will provide: a college au! I actually wrote this as a birthday present for my best friend, but I wanted to post it here as well. It’s also my first chaptered fic, yay! I hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT INCLUDES: AFAB! Reader, cursing, Gojo and reader are both in college and everything is NORMAL and HAPPY, Gojo is a frat boy, enemies to friends to lovers, will be NSFW in later chapter (MINORS DNI)

Monday, 12:00pm

Working with Satoru Gojo on a class assignment was a horror you only conjured in your nightmares. And as you look at the physics class assignment on your laptop screen, you realize you wouldn’t be waking up from this one any time soon.

“Oh god, him?” Your roommate Shoko joins your gaze of disgust as she glances at your fate. “You’re gonna end up doing the whole thing by yourself!”

“Don’t remind me” you whine, leaning back in your chair and placing a hand on your forehead in dramatic distress. “Can I switch with you?”

“Hell no, I’m securing this A with Nanami” Shoko laughs, patting you on the back as a poor attempt at pity. “But we’ll be praying for you.”

You and Shoko had just left said physics class, the two of you lounging at the library to get a head start on the week’s assignments. You couldn’t help but truly stress over your predicament instead of starting on your homework, however: everyone and their mom knew of Gojo Satoru and his infamous Kappa Alpha frat boy title. Ever since he was on your dorm floor freshman year of college, you’ve harbored a vendetta against him. While you were immune to his mesmerizing blue eyes and undeniable charisma, most of your friends weren’t, and pursued him in droves. With every poor girl’s broken heart that he stomped on, your hatred grew, until you infamously bashed him at his frat’s party that same year. While his reputation was almost impenetrable in the eyes of his male friends, you definitely did a little damage to him from the outside. Two years later, you never thought you’d have to deal with him again- until you both enrolled in the same physics class. Hell, you didn’t even think he had the brain capacity to handle a STEM major. And now, you have to work alongside him; you can’t help but question the universe and wonder what you ever did wrong to deserve this.

“Guess I’ll get his contact info” you sigh, pulling up the list of class emails and scrolling for his name.

“Hey! Y/N, right?” You hear a familiar voice ahead of you. Your lab partner, Gojo Satoru, has already found you in the library. The devil works hard, but Gojo works harder. 

“Hey Gojo” you reply monotonously, barely glancing at him over your laptop screen. He’s dressed like a poster frat boy, wearing a dark blue knitted sweater vest over a crisp white button-up paired with slim khakis. His paper white hair is unkempt yet tamed, and his irritating blue eyes sit behind round gold-rimmed glasses. His trademark smirk is replaced by an awkward smile as he approaches you; it’s good to know your blow at his ego was permanent.

“Uh, long time no see” Gojo continues while messing with his disheveled hair, “did you see we’re working on that project together?”

You can’t help but let out a belated sigh. “I sure did. You have any ideas for it yet?“

“Oh nah, I haven’t really looked at the whole thing yet. Do you wanna start it right now? I have time.”

“Oh uh, I have to leave for class in 15 minutes.” In reality, your next class starts in an hour; you just didn’t feel like talking to him right now. Still, you keep up the act by packing your belongings to head out.

“Oh that’s all good. Here,” Gojo hands you his phone, presenting an empty contact card for you to fill out. “Let’s set up a time to work on it later. We have two weeks, but I wanna get it over with”.

“Well, that’s something we agree on” you mutter, filling out your contact info on his cracked iPhone screen. You then hand his phone back to him and rise from your seat. “I’m usually free after 4pm. Just remember to actually text me back, Gojo. I know you’re not very good at that.”

“I will, I will,” he chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender to your threat. “Promise!” he holds up a pinky and winks at you, to which you roll your eyes and head back towards the door. You’re really hoping these next two weeks aren’t as difficult as you think they’ll be.

Thankfully, Gojo actually responded, and the two of you agreed to Tuesday evening at the library. You’re currently waiting for your project partner at a cozy corner desk, taking out your notes and laptop to begin the assignment. It’s 5 minutes past the agreed upon time when Gojo saunters up to you; honestly, you thought he’d show up later or forget entirely, so you’re not upset.

“Sorry, club meeting ran a little later than usual,” he says as he slumps into the couch across from you, his legs dangling over the armrest. “I got you this, too,” he adds, sliding a Red Bull over to you. “I don’t know how long we’re working on this tonight, but I thought I’d get us both one, just in case”.

“Oh, thanks. I got something already, though,” you reply, picking up your thermos of espresso and politely pushing back the offering. “What club are you in?” It seems like you’re both attempting to make amends to make the project a little easier.

“I’m in an astrophysics club. It’s nothing much, tho”, he shrugs. We just talk about nerdy shit and occasionally do projects and stuff.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that from you”, you lean back in your chair, now slightly interested in the man before you.

“Yeah, I actually do more than just party.” Gojo adds while taking out his own supplies. “Believe it or not, I’m not the same guy I was freshman year”.

“You’re gonna have to prove it to me, I’m afraid”, you retort. If he’s trying to charm you, it won’t work. 

Gojo clears his throat. “Anyway, here are some ideas I had for the project”. He slides his notebook closer to you, revealing a page full of bullet points aptly titled “project ideas.” His handwriting is messy, but legible, and as you read his notes you’re reluctantly impressed by his insightfulness and creativity. Gojo reveals that he actually stayed behind at his club to relay his ideas and ask for tips, admitting he was more interested in the material than he thought he’d be. As you lean over the table to point out one particular idea, you catch a hint of cologne from him. You can tell it’s not a cheap scent, with notes of mandarin and cypress above amber and leather. His hair is slightly neater than it was yesterday, and up close you can tell that his skin is flawless. You’re almost annoyed at his effortlessly attractive appearance; no wonder so many people fawn over him. 

An hour passes briskly, with the two of you making ample progress with the project. Surprisingly, the two of you work well together, even getting off topic a few times to discuss frivolous subjects. You learned that he likes watching cartoons and reading, and wants to go into research after college. You can’t help but feel a little guilty for holding a grudge over him for so long; it seems like he really has changed. 

After 30 more minutes, Gojo stands up to stretch. “Alright, we’re done with the outline”, he yawns, taking a sip of his Red Bull. “I don't wanna keep you too long, how about we call it for the night?” 

“Sounds good to me”, you yawn in response, closing your notebook. “It takes me a bit to walk home, anyway”.

“You’re walking home by yourself? At dark?” Gojo questions you with genuine concern in his words. “I can drive you home, if you want”.

“Oh no, I’m fine. I do it all the time”, you shrug.

“It’s no big deal to me”, he flashes a small smile. “I respect having the balls to walk home alone at night, but I’d be a dick to not offer”.

“Sure, why not. I appreciate it”. You smile back, getting up to follow Gojo to his car. As you walk with him to his car, the two of you excitedly discuss a new anime you’ve both been watching. You didn’t take him as the type to be an anime guy either, but he’s surprised you a lot today. When you get to his car, it’s as nice as you expect it to be: a slick silver BMW with a clean interior, accompanied by a new car smell. Of course he has money, too. He’s not a menace to society on the road either, and the low hum of his Spotify playlist accompanies the small talk. 

“By the way”, Gojo pipes up after a moment of silence, “I feel like shit for how I acted to your friends freshman year. You were right to call me out like that”.

“I know”, you reply, with a hint of playfulness in your tone. He chuckles in response. 

“No offense taken. But really, I hope we can be on good terms now. I had a good time, even if we were working on an assignment.”

“Unfortunately, I think I did too”. He’s pulling up to the entrance of your apartment complex, and parks neatly by the door. 

“Next time, how about we work at my place? Only if you want to though, just thought I’d suggest some place quieter”.

