#but i DID make it through this year and that is an accomplishment worth celebrating

[itstimeforstarwars]

Can't quite summon up a "I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me" so have a lyric from the other new years song I've been listening to lately.

[hairyjocktf]

The Bear Brew

Jake was the star player of his university’s hockey team, and with two successful championships under his belt he was captain for this next season. He’d practically been raised for this position. His parents had put him in hockey lessons as soon as he could stand up, and every moment through his childhood and teenage years had been dedicated to practice. He was the star player at his high school and given a scholarship to play on the university team. He’d been told not to let all that go to his head but he knew he was the best player on the team. Every match there would be throngs of fans in the stands chanting his name after every goal, wearing shirts with his face on them, and begging for pics with him after. His life couldn’t get any better.

His teammates, however, were over it. They’d made him captain just to shut him up after he’d been talking their ears off for the past three years. It helped that issue but only inflated his ego even more. Jake had somehow gotten even more obnoxious this season, becoming combative during practice and not taking any criticism about his play. The guys were sick of it, and while Jake was off stroking his ego by chatting with his fans, they hatched up a plan to get back at him. They’d found this beer called ‘Bear Brew’ that promised to put some pounds on anyone that drank a can. They knew Jake would never turn down grabbing a drink to celebrate a victory, thinking himself the one responsible. They weren’t sure exactly how effective it’d be or how long it’d take but they just hoped it would take Jake down a peg.

Two days later, after another decisive victory, it was time. Another player named Eric interrupted Jake’s victory lap.

“Hey bro, wanna grab a beer with us and celebrate?” He asked.

“Finally ready to celebrate my accomplishments, huh?” Jake retorted, “Sure dude, I’m down for a couple rounds, you’re buying though.”

“Deal,” Eric said through gritted teeth. He knew it would be worth it to see this through. They both returned to the rest of the team.

“I heard you chumps are buying me a beer tonight,” Jake laughed as the others wore forced grins. “Let’s hit the bar bros, I’m thirsty.”

On their way to the nearest sports bar, one of the players slipped Eric the Bear Brew so he could give it to Jake. He hoped Jake wouldn’y pay too much attention to the label or read the fine print, but Jake already wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed so it’d probably be fine. They entered a local sports bar that had a decent crowd.

“Alright Eric, first rounds on you bro!” Jake announced as he slumped back into a booth along the wall. Eric glared as he made his way to the counter, the rest of the players trying to seem normal and hide their excitement. He brought back a whole armful of cans, passing out beers to the team, making sure to hand Jake the Bear Brew. “Alright boys!” Jake announced to the group, “To victory and my next championship title, you better back me up!” He took a huge sip of the beer. “Damn this shit tastes kinda weird, the fuck did you get me Eric?” He laughed before taking another sip.

Eric chuckled nervously, “Just thought I’d get you somethin’ premium bro.”

“Damn straight you did, I like that kinda talk,” Jake responded, luckily not putting any more thought into the matter. He kept on sipping at the beer, making obnoxious jokes and trying to hit on the waitresses walking around. He felt more buzzed than usual from one beer, and noticed an odd feeling in his stomach. He ignored that for the moment, yelling at the team, “Another round bros! Gotta treat me right tonight.”

Luckily, the team had planned for this and brought extra beers for Jake in case he asked for more. Another player went up and ordered beers for the team, brought them back and handed Jake the Bear Brew again. Jake started chugging the second beer, and he was really starting to feel odd. He was almost feeling drunk from just two beers, and his stomach was queasy in a way he’d never felt before. He took a couple minutes to just lay back against the seat and close his eyes to give it time to settle. But settle it did not, and the feeling eventually became uncomfortable to the point he couldn’t ignore it. He put his hands on his stomach to try and comfort it, but immediately he felt something very, very wrong.

Jake opened his eyes and looked down at his stomach. He nearly gagged at what he saw. Instead of his chiseled abs he now had a pudgy stomach, and it only seemed to be getting bigger. His defined muscles were disappearing behind a thick layer of chub. He was speechless, watching his defined pecs inflating with fat. It looked like he’d been binging beers for years! His perfect workout routine was vanishing before his eyes as his entire body gained 5, 10, 20 pounds. A round belly now stretched his shirt to its limit, with sagging tits to match. It looked as if he’d been dirty bulking for years on end, and Jake was mortified. He glanced around at his teammates hoping no one had noticed his inflating body, feeling his face as a double chin began to form under his formerly tight jawline. He was panicking, trying to keep cool and maintain his cocky bravado while hiding his growing gut.

He could feel every part of his body growing plump and soft, threatening to burst out of his tight clothing. His feet were pushing against his shoes, and even his hands were growing larger. Jake felt sick to his stomach, and without attracting attention he got up and made his way to the dingy restroom in the back of the bar. Out of breath, he put his hands on the counter and stared at his bloated reflection in the mirror. He could barely recognize himself, having put on years worth of weight in the last few minutes. As he watched himself, he noticed some dark spots appearing on his face. Upon leaning towards the mirror, he realized with horror that thick, brown hairs were starting to poke out of his face. They popped up around the sagging edge of his jaw, and began spreading across his puffy cheeks. His upper lip was quickly buried beneath a thick, unkempt mustache as the hairs took over. They crawled down his fat-laden neck as well, reaching down towards his collarbone. His mouth dropped open as his face was in an instant coated in thick wiry hairs. There was no way he could go back out to his team now, what would they say? He barely looked like his old self anymore. 

