#I always thought that MAYBE I would one day lose enough weight to fit it

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

And that’s a wrap for Comic Con 2024! Ha, it was a lot of fun, but I really enjoyed dressing up as Mondo today! I even had a couple people recognize him! And a few others just liked the hair, one of whom asked how long it took me to get my hair like that, which tells me that at least it looks natural enough for people to mistake it as my actual hair, ha.

Overall, Comic Con was cool! On Thursday, I attended a live podcast recording for Braving the Elements, which is an Avatar the Last Airbender podcast hosted by Janet Varney and Dante Bosco (the voices of Korra and Zuko, respectively), and I actually got a trivia question right and I should (hopefully…) get an email from them soon to get a prize for answering the question right. If not… oh well. At least I’ll be featured briefly on the podcast answering trivia correctly, even though I usually suck at trivia, ha.

The rest of the days were a bit more meh, but I still had fun. I won a Pokeball ornament from a Hallmark panel, since I knew how many Squirtles were in the Squirtle Squad, aha. Which leaves my trivia score 2 for 2 at the moment.😅 I also got a free shirt and scarf for the upcoming Yakuza live action show, which was neat. I’ve never played Yakuza, but my brother has, so I was able to give him the shirt at least.

Still, while Comic Con was fun, I’m definitely glad it’s over so I can go home and clean up from my frantic cosplay creating the last several weeks, oof.

Also! On the first day I dressed at Taka, but since I was by myself I only have the one photo my dad was able to quickly take of me before he had to drive off and a quick selfie I took in the car.

[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Finally! My DoL PCs and their LIs

My friends asked me if I wanted to join the School AU with their OCs and I thought for the longest time before bringing Lya to the party. Then I kinda just felt like it and drew the whole gang :D They came out beautifully so more information and separated images undercut!

The First one is of course Lya the Blossom

Main PC

Harpy transforms, Mate for Life.

Wears all white if she can.

Very light in weight, makes her defiant attempts usually ineffective.

Went through a lot to make things easier for her loved ones.

Skilled in segg but doesn't really enjoy it anymore at this point if it's not with her loved one. What she seeks in segg with her lover is intimacy and the feeling of security.

Secretly a meanie. Gets jealous easily and envious of almost anyone, but doesn't show it or act on it often.

Despises the Temple to her core but believes Jordan is a genuinely good person. Wanted to fuck him just because.

Protective toward her lover and the children at the Orphanage.

Very insecure about her financial state. She tried to make money anytime she could.

CONSENT YOU MOTHERFU-

Can't cook. Literally. Keep her away from the kitchen.

Male Robin the Lover~ (Sorry I love this title)

The one and only.

Maybe he's trying his best, maybe he's hiding from something so terrible, who knows.

Love the purple color.

Easily scared and would cry out loud if Lya was there to reassure him and demand a lot of hugs, head pats, and kisses afterward.

Clingy as hell, but luckily he's cute just enough to let it pass.

Hell lots of freckles, everywhere all over his body even though he mostly stays at home or in the shades. Sensitive skin then.

Squishy belly.

Occasionally cross-dress when going on a date with Lya but keeps it as a hobby only.

Love to do makeup for Lya and skin care together.

Grow in height a LOT since the game started and wondering why Lya still stays the same, not that he complains about her growth of boobs and ass.

Lyah the Emancipated

The second PC, made with a lot of feast boots, almost all of the Vrel coins Lya earned.

Wears all black if he can.

Demonic Harpy Chimera Transforms.

Waiting for Robin's preg contents.

2m14. Larger body type, 6/6 physic, S athletic, Vengeful Sadist. Basically all offensive.

Fucking huge manboobs produce fucking lots of milk

Almost always wears a buttplug

The only one taller than him is Jordan.

"Blood moon? Fuck Ivory Wraith I'm out."

Still works at Strip Club, mostly because he loves wearing bunny suits and he wants to look out for Darryl.

Chef. Let him cook.

Housekeeping skill F-. Drops and crashes everything every time trying to clean or deco his room.

Doesn't know how to smile but will unconsciously do so when he's near Robin.

Doesn't understand why he's still sometimes mistaken as female.

Fem Robin the Lover~

So cute and squishy.

People unconsciously smile when she smiles.

"Too precious must protect."

Her weight is top secret.

Knows it all too well that Lyah intentionally feeds her more sweet treats and creamy drinks every day during every school break but can't resist the temptation of sweets.

Accepts gaining weight during the leisurely times, but has to lose it a bit before school starts again so she can fit into the school's uniforms.

Pretty proud that her lover is a chef at the biggest Cafe in town.

Slightly less freckle than male Robin. Just slightly.

Wardrobe full of checkered pattern clothes.

Of course she can cook well.

Perfect housewife material.

Timid when using strap-on but usually gets absorbed in the moment too much she forgor to pull the buttplug out before diving her strap in.

Lyah is not complaining though so it's all good.

Last but not least Kariya the Alter Ego!

"Well somebody has to go to prison and asylum and... hmmm"

Devil transforms

Full name Sesshouin Kariya. Kariya means "Midnight' Swallow"

Not a new save file but one of Lya's older saves. Hence the Alter Ego title.

Was born cuz I was bored and wanted to go to places Lya and Lyah can't go because they're worried about their lover being left alone.

They don't set a love interest because of that, so they can't get attached and can freely roam everywhere.

Enjoy segg as it is, purely seeking more pleasure day by day.

Drooling Masochist. Prefer group.

Get bored easily but are also quick to forget, so after a while that very same thing may pique their interest again.

Zones out a lot. Absent-minded. Sometimes clueless to things that are not segg-related.

"Ahhhh Nii-chan, nee-chan, help me it's 23:55 already and I forgor to cum inside somebody today waaaaaaaa-!!"

Intentionally dress more feminine because they love showing off.

The color palette is reversed from Lya's.

" I wonder if it's blood moon soon..."

[luveline]

hi sweetie !!! I know you get a billion requests but if u have time maybe an eddie fluff with the reader trying to get out of a postpartum depression slump and hes taking care of her :3 as always no pressure ily!

hi lovely ily, ty for requesting ♡ 1.2k

cw reader has postpartum depression

"Aw, sweetheart," Eddie mumbles. 

You hear it through your tired haze, rubbing sleep from your eyes as your turn toward him and his shuffling. He's unexpectedly on the bedroom floor, the baby laid out on a changing matt. Your lips quirk into a smile as you watch him button a fresh baby grow closed around your son's tiny tummy. 

"You're so well behaved," Eddie continues, still mumbling, hand careful as it slides behind the baby's head. "There we go. Fresh as a daisy." 

You clear your throat and stretch against a cruel knot hiding between shoulder blades. "You okay?" you ask. 

Eddie looks at you like you've just asked him to marry you, love lining every feature. "I'm okay, are you okay? You were frowning in your sleep. Bad dreams?" 

"I can't remember." You try not to lose your small smile as you hold out your hands for the baby. 

You love your baby. That's not up for debate. But whenever you hold him, you feel like you should be happier. That turns to guilt, self-loathing —this has all been so hard. You knew it would be, but it doesn't matter how prepared you are. This is brain chemistry you can't fight. 

Eddie sits on the side of the bed and passes the baby to you carefully. You're relieved to find you missed him, tucking him with love against your chest. "Hi, beautiful. Hi." 

He's still so small, shiny with newness, his lips parted to show the pink of his tongue. You laugh under your breath, brushing the side of your hand along his cheek. 

"Did you, um… did you put the ointment on his rash?" you ask, leaning down to kiss the baby's forehead. "On his tummy?" 

"Yeah, I did." 

You nod and kiss the baby's head again quickly. "Okay, perfect. Will you take him back? Just so I can get up?" 

You have to start the day to avoid falling hard into the slump. Eddie takes him with no qualms. You worry he's held more by his father than you, and there's nothing wrong with that, but he's your baby, you just spent nine months baking him, nine whole months waiting for these moments. 