“I’m down”, you nod, “I could bring snacks, too”. 

“Sounds like a deal. See you on Thursday, Y/N”. He gives you a short wave as you exit his car, and even makes sure to watch you get inside safely. As you walk to your apartment, you battle with your renewed thoughts of the frat boy you once detested. After being alone with him for an extended period of time, you hate to admit that you can see the appeal; he’s handsome, charming, and seems to have mellowed out over the years. But should you really be giving Satoru Gojo a chance?

Fuck it, you might.

(Stay tuned for part 2!)

[activesplooger]

Progress Update on some WIPS! + teasers! :) | Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT | Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader | His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

a few days ago i posted a screenshot of some WIPS, and i thought I’d give a progress update! + teasers! i promise im working on everything guys i just want everything to be quality :) ive also been quite busy so, yeah!

Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT 1/2 DONE

About halfway done! Maybe a lil less than halfway? So far I’ve gotten a lot of the exposition out of the way and im starting to get onto the dirty little smutty part ;) its taking awhile bc ive been busy ALSOO smut is hard asf to write and writing deer themed smut is even harder! lmao guys the amount of deer mating season research ive done is crazy im definitely on some type of watch list now bc of my weird search history lol. I’ve gotten a lot done though! Should be out soon, I’ll let you guys know when itll be out when I get more of it done! A teaser is on my page if u wanna see it!

Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader

i dont rlly have an exact fraction amount for how much is done lol. i promise i didnt forget about it guys 🙏 i have the whole story pretty much planned out! all the scenes and stuff i want to include (+ the ending duh) are all written down! perchance ill do a bigger teaser tmrw idk sometime this wknd maybeee. I have all the scenes planned out and ik how the whole story is gonna go i just have to articulate it into words and spice it up! :) stay tuned!!

teaser!:

“The Vee's empire grew exponentially and are now the three top overlords in hell. You still worked for Vox, however, your job description changed over the next few years. A lot changed over the next few years…. You went from being introduced as “This is Y/N, my friend and assistant!” to “This is an employee of mine, she won’t be a bother.”.”

this whole paragraph is subject to change, i wouldve done a bigger teaser but im just so unsure about the other paragraphs i might literally delete it all and redo them and i dont wanna edge u guys like that lol.

His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

OK THIS ONES SO RANDOM BUT LEMME COOK LMAO. this one has SO MUCH BUT ITS NOT EVEN CLOSE LOL. its gonna be like pretty smutty i think like toxic sweater electrocute my fukin pussy type smut. its gonna be a big one bc im trying not to make it into different parts but that might change. its gonna be a fat minute till it comes out im just chipping away at it every once in awhile 4 fun! :))

teaser!:

“Yes, dear,” Vox gestures to Papermint standing idly in a corner, “This one over here will also be my assistant. You’ll handle the more personal needs of mine while Papermint handles more business related needs.”

“I see…”

Vox, completely entranced by you, puts your resume down and extends a hand out to you across the desk, “Well, that’s all I really need! Congratulations! You got the job!”. Winning sound effects could be heard from Vox’s speakers as he congratulates you.

“Oh! I-Is that it..? No questions..?”

“Nope, I’ve seen enough- Actually, what size are you?”

“Uh… Why?”

“For your uniform, of course!”

(this is also subject to change btw! im slowly doing it its just kind of a fun lil random thing i like to do when i need a break or just feel like it)

—

stay tuned folks! if u wanna be tagged for any of these lmk in the replies!

[number1mingyustan]

Stay ✹ ☾

exbf!joshua x fem!reader

Warnings: cursing, kissing, definitely not a healthy relationship, fingering (f.), unprotected sex (pls be safe it's caused enough problems for these two), multiple orgasms

Summary: No matter how bad it is for you, Joshua will always stay

Word Count: 2.7k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: obviously still not proofread lmao, but it’s been a while since i’ve posted content that wasn’t ‘the long game’ so i felt like i owed you guys something)

“You’re late,” you frown.

Joshua stands outside your apartment door, equally as annoyed as you. “Well hello to you too.”

Your son is over his shoulder sleeping peacefully and Joshua is holding his bag in his other hand. It’s Sunday night and you’ve been up worrying about his whereabouts for the past hour.

“You picked him up an hour late on Friday, and now you’re late again,” you scoff. “We talked about this.”

He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Can you at least let me in before you scold me?”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Joshua looks at you, you look back at him.

You finally move out the way, no longer blocking the door to let him in. You take your son’s bag out of Joshua’s hand, placing it in the living room.

“I’m gonna tuck him in,” Joshua whispers.

Before you can protest, Joshua is already walking toward your son, Juyeon’s room quietly.

By the time he comes back, you’re leaned over the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in your hand. Classic.

He eyes you, walking toward the front door.

“Do you want a glass?“ you offer.

“No thank you,” he responds. “I have to drive home and I’ve got work in the morning.”

You scoff. “Suit yourself.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know this whole coparenting thing doesn’t work if you’re just gonna act like a bitch for the next 15 years.”

“Excuse me?“ you retort.

You and Joshua never got married. You fell apart before you could ever get to that point. The two of you met when he was 19 and you were 18 through some mutual friends. You fell for each other immediately, no hesitation in starting a relationship.

The first two and a half years were perfect.

You guys never really talked about kids prior. It was something for the far future. Or at least it was supposed to be.

You got pregnant at 21 and everything fell apart. Neither of you were really ready to be parents, but you tried. You really tried, but it took a toll on your relationship.

Once the fights started, they never stopped. They continued to get worse over time. You both wanted different things, and a crying baby at all times only made it harder.

And eventually everything just… turned to shambles.

You put up with it for 3 years and it was hell. The fighting was constant, and a few months ago your and Joshua were finally able to agree on one thing: you couldn’t raise your son in an environment like this.

It’s been almost 4 months since you and Joshua officially broke up. Truth be told, you guys ended it a year and a half prior, but it wasn’t completely official. You still lived together, often slept in the same bed amongst over things. But the spark wasn’t really there anymore.

Juyeon is now 3 and he lives with you in your apartment.Joshua gets him every weekend and that’s just how things are.

It’s been 4 months since you guys started coparenting, and it was actually going quite smoothly. Joshua picked him up every Friday after daycare and brought him back at 7 on sunday. It was all going smoothly until last weekend.

“For fuck’s sake Y/n,” he exclaims. “You are so fucking difficult sometimes! I literally cannot do anything without you up my ass!”

“Maybe if you were more responsible I wouldn’t have to be!” you respond.

“I can’t believe you’re still not over that,” he rolls his eyes. “How much do you want me apologize? Nothing even happened!”

“You brought a complete stranger into your home while our son was with you! You let him be with a complete stranger Joshua!” you should.

He massages his temples. “Because you brought him over Y/n! You told me your parents wanted to spend the weekend with him, so I was willing to give it up. And then you told me last minute that they weren’t going to be able to take him and I could have my weekend back. You seriously cannot be mad at me when I already made plans!”

“You let that woman be around my son and you didn’t talk to me about it.” you look him dead in the eye.

He laughs humorlessly. “Honestly I think you’re more bothered by the fact that I was on a date more than the fact that she met him.”

“Go fuck yourself.” you respond.

“What? Did i hit a nerve?” he smirks.

“You are so frustrating!” you exclaim.

Suddenly, the soft sound of footsteps fills your ears. You and Joshua turn in unison, seeing a sleepy Juyeonin the kitchen.

“Ma?” he questions, rubbing his eyes.

Your heart breaks a little at the sight. Juyeon is standing there in his pyjamas, questioning why his parents are screaming at each other. It’s exactly what you wanted the avoid, the entire reason you and Josh called it quits.