Jake reached up to feel his newly grown beard, the coarse hairs scratching against his fingers. He tried to come up with a plan, but the several beers had dulled his mind down. Those thoughts were cut short as a sudden itch arose on his chest. Jake started to scratch at it, clawing at his chest before he felt something that filled him with horror. He felt stubble. He tore off his shirt and looked down to see more hairs pushing out of his soft chest, starting between his former pecs and blossoming outward. They grew dense and thick, giving his chest a respectable coating as it stretched out, encircling his nipples. The hairs climbed up his collarbone, connecting with the beard hairs that had claimed his neck already. A line of hairs shot down from his chest to his navel, spreading a new field of hairs on his stomach. His torso itched up a storm as a thick pelt was growing in, but Jake felt a mixture of horror and pleasure as the sensation felt unnaturally good. He groaned watching the hairs grow longer on his chest, curling and tangling with the others.

As he reached up to feel the growing hairs, Jake saw a flash of dark under his arm, somewhere he had kept shaved before. He lifted his arm up and saw thick brown hairs worming their way out from the previously smooth skin. At first it was just a few but as he watched the tuft grew thicker and bushier as the hairs multiplied. The hairs even spread out to connect with the rug on his chest, completely visible even with his arms at his sides. A few seconds later the smell hit him. Those hairy pits reeked! It was eye watering, and he could see the sweat dripping down the wiry hairs as they kept growing longer. The hairs began crawling outside of his pits, wrapping around his shoulders to blanket them in the same thick fur. He looked like he was wearing a hairy shirt, barely able to see the skin under the growing hairs. His new fur continued to spread, as Jake felt the itching engulf his back. He turned in the mirror to glimpse the hairs popping up across his shoulder blades, making their way towards the middle where they met and grew into a thick fur. That fur sprouted down his spine, completing his coat. Above his ass it had grown in particularly thick, suggesting more to come soon. His arms were next, hairs sprouting down his thick biceps, and burying his forearms in a rug of dark hairs. The backs of his large hands were also coated, thick hairs popping up even on his knuckles. 

Despite feeling horrified at what he was becoming, Jake was overwhelmed by immense pleasure from the changes. Every hair that sprouted produced a euphoria like nothing he’d experienced before. He could feel the follicles pushing through the skin as they covered him in luscious brown fur. Something was distracting him from that sensation though, and it was in his crotch. A burning and stretching feeling was occurring down there, and though his heart sank, Jake pulled down his waistband to peek. His previously trimmed bush was pushing out, dark hairs erupting from his groin as they spread like wildfire. The hairs sprouted and grew thicker and curlier as they multiplied, traveling from the base of his cock all the way up and merging into his thick stomach hair. The bush spread outwards onto his thighs, and he felt his balls expanding as they began to hang lower. They too were buried beneath the fur that was taking over his groin, with thick wiry hairs growing all over his enlarging balls. Jake moaned in ecstasy as his pubes kept sprouting, growing longer and bushier. It felt wrong and disgusting but his body was overtaken by hormones and endorphins, the sensation of pleasure was undeniable.

The hairs continued taking over his smooth skin, traveling from his bush down his large thighs, popping up and growing dark and curly. They coated his legs, growing dense enough to darken the shade of his skin as hair sprouted all over his thighs and calves, before reaching his feet. Jake pulled off his shoes that were ripping at the seams, exposing his now size 15 feet. He watched as hairs wormed their way out across the tops of his feet, even sprouting on his toes. His entire body was now coated in thick brown hair, and Jake rubbed his hands through the newly grown fur as he moaned from the sensation.

His moment of pleasure was cut short by someone banging on the bathroom door.

“Hey Jake, you all good in there bro?” It was Eric, eager to see if their plan had worked.

“Uhh,” Jake hesitated, brought back to reality in a flash. “Yea dude, just a little sick to my stomach it’s no big deal, I’ll be out in a sec,” he replied with a shakiness in his voice. He looked at himself in the mirror. What would the rest of the team think? He looked about ten years older and fifty pounds heavier, not to mention the hairy mess he was now. He was unrecognizable as his past self, not to mention that his clothes didn’t even fit anymore. He struggled to put his shirt back on, leaving his hairy belly exposed, before cramming his huge feet back into his shoes. He took a deep breath, and then unlocked the door and walked back out into the bar.

His teammates had gathered around the door, waiting to see what had become of Jake. They gasped in unison as he opened the door, quickly changing to a howling laughter. 

“BROOOO WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“No way it actually worked! I can’t believe this”

“JAKE YOU’RE SO FAT AND HAIRY”

“GET OWNED DUDE”

“That Bear Brew really did a number on you man!”

Jake was taken aback, his transformation had been potted by his teammates! He was stunned into silence, standing there with his half-fitting shirt on as he was laughed at voraciously. Slowly the laughter cooled, and Eric came up and slapped him on the back.

“See you at practice tomorrow dude,” he said with a chuckle.

The rest of the team left Jake and headed out of the bar. He stood there grappling with the reality of his life now, how was he going to go back to everything like this? In the face of overwhelming stress, he decided to put it out of his mind for just a little while. He walked back to his table, picked up another can of beer, and sat down. His life was a problem for tomorrow.