Eddie hugs the baby to his chest and pulls the sheets over both of them. He looks better kept than you even though he's been picking up your slack without complaint, hair clean and out of his face, fresh clothes to match the baby, a black Iron Maiden t-shirt unmarred by spit up and a pair of pyjamas pants you're pretty sure were yours once upon a time. They don't fit him right and he clearly doesn't care. He's good like that; he's obsessed with being close to you. 

Your depression postpartum has wedged him away. Not his fault, not yours, and not fair. You're gonna have to try as hard as you can to beat it, and hope against hope that it's enough. 

"I set some clothes out for you," Eddie says gently, stroking the baby's hair. "And a towel if you want to shower, but you don't need to. You should be okay until tonight." 

"You didn't have to," you say. Your throat feels peculiarly tight. 

"Yeah, I did. I know it's overwhelming in the morning for you. I thought the clothes would be one less thing." 

You nod hurriedly and turn away from him to change. You can feel his gaze as you step out of your pyjamas and into new sweatpants, the weight of his concern palpable. It's easier to talk about things when you aren't looking at them both, so you say, "I'm sorry you're doing all of this." 

"That's okay, it's not something you need to be sorry for." 

"No, because it's not fair. You're looking after two people." 

"That's what I signed up for. It's literally my job." You seize at the sound of the baby gurgling and whimpering, but Eddie pats his back, and the grizzling fades. "Sweetheart… would you come over here? Let me tell you to your face." 

That doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but you pull on the clean shirt Eddie's left on the dresser for you and sit with him as he asked. Only when he smiles at your chest do you realise it's the stupid gimmick shirt he got for you on your first anniversary. My boyfriend loves me more than yours does, it reads, big black font with a red heart behind boyfriend. 

Eddie holds out his hand, squeezing your fingers together slowly, as though he's collected them in his palm. His thumb rubs a dedicated line over your knuckles; you're surprised your skin doesn't show evidence of his touch, he strokes this path so often. 

"I'm not sorry that I've been taking care of you since he was born, and you shouldn't be either." He says it straight and fast, no hesitation, and no room for argument. "Understand? This isn't about me. This is about how you feel." 

"Don't be all serious with me," you plead in a murmur, eyes at his collar. 

"If you don't want me to be serious then I won't be. Regular viewing henceforth. But don't forget what I just said. Promise?" 

"Yeah, promise." You reach out to twist the baby's hair around your fingertip, smiling when he shivers, tickled by your touch. He's a beautiful kid. Your partner stamped him well. All your awful feelings aren't anything to do with him, though his birth was undoubtedly the tipping point. He hasn't done anything wrong, this fog of melancholy hangs around no matter how beautiful he is, and you can't help hating yourself for the way you feel. "He's perfect," you whisper, eyes aching with the want to cry. 

"You did a great job," Eddie says agreeably, pushing his fingers between yours to intertwine your hands. 

"Do you think he knows I really do love him?" You can barely hear yourself. It's a miracle that Eddie can respond. 

"Undeniably. Sweetheart, I know there have been days where you didn't hold him, and that's not good for either of you, I can't lie to you and tell you it doesn't affect him, but it's not your fault. It just isn't. You're gonna keep trying and I'm gonna keep making sure you can, and things will get better. I swear to you." 

You feel as though you'd happily fall into a pit, but with Eddie sworn to take care of you, and the world's prettiest baby in his arms, you force yourself to sit beside him in bed. It's easy to soak in the heat of him as he wraps and arm around you, and easier to take the baby from his arms when the crying begins. 

"Don't feel guilty, but he misses you," Eddie says, covering your hand where it holds the baby's back. "He's happy to see you, look." 

The baby looks like a baby. It's hard to say that he's smiling, but there is something there. Love in his little eyes. You manage to smile for real this time, toying with his tiny hand, swiftly on your way to joyous as he wraps his fingers around your index. 

"You're doing so well," Eddie praises, his hair brushing your ear as he ducks in to kiss your cheek. 

"I think I'm feeling a bit better." 

"Good. One step closer to taking over the world." 

Eddie climbs out of bed with a mission to gather your meds and a quick breakfast. You stay in bed with the baby, holding him. Eddie's made it so that it's the only thing you have to do. 

[hwangism143]

treat you better

synopsis: in which changbin gives you a pick me up, while making you realize your feelings along the way

pairing: non-idol!changbin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort, platonic to something else (?)

warnings: mentions of eating, starvation, fatphobia, self-hate, fatshaming

word count: 1.1k words

requested by: @kayleefriedchicken

now playing: treat you better - shawn mendes

a/n: i'm open to writing a part two, if kaylee and the rest of u want me too!

"when you could be with me instead?"

Society's view of women was so fundamentally that it led women themselves to believe that they were fundamentally flawed.

The obsession this wretched society had with a women's appearance and the amount of hatred they displayed to a woman when she didn't fit the bill was enough to ruin somebody's faith in humanity. Maybe that's why you were so wary of people.

They thought their comments were passable, needed constructive criticism. Hell, they thought their words were encouraging. But in truth, every sentence felt like a deeper stab wound, pushing you to the brink of exhaustion in an effort to just be acceptable.

You rarely made friends. Each time you did, it just took a few weeks for them at most to say something along the lines of the way you look. The distaste, covertly disguised as concern, was so familiar to you that you instantly knew it.

It was the same situation you had to suffer through at the hands of your family for eighteen years.

And so, when you met Changbin for the first time, despite taking an instant liking to him, you kept him at an arm's length. You waited, waited for him to say something and anything about your weight, your face, you skin.

Why? Because Changbin was somebody who genuinely seemed to look past the way you appeared and having never felt that, you constantly thought he was taking advantage of you. But he never was. Over five years of friendship and he was still here, with you.

He took you to the gym and helped you get on top of losing any harmful weight. He introduced you to his friends, as kind to you as he was. (Except maybe Seungmin. Seungmin was a little shit.) But most of all, he was always there, a shoulder to cry on and an ear to talk off.

Whenever you felt like you were posing to be a bother to him, he replied with a quick, "You can always talk to me, I will always be here for you."

That was why you were currently sitting on his apartment sofa, your eyes red and puffy and his full of concern.

Once again, un fucking lucky you, was regarded based on looks, not merit. You were passed over for a promotion you had worked relentlessly a whole year towards in favor of a younger, prettier college fresher.

To make it even better, you had dinner with you loving family. Your mother prodded at you, forbidding you from eating anything more than a morsel which was unfit to fill the stomach of a baby. Your father joked around about how you looked less 'whale-like' from before, but still retained some of it's qualities. Only your sister gave you a reassuring smile, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

It was ironic. Your parents acted as if you invited yourself to dinner, as if it wasn't them begging for you to join them for just one meal.

You were spiraling again.

Maybe not eating would be better.

You weren't obese. You weren't even overweight. Just curvier than the beauty standards that accompanied most women these days. But the world was so fucking dystopian that people were ready to come at you like sharks to chum.

This world was so fucking dystopian that even you were quick to berate yourself.

It had taken a very, very long time for you to finally love the way you looked standing in a mirror. It had taken a long time for you to even face a mirror. And yet, you still poked at the skin the hung loosely on you, pinching yourself until you felt like crying.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

To say that Changbin was worried would be an understatement. He had seen you at your best and worst, and could say with his full chest that he preferred you at your best.

Watching you cry made it feel like his throat was drying up. Making you happy came as naturally as drinking water to him; so you not being happy had severe consequences. The repercussions were deadly, but then again, Changbin was spending a lot of time as of late with Hyunjin.

"My curves are in all the wrong places," you huffed, picking at your skin.

"I am of the humble opinion that wherever your curves are, those places instantly become the right places," Changbin retorted.

He handed you a bowl of ramen and gave you a glare that sent a resounding message of 'eat. or else you will be attacked by tickles.' You bit your lip nervously. Maybe not eating really, truly would help. But you knew that he damn well knew that family dinner meant you were coming home hungry.

Changbin looked at you, his eyes softening. "Everything will feel that's it's not okay but don't forget - you're not alone this time."