“Juyeon honey,go back to bed,” you tell him softly.

“I heard yelling,” he responds with a pout.

You quickly glance back at Joshua, he looks just as upset as you.

“Everything’s okay bubs, it’s just grown up stuff,” you coo. “I’m gonna tuck you in now okay?”

He yawns,and nods, reaching up his hands so you can pick him up. You secure his body, lifting him up and walking toward Joshua. “Say goodnight to Daddy.”

However, your son is stubborn just like you. He refuses, tightening his grip on you and refusing to acknowledge his father. “Don’t wanna,” he whines. “Want Daddy to tuck me in.”

“I thought I was tucking you in?” you respond.

Juyeon yawns again. “Want both of you to do it.”

You and Joshua exchange a quick glance, silently agreeing that you’ll do it together. The three of you walk to your son’s bedroom. You place his body in the bed, Joshua helping you to properly tuck him in. You both say your good nights and I love yous before heading back to the kitchen.

The tension between the two of you is just as thick, if not thicker than before. You’re both ashamed of having been caught arguing by your son.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

You sigh. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I was just being petty

“If it makes you feel any better,” he gives you a half-smile. “She and I broke up. Wasn’t gonna work out.”

“Oh,” you frown. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he leans against the counter. “She wasn’t the one for me.”

He stared at you as if you’re the only person in the world. You swear his eyes light up when he speaks.

“At least you’ve gotten to go out,” you shrug. “I’m in a bit of a dry spell.”

You? Joshua doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. For the entirety of your relationship with him, you were like a magnet. There were too many times he recalled having to shoo away guys who tried to hit on you.

“As long as you and I were together, there was always some guy on you. I’m finding that a little hard to believe,” he comments.

“It’s different for you than it is me,” you shrug. “Girls love it when guys have kids because they get to play mom without being mom and they think kids are cute. Guys don’t want the responsibility of someone else’s kid, so they avoid it as much as they can. Don’t think I’ll be finding the one for me any time soon.”

He’s staring at you again, analyzing and internalizing your every word. He doesn't know why, but he wants to kiss you so bad right now. It's crazy how quickly he can go from yelling at you to wanting to have another kid.

Crazy.

That's how you make him feel, how you make each other feel. You drive each other crazy, somehow in both the best and worst ways possible.

He clears his throat. "I should go."

"Yeah," you breathe. "I'll walk you out."

The two of you take a few steps toward the door. You open it and he takes another step. Before he walks out, you grab his arm.

"I'm really sorry about how I've been acting," you apologize again.

"It's fine, we'll work it out," his gaze shifts between your eyes and your lips. He really wants to kiss you.

"Yeah," you breathe out. "I'll see you Friday? And you'll text me if you need anything?"

He nods, gazing down at your lips again. There's a moment of silence. He doesn't walk out the door like to expect him to.

"Josh-"

He cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours. His actions shock you, but kissing him is like muscle memory. Before you know it, you're pinned against the wall of the kitchen and he's kicked the door closed. The kiss is heated and passionate, no different than how he's always kissed you.

His lips are sweet, likely from whatever candy you know he's been feeding Juyeon. Instinctively his hands rest on your hips, lightly squeezing. You moan softly into his mouth, relishing in his touch.

He pulls away suddenly. You're both panting softly, looking at one another with purely shocked expressions.

"I'm sorry, fuck– I shouldn't have– 'M sorry," he rambles, running his hands frantically through his hair. "I should really go."

You look up at him with a soft gaze. Your eyes are round and beady, gleaming with hope. You missed him. You've been trying to convince yourself for the last 4 months that you were fine without him, but deep down inside you knew it was all lies.

Admittedly yes, you two fell apart years prior, but you realized just how much you needed him after he was gone. Waking up to an empty bed may have started 2 years ago, but waking up to an empty home was something you hated the thought of getting used to.

"Stay," you plead.

"I can't," his voice breaks. "This isn't good for us."

"Josh," you pout. "Stay."

Fuck. He should leave, he should really leave. You two aren't good for each other anymore. Maybe you can work decently as parents, but when you bring the romance back into the equation, things go downhill. Fuck, he should really leave.

But he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Your eyes are practically fucking begging him to stay. He should really go.

"Okay," he whispers. His lips are on yours again. Your whole body heats up as he kisses you. He taps your thigh, signaling you to jump.

You lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he carries you. He places your body on the counter and starts leaving kisses along your neck. His fingers sneakily travel up your nightgown, sliding your panties down to your ankles and onto the floor.

You tilt your head back as his lips travel toward your breasts. One of the straps falls to your shoulder almost on cue, exposing one of your breasts to him. You lift your hips slightly as you feel his fingers slide up your thigh.

He pushes a finger inside of you, causing you to let out a soft moan. His lips are wrapped around your nipple.

“Joshy,” you whine. “Want you inside of me.”

He feels his cock throb in his pants. He’s already failing in his self control by doing this with you and your words are so tempting. As tempting as it was to slip his cock inside of you at that moment, he knew he couldn’t.

“Not yet,” he mumbles against your skin. “ ‘S been too long, gotta prep you first.”

He pumps his finger a few times before adding another. You’re a moaning mess, cunt clenching around his fingers desperately.

His thumb circles your clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. You’re panting his name, pushing your hips into his digits with every movement.

“Shua,” you pant. “So good, you’re so good.”

Your words only encourage him. His fingers pick up in pace, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm. His fingers are completely coated in your arousal, dripping onto the counter. You’ll have to clean that later,

The coil in your lower stomach finally snaps and you enter a state of bliss. Your orgasm came much faster than anticipated, but of course, it was Josh.

It may have been a while, but Joshua knew you better than you knew yourself. Where all your sweet spots were, what ticked you off, what made you smile. He’d never forget those things about you.

He pulls his fingers out of you. slipping them into his mouth. He sucks lightly, letting out a quiet moan. He’s missed the way you taste.

You hardly give it a second before you’re reaching for his pants, frantic to feel him inside of you. He chuckles, undoing his pants to give you what you want.

His cock springs free, and he drags his tip across your folds. Your arousal coats the head of his cock as you push your hips against him. It’s almost pathetic how desperate you are for him. However, he hesitates.

“Baby,” he sighs. “I don’t have any condoms.”

“Don’t care, just want you inside of me,” you whine.

You’re not thinking straight. You know better, but you choose to play the fool. It’s been so long since you and Joshua have been together like this. Even if it’s temporary, you want to milk the experience for as much as you can. You’ve missed this too much to less the opportunity pass by.

Joshua however, is still hesitant. “Baby I know, but we really shouldn’t-“

“I’m on the pill,” you cut him off.

You were also on the pill when you got pregnant with Juyeon. It was shitty luck that you somehow still got pregnant and it would be even shittier luck if it happened again. But the chances are slim, and you’re so consumed by lust in the moment that you continue to play the fool.

Joshua likes to think he’s good with his self control, unless he’s with you. You make it hard for him to show restraint, and it often leads to chaos. He knows this, but he too chooses to play to fool.

So he lets you win, and he gives you what he wants. He fucks you hard and fast on the kitchen counter. His hands flies to your mouth in an attempt to keep you quiet.

His pace is relentless, hips slamming into you roughly. Your moans are muffled again his hand, but they’re just loud enough for him to hear and use as encouragement.

Your body jerks back with each thrust as he bottoms out. His cock fills you up, hitting every sweet spot inside of you effortlessly.

He knew he wasn’t gonna last long from the moment he slipped his first finger in you. You were so tight and warm around his fingers, he knew once he was inside of you it would milk him completely dry.