[mynicosensesaretingling]

hi, I saw your latest Nico fic and I finally have the courage to request cuz I guess your requests are open

can you write something in the 2016 prize giving ceremony setting? some cute moments were him and reader are talking and giggling and its caught by the cameras, and when giving his speech after receiving his trophy he mentions some cute moments of him and reader racing related, and for the end can you write smth abt that one pic were his taking a photo of his trophy while in the car and reader is beside him? some moments between them interrupted by their chauffeur?

love your writing and thank you, there's no Nico Rosberg writers out there 💔

A Celebration of Hearts

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

note: thank you so much for your request, I really enjoyed coming up with a story for this one!! (I just assumed this was for a fem!reader , but if I am wrong please tell me and I’ll adjust the pronouns!! ) And it’s my absolute pleasure to serve content for all my fellow Nico enthusiasts <3 i hope you enjoy the story , all the love to ya!

——

The 2016 Prize Giving Ceremony was an evening of glamour and celebration. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as the faces of the motorsport world gathered to honour the year's champions. Among the attendees was (Y/N), a relatively new journalist who had struck up an unexpected and endearing friendship with Nico Rosberg over the past season. Nico, having just announced his retirement days earlier, was the man of the hour, ready to collect his well-deserved World Champion trophy.

As the ceremony progressed, (Y/N) found herself seated at a table near the front, with a clear view of the stage. Given the circumstances, the evening was already a memorable one, but it became even more special when Nico walked over during a break.

"Hey," Nico greeted her, a warm smile lighting up his face as he came to a halt beside her chair.

"Hey yourself, Mr. World Champion," (Y/N) replied with a grin, craning her neck to look up at the blonde. "How does it feel to be on top of the world?"

Nico chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Surreal. But seeing a friendly face makes it a bit more real."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, so now I'm just a friendly face? Last time I checked, I was the journalist who nearly outsmarted the World Champion at the Hungarian Grand Prix."

Nico laughed, shaking his head, before looking down at her again. "You really did give me a run for my money. I think you missed your calling as a strategist."

"Maybe," she replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe I'm just good at keeping you on your toes."

"Mission accomplished," Nico said with a grin, casually plopping down on the sear next to her. "I never knew where you'd pop up next."

"That was the fun part," (Y/N) admitted, a mischievous glint in her eye, as she turned her body to fully face Nico. "Like that time in Brazil when we got caught in the downpour. I don't think I've ever seen you run so fast."

"Hey, I had to protect my hair," Nico retorted, running a hand through his perfectly styled locks. "But I do remember us squeezing under that tiny umbrella. I think I ended up more wet than dry."

(Y/N) laughed, nodding. "We both did. But it was worth it for the conversation we had. I think that's when I realized you're not just a champion on the track."

Nico's smile softened, a touch of warmth in his gaze. "Thanks, (Y/N). That means a lot coming from you."

The pair talked and giggled, sharing light-hearted banter and recalling moments from the season. At one point, Nico leaned in to whisper an amusing anecdote about a mix-up at the Japanese Grand Prix, causing (Y/N) to burst into laughter. Unbeknownst to them, cameras were capturing these candid moments, broadcasting their genuine connection to the world.

As the evening wore on, the time came for Nico to take the stage and accept his trophy. He rose from his seat, giving (Y/N) a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder before making his way to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Nico began, holding the trophy aloft. "This season has been a dream come true for me. It's been a year of hard work, dedication, and unforgettable moments."

He paused, his gaze finding (Y/N) in the audience, and smiled. "I want to share a few personal moments that made this year so special. There was a time at the Hungarian Grand Prix when (Y/N) here – yes, our very own journalist – and I had a little race of our own. She was determined to get an exclusive interview, and I was equally determined to avoid it until after qualifying. It turned into a hilarious game of cat and mouse, and I have to admit, she nearly outsmarted me."

The audience chuckled, and (Y/N) felt her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and pride.

Nico continued, "And then there was the time at the Brazilian Grand Prix when we got caught in a sudden downpour. We ended up huddled under a tiny umbrella, talking about everything from racing strategies to our favourite movies. To me, those are the moments that make this sport so incredible – the unexpected friendships and shared experiences."

With a final nod to the audience, Nico concluded his speech and made his way back to his seat, where (Y/N) greeted him with a beaming smile, a blush still decorating her cheeks.

"You did great up there," she whispered, nudging him playfully.

"Thanks," Nico replied, leaning closer. "I was just trying to impress a certain journalist.”

"Oh, really?" (Y/N) teased, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were just being modest."

Nico leaned towards her, attentive eyes sparkling with mischief. "Modesty isn't really my style, you know that."

(Y/N) chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "No kidding. But I think you pulled it off tonight."

As the ceremony concluded, they made their way out of the grand hall, the evening's excitement still buzzing around them. The cool night air was refreshing as they stepped outside, Nico's hand lightly resting on the small of her back as they navigated through the crowd of people.

"So, what did you think of the speech?" Nico asked, glancing at her with a curious smile.

"It was perfect," (Y/N) replied sincerely. "Heartfelt, honest, and with just the right amount of charm."

Nico's grin widened. "I'm glad you think so. I was worried I might have gone a bit overboard."

"No, you were just right," she assured him, her eyes twinkling. "And trust me, I would tell you if you were too much."