You give him a small smile. You would never be alone when you had Changbin. But you wouldn't be free from the demonic voices in your head either.

"I know, it's just-"

"Stop," Changbin interrupted you gruffly, "and eat. And let me speak."

He brought his face level to yours. "You, Y/N L/N, are beautiful. I am so sorry that you have never had anyone to say this to you, but it's true. You're so beautiful that quite frankly, the first time I met you, you took my breath away. So stop making yourself feel inferior because I care for you and I will always be here to tell you that you are an incredible woman."

He turned quickly, as if he had committed some forbidden act. You felt a blush creep up your cheek. The lined between 'just friends' and 'something more' blurred indefinitely. But that was a headache to deal with for another day.

"Changbin?" you said softly.

"Hm?" came his steady response.

"You're very beautiful too," you told him.

A smile slowly stretched across his face, his eyes still trained on the wall in front of you. You were entranced by the way his hair fell into soft curls and the way his eyes sparkled like stars were embedded into them.

You were so lost in his features that you didn't even notice Changbin reach for your ramen and take a bite, munching on it silently.

And so, two beautiful people sat on a couch. One, who slowly came to terms with how she really felt about the person next to her, the way his very presence lighting her up ignited flames that friends don't feel. And the other, who had been in love with her since the first time he saw her.

Changbin decided to ask you out on a date tomorrow.

please reblog and comment if you liked this fic! it means everything to me and I love reading your thoughts <3

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[hilarychuff]

Chrissy hesitates while getting dressed Thursday morning. She’s got her uniform on, her cheer cardigan too, but when she looks at herself in the mirror, she half wants to shrug the sweater off. Hang it back up in her closet. She won’t be swapping it out for Jason’s letterman after first period today. What would happen if she just… left it at home. Maybe, if she gets cold, someone else will let her borrow their jacket for the day. She wonders if Jason would offer. Would he insist? Can’t have my girl looking cold, Chris, she imagines in his voice. I know it’s game day, but here, you should take it. Maybe it wouldn’t be like that, though. Maybe it would be the opposite. Baby, how am I supposed to feel you cheering me on all day long if I don’t have my jacket? Plus, you know all the guys are wearing theirs. It’s good for team unity, and I have to set the right example as captain. I thought you girls were wearing your sweaters today. She half entertains the idea of sneaking into her father’s room to borrow one of his sport coats. What would Robin think if she showed up in a blazer of her own? Or could Chrissy maybe not pull it off the same as Robin does? Robin always looks so cool and effortless in her outfits, like putting them together comes as naturally to her as breathing. Her style is so — her own compared to most of the other girls at Hawkins High. Maybe if Chrissy tried to copy it, she’d just look exactly like she would be: a little girl playing dress up in her father’s closet. Maybe she could squeeze into one of PJ’s. His size probably isn’t so different from hers. As long as he has something that fits over her shoulders, it wouldn’t matter too much if the arms were a little short. She could roll the sleeves to her elbows the same way Robin usually does. Chrissy doesn’t typically wear anything tight, though. Her own sense of style tends to favor a looser fit, her closet full of long cardigans and pleated pants, structured jumpsuits and billowy dresses that can be belted in at the waist. Her mom would call those sorts of items forgiving. Things that can change with or hide her fluctuating weight. It also tends to mean it’s less noticeable when her mother buys her clothes a size too large or decides she’s gained another few pounds and takes it upon herself to let out all the seams. Oh. Her mother. Her mother would never let her leave the house in something like that. Not ladylike enough. Of course, it’s one thing to wear her boyfriend’s jacket at school, but it’s another to include men’s clothing as part of her regular wardrobe. And it’s not like she’d be able to hide it from her parents. Even if she managed to sneak into someone else’s closet without being discovered, she couldn’t just stuff a blazer into her backpack and pull it out later. Not if she also wanted to fit any of her books in there. She’s pretty sure there isn’t a world where her mother would be swayed by any claims that it’s some sort of new trend either. Laura Cunningham always insists that truly well-dressed women always look timeless. Classic. They don’t chase trends that will look silly in pictures they’ll be showing their children one day. There’s no use, really, in trying to prepare for a conversation she’ll just lose. She keeps the cardigan on.

all the best people see you (all the best people know), chapter 8, a season 4 buckingham au

[sourbinnie]

☆ diamond eyes.mp3 ☆

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> heavy angst ¡! ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> chan x gn!reader ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> time will see you realign but for now, he had to deal with the pain of your loss. ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> implied character death ; grieving ; cause of death isn't mentioned but i think you can imagine (s*icide)

a/n: new format with the saddest song i could've picked up and a really tragic imagine, i'm sorry if this is too triggering. if it's too bad, i'll delete it!

to the edge.

waves kept crashing on me in the middle of this lonely beach in my mind. places i traveled to, to forget about the reality i lived in. the one where you weren't next to me and i had to live with the weight in my heart. the one where you had to go and leave me all alone because you thought that was a better solution. the one where we had fought, we had made up and i thought we were good but it all had to end too soon when it didn't even start.

i gave you 6 whole years. i gave you 6 years of me, of my life, of my soul and i have to live with the fact that you're not here anymore? wake up and feel numb? dread and sorrow surrounded me. it felt like i was floating for a moment as i tried to get up from our bed. it was always going to be ours, it wasn't just mine and i didn't know why i was making such a fuss over a bed and it's owners. 

this is how i spent most of my days now. trying to survive and not being able to handle the truth at all. i stayed in our shared apartment, i couldn't find my way back to the dorms. i knew the boys were worrying but i didn't know why, they knew i could handle myself.

or maybe i couldn't at all.

what mocked me the most since you've left, was the ring. the one i bought with changbin & jisung one day when we were out. they helped me pick it and see what would fit perfectly in your finger. the one that held the promise ring when you decided to leave me. that would've been occupied with this perfect ring that i bought for you but life had other plans and it eliminated everything that we had planned out for the future. a future that didn't hold any hope, just more suffering and illness to haunt me. 

i could not do it without you before, what makes them think that taking you away from me is the solution?

it was not easy to wake up, it was not easy to live through the day and then go to sleep at night. having those dreams with you where i hold you and i don't let go because if i do i have to wake up and you're not there beside me anymore. how many times did i have to go through the same routine? how much more work could i drown myself into till it's enough? till the pain is gone and it's all enough. all i wanted was to be enough for you and you didn't want that.

you wanted me to be myself, well here i am and you're not. here i am as i visit you every day, as i bring flowers and place them where you lay to rest forever in peace. here i am as i cry my eyes out and scream till my voice is gone and i have to leave again to die more and more every day. i just wanted to reunite with you one last time to see you, to hold you, to tell you what you deserve to hear and that's more than i love you.

you shined brighter than any star.

now as i look into the sky, hoping you're there, watching over me, i can't help but think.

how beautiful you were the last time i saw you and how sad your expression was. how cruel life is that it took you away from where you belonged and that was here with me. how egotistical and pathetic i was when we fought, how everything was always about me and how you always put me first even though you were the one that mattered. you were the one bringing a change to the world, with that smile of yours and that loving heart. i could never compare to you, yet here i still was and you weren't, you weren't here anymore.

"i love you channie." resonated in my mind, as i tried to not lose my breath again. how many more times did i have to go through a day where you weren't here? how much could i handle without you? why do i have to handle things without you? why didn't i ran out of tears already? why is feeling numb better than being sad?

so many fucking questions and not one goddamn answer, because you weren't fucking here.

you didn't take me with you, didn't think about how i would feel without you and now you're gone. how much longer do i have to do this? how much grief is there in me? do i have to do this? i don't.

but i want to for you. i want to because you would've wanted me to, i want to because you're my light, my world, my star and you deserve it. you've been nothing but good to me these past 6 years and the unconditional love you gave me, deserves to live on. i would do it for you, for my family, for the boys, for everyone. even if it meant i have to fake a smile every single day as a i relive that haunting phone call, i will do it.

i think i am never gonna recover, never gonna be able to walk into a hospital again and never gonna be able to look at the stars and not think of you. i think you took everything from me when you decided to leave. 

i think i died with you.

i think i’m always gonna live in the shadow of your death and i’m not gonna be able to get up one day and decide to fall in love again. love was gone, there wasn’t any left to give or take, you took it all from me.

you took my heart, my soul and all of my strength.

i don’t think it’s fair how i get to stay and you don’t, i don’t think i’m doing a good job of carrying on when i don’t get to see you anymore. 

oh how i wish we could’ve had that proposal, that wedding, that eternal love. now i had to reminisce about memories i never lived and pray that this pain wouldn’t be eternal.

but i knew that as soon as i got to be with you again, i would be grateful.