His cock twitches inside of you, indicating his impending orgasm. Selflessly, his thumb finds its way back to your clit. He circles it quickly, bringing back the familiar feeling in your lower abdomen.

He just wants to watch you cum again. Your orgasms are a sight to see, and selfishly he wants to watch it again. It’s been so long and he knows he can get you there quickly.

He knows he should pull out, but once your second orgasm hits, he’s a goner. You’re tightening and throbbing around him, making it nearly impossible for him to pull out, not that he ever had the self control to do it anyway.

His cock is buried deep inside of you as he cums, painting your walls entirely white. Considering how long it’s been since he’s last touched you, he spills a large load into you. You milk him for every drop he has to offer.

He drops his hand, uncovering your mouth. Both of your minds are still fuzzy as you come down from your highs. You’re both panting heavily in place as your minds clear up.

He looks down, wincing at the sight. He finally pulls out of you slowly. You cringe as he slips out, looking down and seeing the absolute mess you made.

Fuck, he came a lot.

You briefly make eye contact with Joshua as the post-nut clarity hits. You bite your bottom lip nervously.

Neither of you say it out loud, but you’re both thinking the same thing. You really really hope the pill works this time.

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[spartanguard]

when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy. 

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed. 

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie. 

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.) 

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present. 

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine. 

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that. 

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered. 

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity. 

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope. 

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it. 

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it. 

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying? 

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick.  His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs. 

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink. 

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it. 

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze. 

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly. 

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered. 

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical. 

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying. 

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically. 

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off. 

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected. 

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.” 

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we’ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?” 

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.) 

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space. 

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah. 

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped. 

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment. 

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more. 

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him. 

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

[steddieas-shegoes]

This is probably gonna get long and it’s personal and it’s just me having sad feelings so please don’t feel like you need to read ❤️

If it isn’t like really clear from just the way I post about Liam, it’s always just been me and him.

It was just me when I was pregnant (and that’s a hell of a story because I didn’t know I was pregnant until I was already almost four months along), it was me during labor (and my mom but if you’ve ever been in labor with your mom there you know that’s kinda hit or miss), and me 24/7 since he was born.

It’s just me on the birth certificate (even though I could have done things differently).

It’s just me.

And like most of the time, especially as he’s gotten older, I’m pretty okay. Kind of glad actually. I can raise him the way I want to and I know that we have a bond that’s really incredible and unique. I know that because he’s such a good little human, I’m doing alright.

But there are some days (like Father’s Day) where it hits me way harder than it probably will ever hit him that it’s JUST me.

I don’t have a partner in this. I’m 100% responsible 100% of the time for him. Physically, emotionally, financially (hence, the fundraising for hockey).

And it’s not necessarily sadness that we call Father’s Day Papa’s Day instead (he always gets my dad a small gift), but more just an overwhelming feeling of failure?

Even though I know really I’m not failing him, I’m working hard every day to make things better for both of us, days like today are just a reminder that I have to keep doing better.

It’s a lot of pressure.

Every parent feels it regardless of the support they have (and I do have a lot of other support!), but at the end of the day, I’m the only parent he’s got.

He’s never had questions. Honestly, I’ve been mentally prepared for them for years because he’s always been a very curious kid. But not once has he asked about who I refer to as his sperm donor (it’s okay you can laugh it’s a coping mechanism and it’s funny as fuck), and I’ve never felt the need to tell him unless he asks. I’m sure a lot of it is because he has SO many amazing people who love him. My platonic soulmate is his uncle just as much as my sister is his aunt, I’ve lived with my parents since I had him so they’ve been around constantly, we have a second family who always tells us to “come home” when we’re gonna be at hockey for two days in a row.

It sounds whiny because I DO have so much support.

But I think it’s just hard to know that the support I thought I would have wasn’t there and my entire life had to adjust because of it. Liam’s entire life is different because of it.

In the long run, it’s for the better. But some days, like today, it really hits me that we both missed out on something.

I’m also coming down from the adrenaline of last weekend and I always have a hell of a crash after concerts/time with my person/overwhelming things like my first pride. And my period just ended. That definitely doesn’t help.

So if you read this, you’re a real one. I’m not one to shy away from my personal life much, I find a lot of value in sharing things in case someone else feels the same way and is looking for validation. Plus I don’t have insurance/money for a therapist so this is the next best thing!

[rhythmic-idealist]

Hi, everyone in the apartment is extremely beat.

[gross warning, skip the next paragraph if you’d rather not see it]

Here is some filler okay I threw up in the first hour of my shift today and had to finish the shift bc I’m full up on attendance strike “points.” Definitely not well enough to snag the OT I was gonna snag this weekend, but I’ll be good by Monday.

My laptop is broken because it fell off a table (completely my doing). This is livable, but making me sad because I was otherwise going to have an AMV finished by now, and I’m without my favorite low-stress hobby.

We have groceries but we’re all sometimes too goddamn tired to cook and occasionally ordering in, everyone else in this house is chronically ill and/or physically disabled, we’re all spoonies. I have to register my car so the cops don’t pull me over for being a year overdue. I’ve gotta get my control arm bushings replaced, and I haven’t done suspension work before so I don’t trust myself to do it myself. And, due to the age of Kitkat’s CRV despite the attentive care she took maintaining it, we’re down to my car as the only car.

I’m due for some doctors’ appointments— did something to my knee at work that is probably nothing (and yet I’d like to check in now instead of signing up for knee problems for the rest of my life). Chronic headaches that I’ve had all my life need to be addressed bc of how much harder they’re making the rest of my life.

So, this is an e-begging post, if you’re able. We Will Be Fine. My and my polycule’s parents won’t let us go homeless or hungry. This is…. if you like me and would like to make life nicer?

I’d like my hobby back (via laptop repair), and I’d like to be less sick at work which probably means less time cooking and more time to sleep & make some overdue doctors’ appointments abt my headaches and whether I messed up my knee.

My parents did send us some money recently & bought my plane tickets to visit home. They’ve got three kids to work out for and themselves as they get older— I’m not in any place to start putting aside money to help them out yet, though I am working hard to one day.

They would give me money for doctors’ appointments if I told them I needed it. I do however think they would not actually have the money to do that and be alright themselves, and so I don’t intend to ask unless shit gets very fucked.

And finally, I’m paycheck to paycheck and really, really want a medical emergency fund. But yknow. This post isn’t gonna make THAT happen. This is some short term “is anyone able to help me unfuck the next two weeks?” and then I’ll be healthier and more on target.

Thank you so much — and seriously, We Will Be Okay. We will be fine. This is a little (huge, it means very very much to me) treat to me.

Maybe I’ll spend this on the laptop, maybe something more essential! But it all helps.

PayPal

ko-fi (which takes a cut, but is still very appreciated)

Okay thank you for the help. Basically the main thing this post will probably determine is whether I get laptop repair done within the next two months 💗 but you know. Will also determine how few cooking spoons I have to spend and how soon I can get my life in order

Thanks love you all

[just-promise-me-jm]

Make it right, it's gonna be all right

I'm just going to include this gif at the top because its one of my favorite Jimin gifs from this past year.

I had meant to come back here sooner, but to be honest my life is kind of a mess right now and work has been killing me so I haven't wanted to spend any more time on the computer than I have to during the day. But as we approach enlistment week, I felt like it made sense to come back on here and share some of the feelings I've been trying to process since news of Jimin's enlistment first dropped.

There are a couple of things that I feel like are important to preface before I share the rest of my feelings:

I am not Korean and have never lived in South Korea, so I don't have an intimate understanding of how the enlistment process or military service in South Korea works. I will do my best to just share my feelings and opinions without getting to deeply into things that I don't really have a place to comment on.