"That's what I like about you," Nico said, his tone softening. "You always keep me grounded."

Blushing yet again, (Y/N) redirected her gaze onto the dimly lit sidewalk in front of them.

Continuing their walk in comfortable silence, it didn’t take long until they reached Nico's car, a sleek black Mercedes, waiting for them by the curb. As they slid into the back seat, (Y/N) felt a flutter of nerves and excitement. The atmosphere was charged with a newfound intensity, their playful banter giving way to something deeper, something she had felt, but never acknowledged before.

"So, what's next for the great Nico Rosberg?" (Y/N) asked, her tone laced with teasing sarcasm, as she settled into the plush leather seat beside the blonde.

Nico pondered for a moment, lips forming a slight pout and his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Well, after this whirlwind of a year, I think I deserve a break. Maybe some time off to travel, spend time with family, and... see where life takes me."

(Y/N) nodded, a gentle smile on her lips as she found herself touched by his openness. "That sounds wonderful. You definitely deserve it."

Nico turned to her, his gaze unexpectedly intense. "And what about you? Any big plans now that you've conquered the world of motorsport journalism?"

A soft huff escaped her lips. "Conquered is a bit of an overstatement. But I do have a few exciting projects lined up. Maybe even a book someday, who knows."

"I'd read it," Nico said earnestly. "You've got a way with words, (Y/N)."

A comfortable silence settled over them once again, as the car glided through the city streets. Nico reached for his phone, raising it to capture a photo of himself with his trophy perched on his lap. (Y/N) decided to lean in, her head close to his, both of them smiling for the impromptu selfie.

"Perfect," Nico said, lowering his phone. Twinkling eyes still focused onto the picture. "I want to remember every detail of tonight."

As they settled into the ride, their conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Nico asked, a playful glint in his eye. "You were so nervous."

"I was not!" (Y/N) protested, laughing. "Okay, maybe a little. You were Nico Rosberg, after all."

"And you still are," she added, her tone turning sincere. "But now I know you're also the guy who runs from rain and takes goofy pictures with his trophy."

Nico chuckled, nudging her shoulder. "Guilty as charged. And you’re the journalist who somehow manages to make every moment memorable. Even though I am still not sure how you managed to sneak into my life like that."

Their chauffeur cleared his throat, and Nico glanced at him in the rearview mirror, then back at (Y/N). "Sorry, we were lost in our own world for a moment."

"Understandable," the driver replied with a knowing smile. "It's nice to see you so happy, Mr. Rosberg."

Nico's eyes met (Y/N)'s, a mischievous glint returning. "Well, I've got good company to thank for that."

(Y/N) felt her blush deepen, but she couldn't help but smile back. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Nico."

"Is that so?" he murmured, leaning a bit closer. "Maybe I should try it more often."

"You might just get away with it," she replied, their faces inches apart.

Nico's gaze flicked to her lips before he pulled back slightly, the tension between them palpable. "You know," he said casually, "I never did properly thank you for all those interviews and articles."

"Oh?" (Y/N) tilted her head, curious. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"How about dinner? Tomorrow night," Nico suggested, his voice low and inviting. "Just the two of us. No cameras, no interviews. Just... us."

(Y/N) felt her heart race at the invitation. "I'd like that," she replied, her voice soft.

"Great," Nico said, his smile widening. "It's a date."

As the car pulled up to her hotel, Nico helped her out, their hands lingering together a moment longer than necessary. (Y/N) felt a mix of anticipation and reluctance to end the evening.

"Thank you for everything tonight," she said, her voice sincere. "I had an incredible time."

Nico's smile was warm and genuine. "The pleasure was all mine. I'm really looking forward to our dinner tomorrow."

(Y/N) nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. "Me too. I’ll see you then, Nico."

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes reflecting the same anticipation she felt. "Goodnight, (Y/N). Sleep well."

With a final squeeze of her hand, Nico watched as she entered the hotel, her silhouette disappearing through the revolving doors. He leaned back against the car, exhaling deeply. This night had been more than he ever expected.

[teeth-farie]

Forty Year Old Virgin

Johnathon Ohnn/GN Reader

Notes: virginity, null spot, hole fingering, dry humping, clothed sex, kinda tribadism, spit, alcohol, spot being pathetic, 3.5k

☞. . . Seems like I’m back from my little hiatus!! I actually started writing this fic yesterday and it’s the FASTEST I’ve ever finished one. I blame the spot server I’m in

Johnathon Ohnn is thirty-eight years old. He knows this because he always liked celebrating his birthday, even if they got less eventful over the years. He still enjoyed the candles and the cake, he still enjoyed how his family would come together to sing for him and how his coworkers would sign a group card. 

Johnathon was thirty-seven when the collider exploded. He didn’t realize his birthday had passed until he looked at a calendar. And really, how pitiful was that? No candles, no cake, not even a sloppily signed card. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he craved normality.

It wasn’t long after that he met you, significantly younger and full of spunk. It made him feel a little youthful again, like he was back in that old dorm room at the shiny age of twenty. Admittedly he didn’t do as many fun things as you did at his age, he mostly studied and contemplated taking Adderall to get through his finals, but he digressed. 

But observing you made him realize just how many things he missed out on during his youth. Sure, he sneaked a couple of his dad's beers as a teen and broke some college lab equipment he wasn’t supposed to be touching, rebellious things like that, but that wasn’t truly living. 