[chocoblep]

#9: Fireworks and Family

Prompt: Lend an Ear

Lydjana looked up from her book, her grass-green gaze drifting toward the west, where the sun was dipping toward the horizon in a lazy descent. It was a warm afternoon, and Lydi had chosen this spot specifically because the evening light was good for reading–something she’d been doing a lot of lately. It was easy, after all, to lose oneself in a fictional world. There, she could forget that she had troubles, or that she was lonely, or that she was stuck on a project or annoyed with a problem. There, she could have steadfast companions in the characters on the pages, and occupy her mind for a little while with something that wasn’t work.

She tucked her bookmark in between the pages and closed the book, settling back to watch the sunset. She was tucked against one of the low walls near Limsa Lominsa’s anchor yard. At this time of year, it was not uncommon to see fireworks, and as she leaned her head back against the sun-warmed stone, she wondered if tonight would have any to watch. Her mind began to drift toward her latest project–developing effective sleeping capsules for her hand launcher. She had a couple different ones that she’d already made, but they were simply smokescreens. She had to figure out a good inhalable sleeping agent that was quick enough to work with a launcher capsule that wouldn’t put her to sleep in the process. She’d spoken to several alchemists, and while she might have the right formula ready in a few days, in practice it was going to be annoying to test.

“Can I sit here?”

The words pulled her out of her thoughts like a lifeguard yanking her up from underwater, and she gasped in surprise before she realized she recognized the voice.

“Kismet,” she said with a smile, nodding to the spot beside her as she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped arms around them. “What brings you here?”

“Well, you know, I live around here,” Kismet said with a little laugh, and Lydjana arched a brow at him. “I came into town for a few groceries.” He lifted the brown paper bag for her to see before sitting down next to her. “What brings you here?”

“Needed a change of scenery,” she said, giving a little shrug. “I could only take being alone for so long. I miss having a village to call home, even if I didn’t really fit in there. At least the sense of community was always there in the background, y’know?”

Kismet watched Lydjana as she spoke, reaching up to toy with his lavender braid as his ears twitched. “Have you tried maybe… having a roommate? Or a pet? Someone to just be a companion, or just be around? I know you’ve lived alone for as long as you’ve been out of the Wood, but maybe it would help.”

“Mmn,” she hummed, trying to imagine a roommate in her tiny apartment. “I would have to move. And I… I don’t know, maybe it would help, but I’m not so sure. What if I’m lonely for more than just community?”

Kismet’s lips began to curl up at the corners, and it was then that Lydi knew that she’d said exactly the wrong thing to her cousin. Oh, he was going to make her life miserable, wasn’t he? “Are you thinking of dating, Lydi?” he asked, his voice saccharine sweet as he batted his lashes at her, and she sputtered loudly.

“No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know! I just… I want to be close with someone is all!”

“And maybe get laid?” he asked, which sent her into a coughing fit that was surely the only reason she was turning bright red.

“You know that’s not really on my mind much,” she murmured, but the words were muffled, spoken into her knees as she buried her face there.

“Hey… hey.” She felt him scoot closer, and then the familiar weight of his arm settled on her shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and full of encouragement. “I think you should. Try dating, that is. Or if you’re really not ready for that, try a roommate. I was miserable when I was alone. Friends? Lovers? They help. You weren’t built to be by yourself.”

“Or a pet, you said?”

“Pets are not as good in some ways, but better in others. If you think an animal companion would help, go for it. Just uhh… Get something that’s not going to kill you.”

“Like a Malboro?”

“Definitely not that. You’ll be the smelliest person I know.”

The pair looked up as fireworks began to dot the horizon in colorful bursts, and Lydi sighed, leaning over to rest her head on Kismet’s shoulder. “Remember when you used to give me rides on your back when you came to my village? And then we’d climb up on the roof of the elder’s house and watch the stars peek through the treetops?”

“I do,” he replied, reaching over with his free hand to lay it on Lydi’s own. “I would hold your hand so you wouldn’t slide off the roof when I made the wind blow the tree branches aside. It was the only way we could see the sky from there.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “And look at the sky, now. Full of color and life. I love being able to see it, just… How massive it is. How small we are in comparison.”

“That’s how I feel when I look at you and your big heart,” Kismet said softly. “You give everything of yourself to make others happy, and you hide so little. And you’re so full of color and life yourself, how could anyone you meet not love you? You just have to put yourself out there and let them.”

Lydjana turned her eyes form the fireworks to her cousin, brushing a bit of ginger hair from her freckled face. She could feel the sting of tears pricking at her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them find the air. “I… Thank you. I’ll try.”

“I know some people, I could talk you up to them,” Kismet offered with a waggle of his brows. “You’d be swimming in suitors before you knew what to do with yourself.”

Lydi just laughed. “No! But thank you for the offer. And thank you for being here with me now, and for listening.”

“Hey, what is family for?” Kismet returned with a shrug, and then rested his cheek atop her head. 

They watched the fireworks in silence for a while, and when they died down and Kismet shifted to get up, Lydi grabbed her book and her satchel, standing with him. They went their separate ways, but now, as she walked alone toward her tiny apartment, her steps didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe she’d start with a pet. Gods knew she wasn’t letting Kismet set her up with anyone.

[manicsweetheart707]

This has been a pretty harsh month for me, that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried to make it a good one, if I could describe this month I would say that I’ve been pushing myself through it, I’m doing my best to not let the negative thoughts get to me.

Trying out new things is not always the easiest thing to do, but it's part of growing up; I wanna keep growing as a person and I think being aware of shit that happens to me, of my thoughts, even if they're not always positive will help me in that process, because I want to fall in love with life, and loving something implies loving the pretty and the ugly.

I really don't wanna do this alone, the growing uo thing, and maybe you reading this don't want to either, so maybe if I start posting these monthly recaps we can help one another to feel company in some sort of way, with time this will evolve to fit each other's needs ig.

Tennis

This month I started to workout like fully, last month I began taking tennis classes but skipped a lot of days due to me being depressed, that made me feel pretty stupid because I payed for those classes, the economic situation is not good enough for me to be wasting money in classes I’m not taking y’know?

I switched my classes from tuesday and thursday to wednesday and friday, and I feel it has helped me in keeping consistency a lot better, my mom’s also been the one taking me to class because I’m fucking stupid and it made me panic not finding anywhere to park my car so I ended up directly not going to class, I know that sounds so stupid but I tend to take those kind of situations as an omen that something is going to go not according to plan and that I’m gonna fuck something up, so yeah-

Chloe Ting

Besides tennis classes this month I also started Chloe’s 2024 summer shred challenge; I figured it would’ve helpful for losing weight and helping me build endurance for tennis, it’s not the first time I try to workout from home with youtube or something, but it is the first time I actually feel comfortable doing it in a sense that I haven’t given up and I don’t plan on doing it, even if I’ve been too depressed to do shit I haven’t skipped any days, I think the fact that the app has like a nice percentage indicator motivates me to keep going.

Maybe doing both tennis and Chloe’s routines in my current physical state is not ideal since I’ve been feeling a bit nauseous this past days, but I am doing it either way because I’m not giving up, I am a strong bitch and can do whatever I set my mind to.