Generally speaking, I am a pacifist so I wish that we lived in a world where no one had to serve in the military, voluntarily or involuntarily. I also understand why that isn't always a reality.

I am a woman, so in most cases mandatory military service isn't something that would apply to me and therefore I can't really speak to how this would make me feel if I was in his shoes.

Obviously we knew this day was going to come eventually, especially once Jin had started the enlistment process, but it doesn't make it any easier to sit and think about not having Jimin around for the next 18 or so months. It's a weird set of emotions to process the absence of someone who you don't know personally, but who has been a constant in your life for years. The fact that this comes during December, a month which many people (including myself) find to be a difficult time of year, only makes it harder.

Because a conversation around whether or not the members of BTS should have to serve is basically irrelevant at this point, I'd rather focus on some of the conversations I've seen around whether or not Jimin will "do well" in the military.

Now, some of what I've seen posted is coming from PJMs or other Jimin fans who are concerned with his welfare and whether or not he will be subject to bullying or harassment like some other idols have experienced. I've also seen some really unhinged takes saying he is too "weak" or won't be able to cope due to some imagined mental health issue (obviously this is not coming from anyone who really cares for or supports Jimin). I even saw posts detailing Jimin's martial arts prowess meant to defend him against those accusations.

So let me be real for a sec - I think Jimin is one of the most dedicated and hard working people I have ever come across and I'm including people I know IRL in that calculation. That isn't just about his martial arts background (even though he could definitely kick some ass if he wanted to), how many hours he spent on his own practicing his singing and dancing leading up to and after his debut, the amount of work he put into FACE, or even how grueling the life of an idol can be. I think it comes down to the type of person he is at a fundamental level - no one can keep up that level of effort on an ongoing basis unless it's hardwired into them. Ultimately, this is what I think will help Jimin to survive and even thrive during his service.

Beyond all that, seeing how well Jin and Hobi seem to have done during their service so far also gives me a lot of comfort. Knowing that Jimin and JK will be stationed with Jin for the next few months gives me hope that he can show them the ropes and help them get settled in. Having those familiar faces will have to make things easier, especially in the beginning.

Even though I'm sure Jimin will be fine, I am wondering what the best way to cope with all of this will be. It feels a little weird to be worried about his fans in a situation like this but at the same time I know I'm not the only one who cares deeply for him and will be impacted by this situation. I think my game plan right now is to light a candle that day for Jimin and send out some positive vibes for his happiness and a safe return, but if anyone has some good suggestions please share.

I probably won't be able to be super active on here until after the holidays are over, but if I think of anything slightly interesting to share I will try and post that when I can. I've also been thinking of what I might want to do in the new year to continue to celebrate Jimin until he comes back. I was considering doing some posts discussing some of my favorite songs or music videos of his, but would be open to suggestions if there is anything you would like to hear my thoughts on. I'm also happy to be here to listen if you need someone to chat with about missing Jimin.

Hope wherever you are you are having a good morning/day/evening/night 💗.

[tenrousei-kuroi]

I did read Angel Sanctuary! I never finished it, though. I remember that what got me to start was the author’s art style. Her characters are so pretty!

I’m not familiar with A Cruel God Reigns, but by your description, it’s right up my alley (also, with a brief search, I see it has a very traditional style from the 90s/00s mangas that I find very nostalgic). I’ll definitely take a look into it.

As for the Black brothers, I think I discovered the ship around 2017-18, so there was a fairly good amount of work by then, but Blackcest has definitely grown a lot in the past couple of years. I’ve not read many James/Regulus works, mostly because many have a 'cleansed', fanon version of both – which also applies to the Marauders as a whole – and I have very picky views of Regulus’ characterization (my boy canonically had his own fan board of Voldemort 😭 and as far as we know, he never fully – or at all – quit his bigotry, yet in many works, his Slytherin friends and himself diverge completely from this).

But I do think Sirius/Regulus will remain somewhat popular for a long time. The Black family seems to have an appeal within the fandom that I don’t see as much with other families, such as the Lestranges, for example. Also, the idea of two good-looking, rich boys in a complicated family is intriguing (or at least I hope so; if not, you’ll see me signing up to your mailing list). On that note, I'm still hoping for the day Rodolphus/Rabastan gets popular lol

Anyway, thank you for the link, and I'm looking forward fest postings (ngl, I'm pretty confident in my abilities to recognize your writing style in anon fests. Sometimes I read a title and I think "this looks like a title ten would use". Is it a little stalker-ish of me? Maybe 😅).

Yeah Moto Hagio’s a bit more old school, she was most prolific in the seventies and eighties, and her art shows it. I could be misremembering but I believe her work “Sunroom” is typically credited as the first boy/boy manga kiss. And she’s one of the pioneers of the modern boy’s love genre. Real “culture award winning” sort of author.

Jegulus fics are hilarious to me and there’s a reason I call my stuff James/Regulus when I tag it, because that portmanteau has become its own thing. Whenever I read a Jegulus fic in my brain I’m thinking, “you know you can just write Timotheé Chalamet RPF, right? He’s not gonna’ come for you” 😂 And honestly that fanon “style” is bleeding over hard into the Sirius/Regulus section.

No shade, I’m glad people are having fun. Makes it harder for me to find the kinds of fics I like but I’ll survive lol. There’s just a larger selection now. And popular as it all is, I do truly feel people will move on. Because it’s less an attachment to the characters and more to these seriously altered fantasy versions of them, which can be easily grafted onto the next popular thing.

If you had told fifteen year-old me my weird incest and incest-adjacent pairings where two of the three characters aren’t even alive in canon would one day be as common as they are now I’d’ve thought you were high 😂 yet here we are.

I’ve dabbled a bit in Rodolphus/Rabastan but they always end up coming out so similar to my Sirius and Regulus that I don’t like it. I’ve kind of tabled the pairing until I can force myself to be a bit more creative with them. People already put up with all my Sirius/Regulus nonsense being basically the same, I don’t need to be grafting their dynamic onto other pairings 🤣🤣

When I pick prompts for fests I always try to ignore the promoter names until after I’ve chosen, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, roughly 80% end up being yours anyway. Talk about wavelengths.

And let’s blame 2009 LiveJournal for my pretentious and easily-spotted titles, shall we? Specifically a Sirius/Regulus fic from forever ago called “A Thousand Years Good Wine” which basically flipped something in my brain and I haven’t been able to title anything like a normal human since.

That was a stellar fic, by the way. And if anyone ever ever ever finds it back for me I’ll…I don’t know…write them a 100k commission of their choice or engrave their name on my tombstone or something because that fic is LOST beyond belief and it causes me literal pain sometimes lol.

I’m feeling rather inspired today so I might spend my Saturday night plinking away at one of my fics. Odds are it probably won’t be the one that’s due in three weeks but we can always hope TT.TT

[wonkyreads]

I used to write reviews here instead of just Goodreads. I’m hoping to going back to that, but to be honest, I moved last year and don’t have space for my books. This means I stopped taking pictures for the BPCs, so I stopped taking pictures of my recent reads, so posting here felt pointless. I like ranting here, though. Next year, I will attempt to keep that up.

For this year, take an end of the year top worst and best. (And keep in mind these are obviously just my opinions! This list also doesn’t reflect the books I DNF’d because I don’t consider them read personally.)

Top 10 Worst Reads of 2022

10. The Themis Files by Sylvain Neuvel

- So this is a sci-fi trilogy where a girl accidentally discovers a giant mecha hand buried deep underground and grows up to be a scientist and studies/digs up all of these mecha pieces. The first book is genuinely good, but the arguments and plot lines the author decided to take with the rest of the series progressively pissed me off more and more, though. Not a bad series, just ultimately not one I enjoyed.