Before, he thought his accomplishments would speak for him; his doctorates and files of studies, his collider. But now, as he watches and listens to the dramatic reenactments of your late teenage hood and early adult life, Johnathon begins to realize maybe science isn’t the end all be all of his life. He realizes that he never went to any parties in college, he never had a quarrel-filled romance his parents disapproved of, he never traveled outside of the country aside from work—and as his eyeless gaze flits downwards, taking in the sight that is you in incredibly short shorts, he realizes another thing. 

He’s never had sex, either. 

It’s not that he didn’t want to have sex, because he really desperately did, it’s more like he never got the chance. Between his academics that shot straight to the workforce and his lack of genuine attraction to anyone around him, it got put on the back burner. 

But now it’s all he can think about. 

He thinks about it when he watches your hands gesture wildly, the way they look so agile yet sturdy. He thinks about it when your shirts are low cut or rising up your midriff. He thinks about it when you stand close to him and all he can smell is you. He thinks about it when your hips shimmy to a song you like. He thinks about it when-

Ahem. 

He thinks. A lot. 

Johnathon has never had a quiet mind, that much is true. He’s never figured out whether or not it was a good thing, but considering how much material his brain has given him for lonely nights, it can’t all be bad. 

Well. That was before the collider blew his dick clean off too. Which was another thing on his long long list of ‘Is living still worth it? I’m not too sure.’ (Except now he finally has a pro on that list, thanks to you.)

He can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous, however, hearing you talk briefly about past flings and relationships. Although he couldn’t exactly distinguish whether or not he felt jealous of your experience, or jealous of the men in your stories. He knows he could be better, even if he had virtually no experience to go off of. Despite it all, he still thinks to himself that he could make himself into someone you wanted, someone good for you. (Though he does also wonder if that’s perhaps his newly inflated ego talking.)

Johnathon sighs and holds his head in his hands. His hand briefly falls through the hole in his face and comes out of his thigh. Regardless of what he thinks could happen and what could be, he knows deep down that you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him. Still, a man is allowed to dream, right?

…

As it turns out, dreams do come true. 

Or at least a drunk, sloppy version of them. 

To be fair, Johnathon didn't think he still could get drunk, so it wasn't his fault that he was a bit heavy-handed with the bottle. It didn’t help that you were so influencing either, all too eager to dump the rest of your bottle down the hole in his face just to see where it’d go. Apparently, liquids dissolved down quickly in his voided body before they could emerge out of another hole. So, he drank. He drank because it was the first time he could feel any kind of normalcy, he could feel like he was human again. Unfortunately for him, he's still just as loose-lipped when drunk as he was before the collider incident. 

You swirl the foamy remnants of beer in your bottle, watching it swirl through the brown glass before swallowing it down with a tip of your head. Johnathon watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow, entranced. You breathe out, satisfied, and set the bottle down on the coffee table amongst all the others. 

“Y’know,” You begin, leaning back against the couch cushions, legs curled up comfortably to your chest. “You’re not as bad looking as you think.” You’re squinting your eyes a little at him, as if you were examining his body. “Lotsa people are into your kinda thing.”

Johnathon’s face hole constricts a little as if he were narrowing his eyes. “My kinda thing? What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“You know! Like…like not human looking.” You’re still looking at him, grinning, fingers picking at the hem of your pajama pants.

He makes a sound like a scoff. “That’s not really a compliment…”

You whine in subtle frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, you have different kinds of qualities. Good qualities.” You poke your finger out at him, jabbing his chest. Your fingertip sinks into one of his inkblot holes and it gives Johnathon a feeling that he knows he’ll be thinking about later tonight when he's all alone. You replace your finger to actually poke his chest now, the smooth, almost rubbery skin of him. He shivers a little nonetheless. 

“What…” he swallows thickly. “What kind of qualities?”

You continue to idly run circles over his chest with your index finger, humming softly to yourself. “I know the regular things, like how much of a good listener and talker you are. You know lots about stuff. And you also are like, super eager to please. That’s gotta be a good quality too.” 

Johnathon looks down at your hand, his black little heart thumping in his chest. It’s almost too intimate for him to bear. 

“Oh! And your holes!”

“My…my holes?”

“Yeah, I bet you can do some crazy things with them.”

“Oh god–” He nearly chokes at the thought running in his head.

“Yeah,” you continue, pulling your hand back to yourself. Johnathon hates how it makes him feel lonely. “I once met a guy who had crazy holes, haha, you could fit a whole fist in ther–”

“OH wow, really?” He quickly cuts you off, his paper-white face flushing a dull blue. He flaps his hands a little, as if it could cool down both his flustering and spiking jealousy. “I don’t think you should k-kiss and tell, right? Isn’t that a thing we’re not supposed to do? Kissing and…telling?” God, he really wants to know what it’s like to kiss you. 

“Oh, c’mon! I know there has to be at least something you’ve done that you just gotta talk about. What is it, huh? Weird partner? Did they have a weird fetish?” You gasp suddenly. “Oh god, a pregnancy scare maybe?…pregnancy fetish?” 

“No, no, none of that!” Johnathon waves his hands out in front of him rapidly, hoping to quell your questioning. “I’ve never uh- never really–”

“What, are you vanilla? Usually, nerds are like, SUPER kinky–”

“I’ve never had sex!” Curse him and his loose lips. 