I am not in a good mental state right now, the crippling feeling of how everything I do is wrong and everything I touch gets all fucked up is coming back strongly, even tho I’m doing shit that’s supposed to help me emotionally, they say that working out releases endorphins right? I drink a lot of water and been trying to keep myself distracted with other activities to stop myself from overthinking, but nothing really seems to work, the loneliness is a constant reminder of how fucked I am and how little value I have in other peoples lives. And I know that if I keep telling myself just how fucking awful I am I’m just gonna end up pushing people even further with my negativity. Loneliness is like a crater, sometimes no matter how much you scream no one is there to hear you, and the times there’s someone your throat is just too sore to let them know you’re there, and sometimes when you find a ladder you feel oh so scared of what’s outside to climb up, it’s really fucking difficult man.

My vacations are sadly over, although I only have 2 classes this whole semester I still feel a bit anxious about going back to uni, it’s a mix between the people and the work, I’m usually pretty work focused while I’m at uni so I don’t give myself enough chances to be friendly with people (adding to that the social anxiety), this semester I need to work on my degree proyect/thesis/whatevs and that makes me oh so nervous I really want to give it my best and don’t fuck it up.

There’s people I don’t like in my trademarks class, I don’t think they’re bad people, but their voices annoy me, which ig makes me a bad person, but I can’t help it they’re too loud and speak too fast and talk with so much confidence over topics they don’t know shit and that annoys me. I’m being a bitch, I’m sorry.

I find it particularly scary having to build a portfolio, and begginning the whole working thing, although I hate my current state of living I do like having my own time and bedrotting whenever I feel like it, growing up is so fucking scary isn’t it.

It’s a terrible idea to replace a bad habit with another bad habit, and this month is the month I’m trying to get skinnier, so I’ve been working out, starting a diet, taking laxatives, and most importantly cutting sugars; that has been really hard for me and I think it didn’t help that much to the darkness I was feeling the first half of the month. I am aware is a terrible idea, for a while whenever I got sugar cravings I used to light up a vanilla incense stick and hope for the best but it really didn’t helped, and since I discovered that mints do have calories and shit I don’t really want to eat them no matter how much I love them. So I thought a solution to my problems could be vaping, I can’t get fatter from it can I? I bought a blueberry one, I do enjoy it I think, I like that is minty and I’ve always been a huge fan of candles, incense, that type of stuff, I feel like I’m in some sort of way eating a candle. It does make me feel a bit guilty because I am pretty aware of how awful nicotine is, and that vapes are far worse than a cig, and also that my mom has asthma yet here I am probably fucking up my lungs, but I think right now, currently, it makes me feel even guiltier to actually eat sugar.

✦ Keep losing weight and being consistent with my workouts

✦ Progress as much as possible on my degree project

✦ Reorganize my notion

✦ Set up a dating app profile maybe?

c u next month!!

xoxo, mani

[linasofia]

(I hope you don't mind me sending this to you. Please use it however you'd like; a fic, head canon post, or even just a talk about how you think things would go)

It's Christmas Eve and Father Quart is running the Midnight Mass service. What happens when he finally gets home to you?

Thanks @fizzyxcustard for dropping this in my ask box. I hope you’ll like it. Merry Christmas! ❤️

The snow crunches under his weight as he walks the short distance to your little cottage. Father Quart left church in a haste after Midnight Mass and forgot to change into his heavier winter boots. The well-polished shoes he wears for church are not the best choice for slippery winter roads, but he manages to get to your front door without any misadventures. When he knocks on the door, the sound is muffled by his thick gloves but he knows you will hear it anyway. He’s expected. Longed for, even.

You open the door with a warm smile. Seeing the man who earned the key to your heart always brings joy and gratefulness to your chest. He’s your guardian light, your evening star and your heart’s compass. You, in return, are his safe haven when he doubts, his small piece of heaven, and the woman who made him realize that he has room for more than the Lord in his heart. Your secret relationship is not easy for either of you, but you have both agreed that what you share is worth the effort.

You allow Lorenzo to take off his winter coat before you throw your arms around his neck. He hugs you tightly back, and you lose yourself in his smell. The cologne he put on this morning still lingers on his skin, and you rest your nose against his neck while you give him a gentle kiss on his stubbled jaw. He cups your cheek and returns the affection, his kiss deep and sensual.

”Are you tired? I made tea if you want some.” You ask when he releases you from his embrace.

”Not really tired and I’d love to have tea with you.” Your thoughtfulness is one of the first things he noticed about you, and he appreciates your attempts to make your life together as normal as it can be. ”How are you feeling now?”

For the last couple of days your sore throat has been bothering you, but this morning you finally felt better. You chose to not attend Midnight Mass, even if you have looked forward to it for a long time, since you don’t want to risk ruining the holidays for other people by giving them a cold. Lorenzo, however, refused to stay away from you.

”I feel much better, I think it’s finally over.”

He gives you a kiss on your forehead. ”That’s the best Christmas present.” Then he looks down at your tights and oversized knitted sweater and smiles warmly. With a swift move, he pulls off his jacket. ”I’ll go and put on something else.”

You head for the kettle in the kitchen, and Lorenzo goes to your bedroom. He has his own drawer where he keeps some clothes and underwear. As you fill the mugs, you hear him pull out the drawer and go through his choices. While you’re seated on your sofa, he finally joins you, wearing grey sweatpants and a navy t-shirt. If you didn’t know, he would never be taken for a priest in this outfit. The t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders in a very flattering way and his sweatpants, well, you could probably write a poem about how well they fit him.

The tea with Christmas spices smells lovely but the steam rising from the mugs is a silent warning to be careful. You hand Lorenzo a gingerbread, and he takes it with a smirk. ”Are you feeding me cookies so I will be good to you tonight?”

You let out a short laugh. He looks playful, but you know what he means, and just the thought of him teasing every part of your sensitive body until you almost lose your senses, is enough to make your skin heat up.

”Maybe,” you wink at him as he takes a bite. You have already had a few—the baker needs to approve, right? But you take one more. It’s Christmas after all.

The open fire spreads its warm light over your living room, and you look around, pleased with how your decorations turned out. The tree with its baubles and the beautiful star at the top, the white mittens you use instead of socks and fill with green twigs. Your eyes fall on your newest addition, the small but very cute Yule goat you bought a week ago at the local market. He stands guard next to the little pile of carefully wrapped Christmas gifts. Lorenzo gently puts his arm around your shoulder and holds you close. He snuggles your hair and hums when you place your hand on his chest. Your living room breathes calmness; the only sounds are the ones coming from the open fire.

When you reach for your tea, Lorenzo lovingly strokes your back. The tea has cooled enough to be drinkable, and after you taste the first sip, you make a mental note to buy more of the wonderful blend. It’s flavored with oranges and cinnamon, and together with the gingerbread, it can’t taste more like Christmas. You wish time would stop so the two of you could stay like this forever. But all the preparations finally claim your energy, and you yawn.

”It’s getting late.” Lorenzo murmurs against your hair. ”I better eat one more cookie before I take you to bed, so I can be really good to you.” His voice holds the most delicious promise, and you know you will not fall asleep unsatisfied tonight.

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[lesbian-ed]

Hi. I don't know if this blog is still active but in case it is I was hoping maybe to hear some thoughts from you, or maybe even your followers, about confidence and comfort towards one's own body. Like how to deal with anxiety. I am lesbian, obviously female, way too old, I've never had sex, or even really dated. I don't approach people romantically because I hate my body and distance myself from all chances for dating. I've been trying to lose weight but I've struggled with obesity practically all my life. I also think I'm much hairier (I mean it's everywhere and I'm not light haired either omg) than what is normal for most women, and I hate both shaving and just letting the hair grow. I have more or less given up on dating because I don't want people to see me naked or get close to me. Sometimes I feel I'm content but sometimes I feel this isn't healthy: it concerns me that my hatred for my body is keeping me from experiencing intimacy, and how long can that go on until it becomes psychologically damaging. Though who am I kidding - the damage's been done. I understand that people of all shapes and sizes etc. date, fall in love and so on, but I have this deep-rooted discomfort about my body that I've felt since I was around twelve. So I was hoping to hear some thoughts or experiences on how one might overcome this kind of persistent disgust, though I understand if this isn't the kind of ask you wanna answer. In any case thank you for reading.