9. A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

- I feel I’m gonna piss a fair amount of people off with this one, but it won’t be the last time in this list. With how popular this book is online I don’t feel the need to explain what the plot here is. The writing of this book was beautiful, definitely, it was the content I couldn’t stand. I’m a fan of angst. This was not angst. This was throwing a shelf’s worth of terrible things into a sack and shaking it up to see what happened. This was actively attempting to make people feel things in a way that felt so over the top and transparent that I found myself hardly caring at all. To me, this reeks of romanticizing queer trauma and just trauma in general. I’m just not here for it. Show me redemption or healing, they’re harder to write anyway since it seemed all Yanagihara cared about was the mechanics behind the story and not the story itself.

8. The Kite Runner by Khalid Hosseini

- This book is kind of a modern classic and it’s just… I’m not sure how I was supposed to sympathize with the main character. This is the story of Amir and Hassan, two boys in Afghanistan in the 70’s. Hassan’s father works for Amir’s, but the book spends a large amount of time trying to guilt you into feeling bad for Amir, our main character. That’s kind of the whole plot (without spoilers) as I remember it if I’m being honest. The writing was fine and I’ve liked Hosseini’s books in the past, I just disliked the main character so much it kind of ruined everything. I disliked feeling guilty for not liking him. It all kind of got in the way of the message for me.

7. The Bodyguard by Katherine Center

- Hannah’s a bodyguard and Jake’s a down-to-earth movie star who seems to have a stalker problem. I adore the concept, but I think my main problem with this book is that I hyped it up for myself and told myself I’d love it. That and the premise felt like a promise of some kind of danger and by the time anything actually dangerous happened it was so ridiculous I laughed at it. It’s the over-the-top kind of romance I tend to not like, though. I fully admit to skimming the epilogue because I also kind of hate romance novels that do that.

6. We Are the Brennans by Tracey Lange

- Sunday Brennan gets into a drunk driving accident and then must swallow her pride and move back to New York where her large Irish Catholic family pretends they don’t need her either. This book is about family secrets, but all I really remember about it is that it did this really bad, gimmicky thing where every chapter ended with the same exact sentence, usually dialogue, that the next chapter began with. When it’s done a couple times to show that we’re in the same scene we just left only in a different perspective, or better yet the two perspectives don’t hear the dialogue the same way, it’s fine. But it was every single chapter. Every one of them. I’m also super picky about domestic drama books like this. Hard pass for me.

5. A History of Wild Places by Shae Earnshaw

- Honestly, I’m not sure how to some this up without spoilers so I’ll just say it’s a cult-y mystery told in multiple time lines. This is the second book I’ve read by Earnshaw and both were promising starts with disappointing developments for me. For me, the book was too predictable to be satisfying and, worse, often it felt like the most boring option was constantly being chosen. The concept was originally very promising, but the closer I got to the end and realized the twist wasn’t going to be fun or interesting, the more reading the book started to feel like a chore.

4. There’s Someone Inside Your House by Stephanie Perkins

- Oof. I don’t know how I picked this book up and didn’t expect it to be a teen slasher. I’ll watch a slasher any day of the week (including the movie made from this book), but reading them is kind of boring. You know the tropes, so when they’re followed it’s anticlimactic. I also found some of the character interactions hard to believe, which didn’t help raise my opinion any. I’m just harsh on thrillers and any books involving “small towns.”

3. Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

- When his BFF Eddie, and definitely not his boyfriend, dies of apparent suicide, Andrew moves into Eddie’s old house with Eddie’s friends to find proof that Eddie’d been killed. There’s also some supernatural stuff and dark academia themes. This is another opinion I feel will make enemies, and it’s one I’ve actually posted here before. I read this book so early in the year that I’ve forgotten most of the specifics about it. What I remember disliking the most, though, was along the same lines as A Little Life. So much felt like it was just there to romanticize queer pain and what was left outside of that was a disappointingly slow mystery that didn’t really surprise or scare me. I think the conversations this book attempted to have were interesting, I just also think it failed to pull it all off. I didn’t believe or feel these characters. I didn’t care for how much it read like Ronan (of The Raven Boys) fanfic. I was consistently annoyed with smart characters avoiding the plot line or making idiotic choices. Also, I’m still traumatized by how obsessed literally everyone was with Eddie, I’m genuinely avoiding books using that name now. All around, absolutely wasn’t for me.

2. Dating Dr. Dil by Nisha Sharma

- Romance is not my genre. Romance that is so over-the-top crazy unrealistic is super not my genre. This book follows Kareena and Dr. Dil in a retelling of The Taming of the Shrew. Kareena is supposed to get married before her younger sister and her family is pressuring her, also her dad is selling her childhood home. Dr. Dil hosts a TV show and wants to raise money for his community clinic. I disliked Dr. Dil so, so much and Kareena was so inconsistent. The book felt so unedited and contradictory that I was constantly annoyed with it. The balance between show and tell was nonexistent; you can’t tell me what these characters are and not back it up and expect me to like them or believe them. People’s reactions were crazy over-the-top sometimes and if I have to ask of people actually act like that in real life, I’m already frustrated. I adore The Taming of the Shrew. I could watch 10 Things I Hate About You on repeat. I wanted to love this book so, so badly and was so utterly disappointed in what I got.

And last, but certainly least:

1. Verity by Colleen Hoover

- Verity was one of my most recent reads (I, regrettably, listened to it while icing sugar cookies for Christmas) and it follows Lowen attempting to write the end to a book series she’s never read before by snooping through the original authors memoir manuscripts. Or something. I have never read a Colleen Hoover book before and bought this one through audible years ago because everyone seemed to love it so much. This book has a 4.4 rating on Goodreads. I would just like to know how. Honestly. Talk about unbelievable characters! There were so many unnecessary gratuitous sex scenes in this book and just.. laughable suspense. A lot of the “twists” in this book were so predictable, but I do have a few questions; namely, how the fuck did Jeremy’s milquetoast ass get two women to become so obsessed with him so fast? Also, do people actually think like Lowen does? Holy shit. No really, I have SO many questions and I’m fairly certain none of them are the kind Hoover intended for me to have. I could go on for hours but I’m attempting to avoid spoilers and also it’s a fairly loved book and I don’t want to verge into the territory of yucking someone’s yum or anything, I just genuinely don’t understand. 4.4! Jesus Christ!

[thetragicallynerdy]

So I made it back to the gym for the first time in 4 (ish) years today! Hooray! For context, I used to powerlift pretty seriously, but got a bad concussion/brain injury 4-ish years ago and had to stop. While I still have a brain injury, I'm at a point where going back to the gym and trying to start lifting again (very lightly and slowly) feels okay.

I'm going to be doing a sort of journal on here, entirely for my own tracking/benefit, because I'm too lazy to journal things just for myself but will happily yeet it into the world. If you don't want to see this stuff and follow me, block #lifting . There's gonna be some technical stuff in here, feel free to ask questions as well if you want lol.

Some notes after today:

I'm doing stronglifts 5x5 - basically a very simple program of back squats/bench press/barbell rows on day 1, and bench press/deadlifts/overhead press on day 2. 5 sets of 5 reps for each lift, some stretching pre/post, and home.

I got in and out with stretching in just under an hour, which was the goal! I wanted to be able to stay an hour, and I did, which is rad.

Sensory wise the gym is a bit of a nightmare, but wearing a ballcap for light and noise canceling earbuds helped, as did going during the day when it's less busy. It's definitely busier during the day than it was pre-covid, possibly due to ppl working at home and being able to duck out. But I didn't have to wait for a rack/bench at all which was great.