The air goes still amongst the sudden silence and Johnathon begins to regret ever speaking. Actually, scrap that, he regrets ever being born. Well, it’s actually not like he really had a choice in the matter, but that's beside the point.

Then, you snort a little. “You’ve gotta be joking, right? Aren’t you like, forty?”

His face hole shrinks down nearly to the side of a pinhole in both embarrassment and frustration. “I-I’m not forty! I’m thirty-eight! A-and besides, lots of people don’t have sex until they’re older! Or at all!”

“Oh my god, this is like that one movie, what’s it called, uhh,”

You tap your chin, completely ignoring him.

“I should have never said anything, I’m such an idiot—“

“No, don’t say that!” You poke his chest again, whining when he recoils from your touch. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I’m sorry.”

Johnathon huffs, grabbing one of the half-full bottles and dumping it down his face hole. It scrunches slightly in what you’ve begun to assume is swallowing. You pout and scoot up closer to him. “Johnny…” 

He chokes a little, his gangly body going stiff. “Y-yeah?”

You grab his face, fingers pressing against his pale, rubbery cheeks. “You wanna do it?”

For a moment, Johnathon feels like the world has gone still. Everything is muffled and slow as the realization dawns on him. “Wuh-what?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You repeat, squishing his cheeks after each word like you were making him say them too.

“Yes! I-I mean, I would really like to, you’re so pretty, b-but uh, I’m a little, hah, how do you say it, ohmygosh this is harder than I thought it’d be! Uhm!” He flusters and rambles, hands flapping in front of his chest, and you’re just waiting. You’re looking at him with lidded, bedroom eyes, and Johnathon thinks he finally understands the meaning of that word. 

“I don’t have, I don’t have a penis!” 

A beat goes by, and then another, and he begins to feel like he blew his only shot with you.

“Do you have a vagina? It’s not an issue for me, I wanna fuck you either way.”

Jesus Christ, you are going to kill him. 

“I mean, I don’t have anything.” He breathes out, shoulders deflating. “The uh, the whole collider thing got rid of it all.”

“Oh man, that’s awful.” You pat his shoulder, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. “But, y’know, the offer still stands…maybe we can get a little science-y and figure out how to get you off, eh?”

Johnathon lifts his head and finds you grinning at him. “Science-y?” He repeats, his face hole crinkling like a smile. 

“Yeah, dude! Science-y! Hypothesis! Theories! Quantum holes! Your holes!”

He snorts and it leads into a laugh, a deep belly laugh that he hasn’t been able to do in a while. And really, why the hell not?

His laugh dies down when you get closer, straddling his thighs and seating yourself down in his lap—and god, he can feel those short shorts he loves riding up your thighs and wrinkling against his skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You croon, leaning in and nudging your nose under his chin. If Johnathon still had a dick, that would have sent blood right down to it. 

His inkblot holes quiver amongst his body, undulating and jumping across his skin like microscopic particles, bouncing against each other under a microscope. Your face gets closer to his, lips hovering over the entrance of his face. Gently, curiously, you purse your lips and kiss the voided space. It’s almost as if there’s a thin membrane separating the outside world from the inside of him, cool to the touch and like bubblegum stretched thin. The membrane melds against your lips like it’s kissing you back and when Johnathon shivers, it puckers and purses. 

His hands tremble, hovering above your hips and thighs, as if it’d burn him to touch you properly, despite how much he craves it. 

Your tongue drags over the edge of his face hole and Johnathon practically whimpers. You’re humming softly, one hand idly stroking his arm as the other feels up his chest. He used to be a tad bit insecure about his pudgy torso, but with so many spots, he had other things to outweigh the worry. But now he can’t help but hold his breath, waiting for your approval of his body, the kind he so desperately needs.

“Cute.” You say mostly to yourself, dipping your fingers into a hole in his chest. He sighs out heavily in relief and pleasure, his head thumping back against the edge of the couch. 

“How’s this feel?” You poke and prod into the hole, pressing past the same kind of membrane as his face. Vaguely, you feel your fingertips come back out of another hole, but you don’t focus as much on that part. 

“Good,” Jonathan answers curtly, sucking a breath through his nonexistent teeth. When he exhales, it's shuddery and almost pitiful. “It’s good, it’s like- like there but not,” 

“So you can feel it? What if I do something like this?” Curiously, you curl your fingers in the empty space, and a fuzzy feeling coats your skin as if your fingers were pruning yet stayed completely dry. He yelps loudly, his body lurching and he finally grabs onto you. His fingers dig into your thighs on their own accord and you are absolutely delighted with it.

“Oh god!” He cries, his thighs shifting and squirming under your lap, and you start to feel something poking at your ass. You give a confused hum, lift your hips and look down. Nope, he still doesn't have a dick, but the empty space between his legs has seemingly swollen into a small, adorable bulge. Johnathon breathes out heavily and follows your gaze.

“Wow, that’s so cool…” You reach down between your laps and grind the heel of your palm against the bulge.

He gasps sharply. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Yeah, that’s what I'm trying to do.” You snicker impishly. You observe the way the squishy bulge flushes with color around the surface, almost like a blush. “I bet that feels really good, huh? It’s kinda like you have a really big clit. Sorta” You squish it in your hands and he shudders, shoulders tensing and inkblot shrinking. “Hey, you know what would be fun?”