Hi! I'm sorry this ask has been sitting in our inbox for a few months, unfortunately we don't always still have the time or energy to go through the asks anymore. I wanted to answer this, and I know it's so late but here's to hoping you might wander back here someday, and that this may help you, or another woman who feels similary.

I shared this view for a really long time (so much so, I identified as trans for a long time. I never felt "woman enough" because of my body). I struggled with being fat, hairy, "unwomanly".

When I was in school all of my friends got attention from boys and men, and I never peaked anyone's interest. Even though I didn't want to be with boys, I still craved that attention, I thought there was something wrong with me for being someone who no one would ever want. I punished myself with no eating, too much eating, self harm.

For me, what finally clicked was when I was first introduced to radical feminism, and through that I started thinking about the concept of inherent worth. I knew all women had inherent worth for being women, for being alive. I knew I had empathy and care for all women, regardless of thei appearance, and I thought they all deserve respect. That eventually led to the radical realization that if I think all women are worthy, then I must extend this to myself. I am woman, just as any other. And my external appearance doesn't change my self worth.

It really helped to stop seeing what is considered "ugly" as a negative thing, and rather to think of it as neutral, inconseqential, of no value. Instead of looking at all that was "wrong" with me as a bad thing, I took all power from it. I knew that I would never think badly of other women who looked like me, so why would I be the only exception?

Slowly, I was able to take away all the weight I put into my appearance, and became more neutral. Don't get me wrong, I'm not magically healed. There are still days where I'm reminded of all the ways that I don't fit into society's expectations for what a woman should be. I'm reminded of how terrified my mom was and still is that I'd end up staying fat. I'm reminded of aunts and uncles comenting on me losing and gaining weight since I was as young as 6 or 7. I know that being hairy, with dark body hair all over, is not the standard for what's attractive.

But those days have less weight in the grand scheme of things because no longer is my focus in life to be palatable. And I don't mean to come off like I have all the answers, that my way is the only way. I know this is not an easy journey.

But I think in order for you to start seeing yourself as someone who is worthy of desire, of love, of care, first you've got to see yourself as human. The more I look back at how people treated me growing up, at how people still treat me now, the truth is that society doesn't see "ugly" women as people. We are dehumanized, objectified as clutter, things in the way of what is "right".

I'm sure you're a kind and nice person. Look at yourself from the outside in, look at yourself as you'd look at someone else: what would you say to yourself then? Would you really think so badly of you then?

Be patience. I understand we have a lot telling us that we are not good enough, that aging is bad, that we have expiration dates. But as long as you are around, you are human, you are worthy of kindness.

Regarding the romantic aspect of this, I used to share your anxiety, that no one would want to look at me naked, that I would never feel comfortable undressing in front of someone. But then I met my girlfriend, and she made me feel so comfortable with myself that when we finally met and the time came to share intimacy... It just happened so organically, so naturally. It wasn't a performance, it was caring for each other. Not once did she look at me with disgust, not once was she anything but kind. I don't think it's just because she's some saint. I think when you care about someone, attraction comes naturally, and you don't separate body and mind. You just know that is your person, and you want them fully.

So maybe slowly working on allowing others to see you for who you are, not physically, but like.... Your personality. Open up. It doesn't need to be going on dating apps. It's just... surround yourself with women. Be around other women, love them, let them love you.

Things move slow, but self care can be just allowing a friend to tell you you're a good person. Accept compliments, even when your instinct is to tell others that they're wrong. Be kind to yourself. You deserve kindness, there is nothing about the way you look that is inherently wrong.

Posting this here so hopefully we'll hear from others as well, and hopefully you'll catch this one. Take care. Be well. You deserve good things, just because you're human, just because you're there.

[aajjks]

TC!dad!JK

you giggle when jungkook peppers your neck with kisses. your hands reach up to run your fingers through his dark, long locks of hair as he continues to kiss you along your neck down to your shoulder blades. jungkook pulls down the strap of your silk nightgown to kiss your bare shoulder and travels back up to your neck. if your husband keeps this up, you may give him another child despite him complaining earlier about wanting another one.

“of course i’ve missed you. did you miss me?” you ask jungkook who comes back up to kiss your lips.

“i thought we reached our goal of seven kids? i’m guessing your lucky number went from seven to, hmmm…ten? you want to deal with five angsty teens and three more whiney children?” you joke because by the time your children grow up, jinseoul and ae-cha would be adults and hopefully they’ll have a family and kingdom of their own.

you’re still surprised jungkook even finds you attractive anymore. you’re a 40 year old woman now whose breasts aren’t as soft as they used to be and your stomach is covered in stretch marks, especially your thick thighs. as you aged, so did your body and you’re aware that neither of you are as young as you used to be but here’s jungkook still fit and toned while you’re noticeably thicker.

with jinseoul and ae-cha, you didn’t gain as much weight but by the time areum and jawon came around, that’s when you started noticing the obvious changed in and on your body.

“i should lose weight first. maybe when i drop back to 135, we can have another child”

~🫧

“ I think my lucky number will keep on going up and up because whenever I look at you- you drive me insane.” He confesses, he has a little embarrassed to have so many children with you, but… why should he be ashamed? He loves you and you love him and you’re just irresistible.

How are you so beautiful at 40 after having seven children? It is a mystery, but he will never know the answer, not that he mind because he still loves your body just the way it is- and when you mention dropping your weight, it bugs him a little because do you think that you’re not perfect?

“Yn… why do you want to lose weight? I think you’re perfect.” He’s caressing the skin of your stomach, mumbling into your shoulder, “and I missed you so much.. you’re always on my mind.”

“I love you and this body of yours- gave me 9 children yn. You’re so sexy and perfect- I can never get enough of you.”

You should know that, and this is his first night with you after four months so of course he’s going to be a little clingy, it feels so good for him to have you in his arms, every day, he thankful because he gets to hold you.

“Well yn… I can’t wait whenever you’re ready. Just let me know.”

Of course it’s your body and you’ll have to carry the children- his duty will be done very soon and you will be the one to deal with his consequences. He knows that each and every one of your pregnancies weren’t easy on you.

Heck, you almost died when you gave birth to your twin boys… he still misses them to this day, but… he doesn’t bring them up often.

Jungkook just takes in your scent and he’s holding your body so tightly, and soon you’re both asleep, tangled with each other’s bodies.

____

It’s a new day, but it is a little colder here for some reason, but Jungkook has always loved winter, the season always resonates with him for some reason.

And before you could wake up, he was out of the chamber but not before he kissed you on your forehead, and after he was done, cuddling your body to his satisfaction, he’s getting dressed up so he can meet with jisung. Jungkook wore a red robe today, bathed, so his mind would be a little clearer.

And now he is sitting in his office with jisung present. “Tell me- you mentioned you wanted to tell me something yesterday, but then my daughters came.” Jungkook crosses his arms, his PI looks very nervous, and he looks almost a little uncomfortable.

What could he want to tell him because it was just yesterday when he ordered him to gather information on the Choi’s? He couldn’t be that fast.

“Well, go on.”

[cumbunnywitch]

Body Positivity isn't just a mindset for other people, but a journey of self-acceptance too. Like, yes, obviously, bullying or harassing or whatever someone because they're fat or hairy or they don't meet some arbitrary definition of attractiveness is a really shitty thing to do.

But, it's also about learning to accept yourself for how you look. A lot of body-pos stuff really is taking a good long look at yourself and understanding if maybe some of the feelings you have towards the people you used to look down on were, in fact, internalized things. And I'll be honest, I needed to do this myself. I was not always the relatively nice but mouthy woman you know me as.