I lifted really light - just the bar for all three lifts (45lbs for the uninitiated). I still came home with a pressure headache, which is definitely from doing actual lifting. It wasn't bad enough to not go, and has subsided to something really managable with rest and food, but something to watch for. I think I need to watch my breathing more too, especially on squats, because it's still instinctual to try and do the valsalva maneuver while doing a lift - which puts a ton of pressure on my head and is very unhelpful. Gotta breathe through the lift! I came home with some neck pain too, which I suspect is from rows.

Squats - definitely the worst on my head. (And by that I mean not 'mental game' but 'headache/brain injury wise'.) I did squats first, and next time I'll save them for last because I am 90% sure that's where most of the pressure headache came from. Moved well, though, much better than air squats at home do which is hilarious. I did low bar, which I think will be necessary for avoiding neck pain.

Bench - felt great. Bench is my weakest lift traditionally, but it was by far the easiest on my head - potentially due to the combo of stability from lying down during, and having a stable place to sit after, as well as less full body movement (which leads to less fatigue, etc). Might have to try sitting on the ground between squats instead of on the rack to see if that helps.

Barbell rows - eh. They were fine. Harder on my neck and lower back. A bit more of a struggle form-wise.

Weight wise - I think it's going to be a bit of a mental game to not push myself to lift more. Physically I can lift a lot more weight than my head can handle, as heavier lifts lead to more pressure on the head. Squats today felt super easy in terms of actually moving the weight, and so did bench. But having a disability means being really careful moving forward and adding weight to my lifts. Which sucks, and is something I'm probably going to be navigating feelings around for a while - I want to be able to do so much more than I can. Complicated grief even while returning to a beloved activity, etc etc.

There's also the aspect of "last time I was here I could lift several hundred pounds, and now I'm back down to the naked bar", which kind of feels shitty (even though I know why, and am super proud I'm back at the gym at all). I'm also aware of an aspect of it that's connected to like, being read as a woman at the gym, and expectations that women lift less. Which is weird, but an aspect of it.

Anyway - all told, it went good, about as well as I'd expected if not as easy as I'd hoped. I'm curious to see how deadlifts etc go when I go back (either later this week, or early next week - the goal is 1-2 times per week). I think that honestly even if it ends up that I can just do bench and some other upper body/seated stuff (there's a lot of machines, even if I prefer free weights), that would be better than the nothing I've been doing. I'm really glad I made it back, even though it feels like it's going to be a long slog to get anywhere close to where I used to be (which might not even happen). Anyway. Yay lifting! Yay being a gym bro again!

[tellmegoodbye]

Thank you @suchagallabitch for tagging me to do this Fic Writer Interview!

(I also did some picrews at the bottom)

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

34

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

127,463

3. What are your top five fics by Kudos?

My top three are all three of the shameless fics that I have written, 4th and 5th are fics from another fandom.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes there's only so many ways I can say 'thank you' to someone so I won't respond to every single one, but I definitely read all of them.

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I would say all three of my shameless fics have happy endings, allthough shut the door and let go is very bittersweet when you know what happens next in canon.

If we're talking non-shameless fics, I did write mcd in my other fandom (nothing too crazy) and you can find that fic here.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

When all is said and done definitely has the happiest ending if we're talking about the context of all three of these fics. Most of my other fics have pretty happy endings as well.

7. Do you write crossovers?

No. Not my thing.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not necessarily hate, but I have received some weird comments in the past.

9. Do you ever write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep! I never used to so you won't find it in any of my old fics, but all three of my shameless fics have smut in them so.....character development. 😂

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that would be cool!

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I've cowritten several fics with my girlfriend! My favourite of ours that we did is for the rest of our lives. Not a shameless fic, but I'm still proud of it.

13. What's your all time favourite ship?

I'm about to betray my branding here, but just because of how much time I spent in that fandom and how hard I was hyperfixating (and still am, let's be honest) it still has to be Dan and Phil.

If you have problems with that I don't want to hear it I've already heard it all and I'm tired okay thank you.

14. What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I had planned out a whole chaptered fic to write and then completely fell off for months after getting overwhelmed. I still really love the idea but the task was a little too much for me and I just don't think I have chaptered-fic writing in me anymore.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I'm really good at coming up with different ideas. I also really love going into detail and trying to describe everything I see in my mind. I can see my fics play like movies in my brain, so sometimes it's a little overwhelming trying to get it all into words.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Transitions. The less a scene has going on in it, the harder it is to write. I also suck at time management, and consistency in general.

Cries in haven't posted since March.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It's cool. Haven't done it myself, wouldn't be opposed to it though.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was very small and hasn't been relevant for years so I'm just gonna go with the first fandom I actually published anything for, which again, was Dan and Phil.

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I breifly considered heartstopper (shortest hyperfixation of my life) but I'm kind of already over the obsessive stage. The fandom is fucking awful anyway.

I also considered arcane but I would have to go full on AU (which isn't a strength of mine) because I don't know nearly enough about that universe to write anything canon compliant. I also just didn't really get to the point of actually wanting to write something for it.