Johnathon feels a little loopy, his stomach filled with butterflies and his brain thoroughly mush. He considers this endeavor so far to be successful considering the fact he didn't think he still could  feel pleasure. But here you are, proving him wrong once again. 

“Wh-what would?” He finds himself asking, rutting his hips up into your hand like a depraved little thing. 

You don’t answer verbally yet, just sit back down on his lap and rock your hips against his. “If you fucked yourself like this.” Your fingers curl back into one of his holes, running up and down the edge of it. Johnathon melts, blubbering out nearly unintelligible pleas. 

“You can do it, right? I’ll keep fingering you if you hump me like a dirty dog.” 

And oh, that does things to him. He’ll…have to address that new kink later. 

“Yes,” he gasps, grabbing on tightly to your hips and canting his hips up, grinding his bulge against your sex. “Yessss!” He can’t help but cry it out, his smooth head burrowing itself in the crook of your neck from the sheer intensity of it all. The heat of you is almost unbearable on his body, inside his holes. And he really is panting like a dog, he’s humping you like he actually has a dick to work with, like you could grab him and stroke him until he was a weeping mess. 

“That’s it, you don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, right? C’mon, show me what you’re made of, you little nerd.” You’re cooing to him like it’s praise, and with the way you’re stroking the inside of him, pressing your fingers past that membrane and curling until the fuzziness is almost unbearable, you might as well be.

Johnathon moans wetly against your neck, legs widening and hands holding your hips down firmly as he ruts. He grinds his aching core against you, practically delirious and melting with every saccharine whisper in his ear. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you hear him say, muffled against your skin and devious delight spreads through your entire being. You hook your fingers into the hole of his face and he cries out, a debauched “Ah! Ah!” as you lift his head up. His inkblot holes shiver violently, and you hold his face in your hands like he’s your entire world, like he’s the only thing that matters to you.

And then you lean in, holding his face so carefully—

And spit.

The man below you gurgles, your spit falling down the hole in his face as a viscous glob tasting faintly of beer. Johnathon thrusts his hips up once, twice, and he’s cumming. Nothing comes out of him, but you swear you can see the holes of him drooling, dripping liquid dark matter that hurts your eyes a little to stare at too long. Pleasure blooms in you at the sight and feeling of his incessant rutting, your hands petting his head as his first orgasm in so long washes over him.

And finally, he slumps back against the couch, trembling under you, the surface of his face flushed with color. You lift yourself off his lap, your shorts still wet with your own arousal, but you’re not done with him yet.

“It’s no good to leave your partner high and dry, you know?” You tease him, and the realization dawns on his faceless face. 

“O-OH! Oh, I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t mean- that wasn’t my intention at all! Wh-what should I do? What do you like? Oh god, I’m so sorry—“

You quiet him by lifting his gangly legs up, exposing him even further. “Don't worry about it, it’s your first time! That just means I’ll have to use you.” That evil little grin is back as you brace one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushions, slotting your hips against his. Poor Johnathon is practically folded in half, one leg hanging over your shoulder and the other dangling uselessly to the side. 

You don’t waste any time either, you get right to it, hips thrusting quick and hard against his over sensitive bulge. And oh, how he squeals. He’s always been a talkative man, but he never could have anticipated being this vocal. 

“Uhgn! Hah! Mmm-mmph! I-I can’t! S’too much, too much!” He babbles on, sights locked on how your hips connect with his, ruthlessly grinding and rutting and it reminds him of some kind of wild animal. 

“You can, huff, take it. Jus’ a lil more,'' your head hangs low between your shoulders, arousal twining together deep in your gut. Johnathon feels it too, and he feels it tenfold. His body feels like it’s on fire, steadily submerged in pleasure until he’s burning alive in it. He can’t take how you look above him either, so goddamn ethereal, the dim overcast of the tv lighting you from behind like a digital halo, as if you were an angel sent to soothe him after such chaos. Johnathon was never a religious man, but for you, he thinks he could be.

It only takes you a little longer, already so wound tight from before. He’s dangling on the precipice of release again, delirious with lust, clinging onto the back of your neck and tugging you in.

You find your face inside of him when you cum, and somehow the deprivation of sensory makes it all the better, colors popping up in your vision like synesthesia. You can feel his thighs tighten around you with his budding climax, but you can’t see, and you already know how you regret that. You suppose you’ll just have to overstimulate him again one day when he can’t hide himself from your view.

Johnathon goes limp and you’re finally able to pull your face from the inside of his, the dark matter sliding free from your skin like an unsticky slime. It’s weird, but oddly refreshing.

Cum stains the inside of your shorts but it’s the last thing on your mind when you take in the visual that is Johnathon. He practically glows with post coital bliss, seeped back into couch cushions without the tension you’re so used to. 

You let his legs fall back down, slumping into the seat next to him. He hums softly in delight, kinda loopy, entirely pleased. 

“So?” You question him, idly stroking his soft chest. It’s sweaty in its own way. “Was that good for your very first time?” You waggle your brows at him and he snorts, albeit a little weakly.

“Incredibly so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my life.”

You clap happily. “And you’re no longer a forty year old virgin!”

“I told you I’m NOT forty!”