I don't talk about this a lot but I used to be really dang skinny. Like, very underweight. When I was 19, I weight 115 pounds at 5'6, and almost none of that was fat(I was a jock(and a boy, at the time)), and so I had a lot of exercise, and none of the massive amounts of food I ate went anywhere near my waistline or butt.

A few years later, I would weigh 150, sedentary from a job mostly sitting around answering calls all day, no gym membership to speak of. I gained weight really quick, actually. And then latent anorexia hit. I started getting worried, after a few months of this. I wasn't really sure why, but it turns out a lot of that was also dysmorphia and dysphoria kicking in from the Gender Questions I was asking myself and also trying to hide. A few years after transitioning though, I hit 187, and that feeling of being too fat was a gnawing anxiety. (un)Fortunately, my self-soothing for anxiety was overeating, so you can see where I fell into a vicious cycle of trying to lose weight desperately and the anxious need to eat to numb-out the stress of life, dysphoria, and being an adult.

At one point, I killed my desire to eat almost entirely, and went on a crash diet. Keto, plus low calorie, plus serving size restriction. I worked out for an hour a day, feeling like I was going to pass out the entire time. It wasn't healthy. I kept that up for almost 2 months, and went from around 185 to 165. I am not incredibly large, nor am I obese, but some part of myself needed me to hit arbitrary numbers.

At some point, I finally recognized that this wasn't healthy, and I was only feeling worse. I allowed myself a burger, and visited a therapist. I don't have full-blown anorexia, but a big part of what was causing my issues were internalized and arbitrary standards that not only conflicted with the way I wanted to treat other people, but with a healthy lifestyle.

Do I still want to lose weight? Yea. Have I found a healthier mindset and, arguably more importantly, a healthier reason? Also yes. I accept my body for what it looks like. I accept that my eating habits are not "the problem" or that I need to be thin.

I have killed the part of me that wants to be thin-as-string and I'm learning to accept that the journey to losing weight isn't about numbers and goals and forcing myself into unwinnable regiments of working out until I physically cannot stand and eating just enough to wake up the next day.

I wanna wear a dress I bought when I first started transitioning. I was already getting bigger, and it very nearly fits. When I suck in my tummy, I look fantastic in it. Thats it. That's my goal. No numbers, no waistline measurements. And I'm gonna take my fuckin' time doing it, because it's my body, and good food is worth enjoying if it takes another week or two.

I don't feel frustrated about my weight or my body anymore. I'm comfortable in my skin, and I've learned to examine my thoughts when I'm feeling gross. I'm getting better. I love myself.

I'm not trying to say anything here, either. This is just my personal journey. If you learn something from it, then great.

[hilarychuff]

All the Best People See You (All the Best People Know), Chapter 8

hello guess who's back so soon here is another installment in my pre-season 4 robin/chrissy inadvertant desert hearts movie date au!!! it is no longer so pre-season 4!!! exciting!!

Robin says Chrissy’s the one with the magic, but Chrissy’s pretty sure it’s the other way around. Something about wearing Robin’s blazer yesterday had made her feel brave, safe, like she could talk about exactly the sort of things she’d practiced avoiding with Miss Kelly last week. Today, Robin’s jacket is black denim instead of a blazer, scattered pins and patches decorating the material, but when she loans it to Chrissy, it feels just the same.

read it on ao3 here

Chrissy hesitates while getting dressed Thursday morning. She’s got her uniform on, her cheer cardigan too, but when she looks at herself in the mirror, she half wants to shrug the sweater off. Hang it back up in her closet. She won’t be swapping it out for Jason’s letterman after first period today. What would happen if she just… left it at home?

Maybe, if she gets cold, someone else will let her borrow their jacket for the day.

She wonders if Jason would offer. Would he insist?

Can’t have my girl looking cold, Chris, she imagines in his voice. I know it’s game day, but here, you should take it.

Maybe it wouldn’t be like that, though. Maybe it would be the opposite.

Baby, how am I supposed to feel you cheering me on all day long if I don’t have my jacket? Plus, you know all the guys are wearing theirs. It’s good for team unity, and I have to set the right example as captain. I thought you girls were wearing your sweaters today.

She half entertains the idea of sneaking into her father’s room to borrow one of his sport coats. What would Robin think if she showed up in a blazer of her own? Or could Chrissy maybe not pull it off the same as Robin does? Robin always looks so cool and effortless in her outfits, like putting them together comes as naturally to her as breathing. Her style is so — her own compared to most of the other girls at Hawkins High. Maybe if Chrissy tried to copy it, she’d just look exactly like she would be: a little girl playing dress up in her father’s closet.

Maybe she could squeeze into one of PJ’s. His size probably isn’t so different from hers. As long as he has something that fits over her shoulders, it wouldn’t matter too much if the arms were a little short. She could roll the sleeves to her elbows the same way Robin usually does.

Chrissy doesn’t typically wear anything tight, though. Her own sense of style tends to favor a looser fit, her closet full of long cardigans and pleated pants, structured jumpsuits and billowy dresses that can be belted in at the waist. Her mom would call those sorts of items forgiving. Things that can change with or hide her fluctuating weight. It also tends to mean it’s less noticeable when her mother buys her clothes a size too large or decides she’s gained another few pounds and takes it upon herself to let out all the seams.

Oh.

Her mother.

Her mother would never let her leave the house in something like that. Not ladylike enough. Of course, it’s one thing to wear her boyfriend’s jacket at school, but it’s another to include men’s clothing as part of her regular wardrobe. And it’s not like she’d be able to hide it from her parents. Even if she managed to sneak into someone else’s closet without being discovered, she couldn’t just stuff a blazer into her backpack and pull it out later. Not if she also wanted to fit any of her books in there.

She’s pretty sure there isn’t a world where her mother would be swayed by any claims that it’s some sort of new trend either. Laura Cunningham always insists that truly well-dressed women always look timeless. Classic. They don’t chase trends that will look silly in pictures they’ll be showing their children one day.

There’s no use, really, in trying to prepare for a conversation she’ll just lose. She keeps the cardigan on.

keep reading

[firespirited]

I wasn't able to do what I wanted today but still very pleased.

Yesterday Lily needed an emergency close trim so we could find out if she had splinters or something in her legs and feet (she gets dreadlocks overnight if we don't get her fully dry after a walk in dew or puddles) as she started limping at the end of yesterday's walk, we were crossing a car park and she suddenly slowed down and was keeping weight off one leg. Turns out she has a slight tendinitis above the little nubbin above the front paw, slightly swollen and pink - she's not in pain but we've decided to carry her downstairs to the front lawn instead of walks until the swelling goes down. The trim was delicate work so that set off the neck. The carrying counts towards 'total shoulder use' for the day so no crochet for a while.

+Managed to locate some lost doll eyes which have now been moved to the "eye" zipper bag. Thought i just had the one set but there are two and also some lovely 10mm dark brown eyes for the mermaze whenever I get around to that. it's funny how distressing losing things can be like part of you has decided to drive the other part slightly mad. What a relief!

+My favourite winter trousers are made of wool, by the time I realised they were great and worth getting twice, they'd sold out and I've never seen anything like them again. Over time they got small holes and were partially threadbare at the crotch where you get chub rub. I was thinking about maybe patching them but rethought it after realising they're saggy enough that rehemming the crotch down the legs about 12cm on either side with a slight diagonal at the end to fade into the original hem would be good. It's nice and tough and seamless. 👌

+Compromised on a chore I couldn't complete: Instead of trying all my t-shirts at once, I've been wearing each one at night and deciding if they're too loose. Put them in the wash after. Gradually putting all the too oversized ones to the right of my lil closet regardless of sentimental value. They served me well, they don't fit anymore. Thank you, goodbye (well my sister might claim a few, there's a v neck that looks like nurse Chappelle from Star Trek TOS I'll miss that one).