20. What's your favourite fic you've written?

Out of my shamless fics: lover, please stay

Out of my other fics: unequivocally yours

~~~

Tag 2: Thank you @grumpymickmilk and @vintagelacerosette for tagging me to do this picrew! I did this picrew as well even though I don't think anyone tagged me, I just really liked it.

I'm tagging @sunoficarus @gallawitchxx @heymrspatel @auds-and-evens @traenawrites @squidyyy23 and @sleepyfacetoughguy to do either the questions, the picrews or both!

[crvstybowlofcereal]

ok i'm just gonna cut to the chase

this is that personal post i was talking about last night. this could be triggering for some people, even as i'm writing this i'm not sure how much detail i'm going to go into, but i will be talking about eating disorders. please read with caution, and stop if you're not in the headspace.

i'm trying not to make this longer than it needs to be, or super triggering, so i'll be sparing details. besides, i'll probably talk more about this stuff on my sideblog.

i first developed an eating disorder in 7th grade, around 12 years old. When I graduated 8th grade i felt really out of control in my life, and it really took hold. 14-15 i was at my worst, it totally consumed my life, i was so obsessed with food, control, and my body.

it had always been kinda on and off until i got to highschool, so like, 14 and a half? and it was a full time thing from there really. partially because of the people in my life. or at least one person. i have very conflicting feelings about my relationship with that person.

anyways, when i turned 16 i decided i wanted to get better, and i started putting in the work. since i decided to stop letting myself spend all my time body checking and fixating on food, I started looking for other forms of entertainment in my freetime, which led me to learning about witchcraft and paganism and it helped me realize a lot about my religious beliefs. (i had struggled a lot with my religion growing up, and finally admitted to myself at 14 that i really had never believed in God as far as Christianity was concerned)

some of the biggest parts of my spiritual belief that really helped me in recovery was that i feel that nature is sacred and inherently beautiful, and, well, i'm nature. even if i don't like the way that i look there's an inherent beauty of my body existing in whatever state it does when i honor my needs. and with this, combined with active self love, i learned to love my body again. how to feel good in my own skin. how to dress myself to feel confident while acknowledging that just because some clothes don't look good on me, my body still isn't the problem.

but recovery isn't linear, and sometimes its way harder than others, and i've definitely slipped in to relapse so many times since I was 16 that i lost count. and sometimes it was really bad. but i always picked myself up after a couple weeks at most and got back to active recovery.

it really really sucks, when one moment recovery is easy, you don't even think about it anymore, you love your body, you love life, you don't worry about food, and then the next moment you're fighting yourself. it especially sucks because you KNOW it makes more sense to keep recovering, you can have 1000 reasons to keep going, but that one point in the back of your mind says "but i want to be thin" and they reach a stalemate. or worse, that little voice wins. and i find myself thinking, why is this so hard? it feels like a beast the size of a tree losing to a little bug. it's humiliating in a way.

that shame on its own of relapse would be enough to keep me from asking for help sometimes. i feel like i need to be able to pick myself up by the bootstraps and take care of shit on my own. but also when i'm in the relapse, sometimes i think "this is it now. i'm actually going to stay like this." it's comfortable, its a coping mechanism, i want "results." and i want to keep it a secret, so no one can stop me.

so um. thats some background context for you.

so basically i discovered Metal Family right at the end of february, and i hyper-fixated on that harder than anything i've ever fixated on things. sure, i've deep dived further on other things, or have been obsessed with them longer, but i was never so IMMERSED like i was with this. for 2 weeks i was in bed pretty much all the time just rewatching the show over and over and consuming fan content. i would do that for 13 hours straight on average. i couldn't pry myself away. i couldn't make myself watch other things. i neglected eating and sleeping for the most part. and when i finally snapped out of it and chilled the fuck out and calmed down to a normal fandom-level obsession, i realized that i had lost weight. during a time i would typically be gaining weight. and i sort of figured "wow great start! if i just go back to my old habits, i can lose so much more! i can be as thin as i used to be." (so toxic, why do you want me to suffer, brain?)

long story short I've been relapsed since then, and last night i was doing my favorite food fixation thing, watching people on youtube eat. and i was watching a wiead video by some girl who was in recovery and the way she talked about it was so much more personal to me and my beliefs than other recovery based channels. hearing her talk about missing out on fun moments in life, and looking back on celebrations and having it be shrouded in Bad Feelings about food and body image really struck a nerve with me. i already have so many photos of myself during "happy times" where looking back all i see is how fake my smile was. how miserable i was and how i hid it. how obsessed i was with restricting food and losing weight. i have things in my life coming up, and i really don't want that to be how i look back at them. I'm the maid of honor in my sisters wedding this september. for the last month or so i was so obsessed with losing weight to look good at the wedding (even though i already look good as fuck in that dress ngl) and now i'm so worried that i'll be too caught up in avoiding food to enjoy it, and that this wonderful day will be overshadowed by memories of how unhappy i was in life.

the biggest thing for me is imagining myself hosting events, particularly, i want to someday host a Dumb Supper for Samhain, (among many other traditions for many other pagan holidays) and it just won't happen if i'm worrying about food. partially because a lot of it, dumb supper in particular, focuses on food, but mainly because with my religious beliefs i feel super guilty when i relapse, and i feel like i don't deserve to engage in the religion. like by actively neglecting my body, i'm insulting the Goddess, and i shy away from my little religious routines and witchcraft (that i could be using to help myself feel better mentally) altogether.

i'm not really sure how to wrap this post up. i just needed to make it so i have people to do it for. because i can't do this if i hide away. i know myself well enough to know that if i think "no one knows anything about it" then i will think "might as well keep it a secret, don't bother them with it, and don't give them a chance to make you stop."

i'm going to document my recovery journey on my side blog @crustyisgettingbetter i'll include my religion and craft and how i use it to rebuild my relationship with my body, introspection in my relationship with food, exercise, and my body, challenging fear foods, etc. i want to be real and show the ups and downs of recovery, so i'll update with good days and bad days and everything in between. also my fitness journey. but that will be a much lesser part of the blog lol.

well that was long as fuck and super personal about probably the one thing i don't like sharing. TL;DR i'm recovering from an eating disorder and shit's hard.

y'all are more than welcome to follow the blog above and ask me questions and stuff about it there. now that this is out in the open, no more hiding. take care guys, ily.

time to actually be vulnerable for two seconds when i hit post..

[lazilyhereandhazilyclear]

@thesadboisguidetolife tagged me to post my lockscreen, last song, last movie, and last photo (besides my lockscreen, i would imagine), so away we go

lockscreen:

this was made by Rob Sheridan, a graphic designer and glitch artist best known for his work for Nine Inch Nails.

last song:

two days after the release of Telefon Tel Aviv's album Immolate Yourself (one of my favorite albums), band member Charles Cooper died of an accidental overdose, leaving the future of the band uncertain. in the next eight years, the remaining band member Joshua Eustis was a touring member of Nine Inch Nails and worked a lot with Maynard James Keenan's project Puscifer, among other projects. this song is the first song where Eustis was able to return to Telefon Tel Aviv, and the transformative influence of the work he did in those intervening years is obvious to those familiar with earlier Telefon Tel Aviv. he has since released a really great album Dreams Are Not Enough (another favorite of mine). (and right now i'm listening to Around The Fur by Deftones.)

last movie:

seriously weird. i finished it thinking "what the fuck?" and ultimately, i really liked it. definitely not for everyone though . . .

last photo (besides my lockscreen):

sometimes i like to cook, and this bowl of soup i made (khao soi nam naa or khao soi lao) is a rabbit hole to explain. down we go

i only ever take pictures of the food i make, not food in restaurants - maybe if i went to one of those avant garde restaurants i might start - but anyway, a friend asked me what i was making, and i sent them this. i'm reeeaaalllyyy into Thai food, and this is probably the most complicated thing i ever make from scratch (i didn't make the noodles); it's a project with a lot of steps (done over several weeks) and because it's one of my favorite soups, i make large batches of some of its components to make it easier to assemble. this is variously called Khao Soi Nam Naa and Khao Soi Lao. (i found recipes for it, and all the data i'm about to spew, in cookbooks by Kris Yenbamroong, Andy Ricker, and James Syhabout.) in northern Thailand (and in the usa), Khao Soi usually refers to a northern Thai coconut curry noodle soup that's kinda getting well known in the usa, and you can sometimes find it in restaurants stateside, and definitely in restaurants that specialize in northern Thai food. this is not that. in Thailand this is "The Other Khao Soi". it's harder to find in northern Thailand, somewhat easier the closer you get to the borders of either Myanmar or Laos. it's a pork ragù noodle soup (no coconut milk included). the steps involved in making it begin with making a pork broth (the pork i used was subsequently repurposed to make sorta a green chili with some of the broth and a salsa verde i made). then i infused the broth with various southeast Asian aromatics (shallots, white pepper, lemongrass, ginger, cilantro, etc). then i made the ragù: called Nam Phrik Ong, which in Laos and Isaan province (northeastern Thailand) is a pork tomato dip served with vegetables, pork rinds and sticky rice. then the assembly, which is cook the noodles, and then garnish. here the garnishes are (left to right) beansprouts, cilantro, and fermented mustard greens. pickled mustard greens in China, and in packages you can buy, are pickled in vinegar, but in Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, and Myanmar (probably others), they are fermented. so, yes, i fermented the gai choy (Chinese mustard greens). it's one of my favorite pickled vegetables; it has both a wasabi-like burn from the mustard greens themselves, as well as some mild burn from the garlic and chilies i throw into the brine. so, because this is a favorite but also a project (multiple projects), i make the ragù and the pork broth and the mustard greens in large quantities so that all that i need to do is defrost the broth and the ragù and assemble it.

that was a lot.

ok, so, tagging people, i'm gonna ditto @stormesandshowersparttwo and @campcrow2 (i'll dig around to see if you already did this) as well as @adventures-in-mimesis, @angrypsychologist @shys-critter-cage @loyalist-vladdie @thenameren @hes-a-gayy but seriously no pressure (i always feel weird asking people anything remotely personal)