+End of year hobby or accomplishment 'assessments' always annoy me to bits at first, I start getting miserable and grouchy and then pick up as soon as I actually get down to concrete stuff not the "woulda coulda shouldas". I got the big grumble out of my system and noticed that may-june was the turning point of accepting new limitations and deciding to enjoy gunky bundles of dolls even if I don't customize them all, even if it takes more patience and smaller batches of cleanup. A former client also used the reroot kit i made her to learn, starting with a unravelled yarn I sent and has been doing gorgeous work since. She has such great taste, I did love working for her.

+I've accepted that intracommunity fraud and abuse has always been a problem instead of just being super disappointed in the past 3 or 4 activists with dirty secrets. Unlearning hierarchies and building judgement-free safety nets like community funds, places to stay etc has to be part of the way forward or else people look for leadership or feel they have no-one to turn to and get 'saved' by folks with dodgy intentions. That means fighting for secular, inclusive, accessible shelters and resources even for annoying freaky obnoxious overly needy people. It means rejecting charismatic leaders in favour of committee based decision making even if it's slower and looks less decisive to the centrists. These are patterns of thinking ingrained from childhood in how we think about organising or spirituality or even hobbies.

No we don't need a queen bee. It might take us a few votes to get there but we *will* make decisions by consensus - without pastors/presidents because leadership in western culture is not remotely about serving the people in the actual practice. If I can find a way to communicate one political principle next year it'll be the importance of decentralised work. Little people doing big things slowly not saviours who do some big magic. Every health inspector, every school board member making sure the new building is wheelchair accessible and not built with junk materials. The people making sure medical books include symptoms on black skin. The people who fight to get a piece of road a new speed limit or traffic lights. That sort of 'small' work that saves lives.

+I've had to put off the flu vaccine due to an immune drop. I'd been waffling as I don't have a huge amount of contacts... but as soon as small wounds start healing normally, I'm getting my carer to take me to the pharmacy. Can't trust my neighbours or carer. That's one solid decision made.

+Sis requested that I decorate the Christmas tree as she's not been well but it really matters to her. I asked if I could do just white and silver on the dark green plastic tree - was told that's "not festive or fun" but I asked that she at least see it first. I worked on the settee with the 1m tree beside me so I wouldn't have to use my shoulders (i dumpster dived and scrubbed it in January, it's the biggest we've ever had since childhood. I got sis a mini tree that would move with us instead.). It turned out 'classy' and 'surprisingly very pretty'. 😁😎😘

+I need to find warm boots. Not sure how to go about it as the ones from the same brand as the shoes are sold out and the order cancelled. I'm going to try second hand and keep looking at men's hiking and snow shoes as they'll have the width and flat soles needed. Still no way of getting to an actual thrift or shoe store. I've donated several pairs of lovely but not right for my posture boots and hope they found good homes.

+Another resolution is to take any guilt i feel from donation request posts and go look at how they're living before I spiral. This isn't about my general circle here on tumblr. You all are doing the mostest on so little.

But in april when that youtuber did a donation drive, there had just been a couple of other people asking for money and i'd felt really awful. Then later i'd actually clicked the full link and the ask was more than I live off for months, people living way above their means, people not thinking to put their fun money aside for their pet's inevitable needs. This spring Lily wasn't doing great and I was considering how to proceed when she's gone: If I have the savings and energy necessary to properly care for a dog. At the time I was unable to carry her to go outside when she struggled with stairs and the vet bills for a full x-ray to dx arthritis and pain meds were double what they were just 3 years ago for Ginger.

I don't know how to work it into a routine but I'm done being guilted by people who don't think a pet comes with expenses or who take a trip or spend massively instead of having even a tiny cushion for the next emergency. Of course I don't mean people living from paycheck to paycheck, disabled folks who can't have savings, let alone 'no treats ever, no avocado toast' but we're not talking about a roommate running out on the rent or a medical emergency just terrible financial literacy and aggressive demands for help. Worst was one person got sick from a convention where they partied unmasked, travelled unmasked then weren't able to do a gig job they'd planned to pay it off because they were on credit the whole time and then were like "I'm multiply marginalised you all owe me and it's your fault my pets will die" but worded cleverly enough to get past my defenses and red flags until a careful re-read of surrounding context. 😬

I've gotten high on the relative safety of the past few years, mostly emotional safety and free healthcare safety and forgotten that this is a very carefully curated safety by living frugal in maladaptive ways so when the washing machine dies it's not the apocalypse it's just a lot of extra work. I don't want to be the asshole that says learn to spend better. But maybe I'm not the asshole for dismissing your post when you're asking someone who you wouldn't ask if you had any idea.

[banditnate]

laying a soft pretty feather over a nasty mark on his body during a quiet, intimate little moment: “how did you get this scar?”  

Flashback time !

She was always so g e n t l e.

Even after all this time, her touch was still as soft as ever. Sometimes he wondered if it was a trick of his imagination; like a broken connection in his brain mistook it from a breeze. To be handled so delicately made him feel the need to squirm—something he didn’t understand. He could take a punch like a champ, but this? It was unexpected every single time.  

Nate turned his head, just barely making out the tip of a raised scar by his left shoulder blade. beneath a large pheasant feather.

“Oh, that?”

He’d never gotten a good look at it; most of the time he forgot it was there. Rainy days would sometimes bring a dull ache, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The thought alone made him feel stiff, and he gave his shoulder a rounded stretch for good measure.

“That’s old. A year, at least.” Maybe even more—it was hard to be sure of the time that passed here. Days and people came and went, fading into the next as they disappeared. The only concrete evidence he had of time passing at all was the baby fat that had vanished from Fiona’s face in his former life.

He could feel her hazel eyes boring into the scar on his shoulder, and he knew that brushed-off answer wouldn’t sate her curiosity. “Well…”

***

They called him Carnival.

Nate never knew his real name. In fact, he learned quickly that real names didn’t matter anymore. You didn’t have to go by the alias your parents came up for you when you were a baby. You could be whoever you wanted to be (though it was often Peter who would bestow the actual nickname as he saw fit).

With his large, jolly form and shaggy red hair, Carnival had seemed friendly at first. He didn’t mind showing him the ropes, how things worked, and Nate was grateful to be taken under someone’s wing. It seemed like he was really getting the hang of things.

That is, until their first game of Battle.

Peter had thought it would be fun to pair Nate up with his semi-mentor in head-to-head combat. Can’t let your emotions getting the best of you, he said. This was only a game--but out there, it was kill-or-be-killed, and there was only one way to prepare.

Nate, wanting to impress his savior, took the game of Battle seriously. Carnival, clearly a veteran with low expectations of the newbie, let down his guard. It was all too easy for Nate to strike.

It was only a flesh wound—a bloody nose and some bruises—but the boy clearly hadn’t liked losing, not to mention to someone so green.

He didn’t take offense that Carnival avoided him for the rest of the day. Losing was hard, and Battle was anybody’s game; Nate just got lucky.  

“You better watch out,” one of the other Boys told him after.

It wasn’t until nightfall that he learned what they had meant.

He awoke with a gasp. His left shoulder tingled, like a thousand needles poking him at once. He tried to turn around, but a firm hand pushed him down, keeping him flat on his stomach.

“What’s wrong?" Carnival sneered, digging the knife into his skin. "Not gonna fight back? But you’re so good at that.”

Nate tried to wiggle out of his grasp, letting out a groan as warm liquid slowly oozed down his back. He grasped frantically at the dirt beneath his fingernails. Was breathing always this hard? He wasn’t getting enough air. Air, air. He willed the oxygen from the grass into his lungs. Faster and faster he breathed, each inhale shallower than the last. “I---“  I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I--

A voice echoed in the distance: “Did I give you permission to kill him?”

He felt like he was underwater, or maybe it was everyone else who was drowning.

***

Things got fuzzy from there. After that, he just remembered the pain, and the heaviness--oh, so heavy. Even after Carnival disappeared, he never got over the weight in his chest that night.

He shook his head of the memory. It had been a long time since he thought about that.  

Not wanting to lie, but certainly not wanting to frighten her, he chose his words carefully.

“…I just got on somebody’s bad side.” He threw her a glance and a soft smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Something like that’ll never happen to you.”

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