[phoenixyfriend]

HI DO YOU WANT SOME COSTUBE DRAMA THAT TURNED KINDA WHOLESOME

Pt 1: The Drama

Okay so a long-ass time ago (I think like 15 years), a British costume historian on youtube by the name of Cathy Hay decided she was going to remake 'the peacock Worth gown' and started a kickstarter for it. She made a bunch of money, but the actual work ended up being much more than she expected, so the project kept getting delayed.

In the years after, she befriended the now much more famous Bernadette Banner. They got close enough for cross-Atlantic trips to visit, etc. They were best friends and often joked that they were the same person.

Drama started riling up as people criticized Hay for not engaging meaningfully with the problematic history of the gown in question, which had been made for the wife of a British Governor of India during the 19th century, for a party celebrating British imperialism in India, and the gown's shining feature was Indian embroidery which was almost certainly underpaid, and that embroidery was the massively time-consuming bit that had been delaying her this whole time.

It was a whole thing that she sort of? Tried to address? buuuut The thing is, one of the seemingly obvious ways to manage this conflict would be to coordinate with an Indian embroiderer. In fact, a very accomplished specialist did reach out to her about collaborating on this! And she ghosted him! Maybe even blocked, I don't remember, but the thing was that he was ready and willing to do this cool project that could explore and reimagine a beautiful but morally ugly example of their shared countries' histories.

And she just… kept refusing to engage.

And then people started pointing out the weirdly predatory marketing she had for an online product/newsletter she had, and the discourse kept building as people realized overall that she was just… not as good a person as she claimed to be.

It got bad enough that Banner broke off the friendship, in large part because of that refusal to engage meaningfully with the loaded history of the Worth gown project

Pt 2: The Wholesome

So, a few days ago, Bernadette Banner released a video of her making a Regency gown. It's a very standard kind of project for her, just using old patterns and adding a touch of her own gothic tastes with historical methods to make a cool piece of clothing that explores costume history.

Halfway through, she has a call with someone she is planning to do a different video with. We don't know what the video is, but!

The thing is

The person she is having this call with

Is the Indian embroiderer, Mayankraj Singh, that Cath Hay ghosted.

And the video continues on with Banner and Singh talking about her Regency gown project and just. He ends up making an embroidered chiffon overgown with a crow motif. And it just feels very wholesome and I love to see this all coming back around.

(Okay, double-checked and apparently Hay requested a sample from Singh, and then ghosted him after she got photos of it)

In late September, another costumer, Miah Grace, released a video noting that, in 2020, Hay had requested an embroidery sample from with Mayankraj Singh, founder of the luxury fashion brand Atelier Shikaarbagh. Indian embroiderers in this shop possess skills that go back seven generations. Singh reportedly made a sample made but only sent Hay photos of it. After Hay stopped responding for many months, Singh went live on Instagram to explain what happened. Apparently, when his head embroiderer found the sample, he burned it, and scolded Singh for making it. “He said it was an inauspicious design,” Singh said, “and we do not make it anymore.” Hay later apologized to Singh, and he now considers the matter settled. - Craftsmanship Magazine

Anyway, yeah, after all of that from a few years ago, it was kind of exciting to see Banner collaborating with Singh

And she's so excited to open the package! Happy screaming!

It's so sweet.

He had his team embroider their names on the hem And she loves it

I am living for this vicarious excitement

(She does lay it on a bit thick at the end, but you know what. I'll take it.)

OH and the ending involves her attending the ball with Nami Sparrow, one of the creators of Indian background (Indian-American) that was a voice of Expertise criticizing Cathy Hay a few years ago.

Which is like. Tacit endorsement? If Singh alone wasn't enough.

Anyway yeah I lost my mind a little about this.

[lavenderarts]

LRB I’m being so deadass when I say I’m happier and safer and more secure in my relationships for deciding to live by the idea that things that weren’t said to me outright were not said and are therefore not my damn problem. For the first time in my 28 years of life I know people I have never had an argument with, EVER, because when something is going on we talk about it instead and it doesn’t become emotionally heated and hurtful. Like I try to look back and think of a time my best friend hurt my feelings and there just. isn’t one. For the first time, I have no laundry list of grievances I can never address because all the people in my life refuse to tell me when I’ve upset them and expect me to never get upset with them and lash out at me if I ever need something.

I’ve spent my life going from one abuser to the next with no one to truly support or look out for me or tell me I deserved more, I felt like an emotional dairy cow — I was always expected to lavish care and attention onto my ‘friends’ and never get mad at them and just accept it when they lashed out at me for things beyond my control or mistakes they never told me about. I was supposed to take it and continue to nurture, to solve all their problems unendingly, because they were going through a hard time or struggling with unmedicated mental health issues or simply didn’t know how to behave yet so it wasn’t their fault; and if I ever had a need in return I was tossed in the garbage because I was not allowed to want support or care. Do you know how crazy it feels to go from 2 decades of that to suddenly being faced with someone who is proud of you for setting boundaries? To someone who earnestly celebrates your accomplishments instead of getting bitterly jealous that you’re better at something than they are? To someone who defends you when you’re not around and won’t allow people in their life to disrespect you for the sake of keeping peace? To someone who you know, without a doubt, will be in your life forever instead of feeling your grip on a relationship slowly slipping away and everything spiraling out of control around you because your usefulness has run out and you didn’t get the memo you were no longer wanted?

It’s insane. You can just decide, anytime you like, to stop doing the emotional labor of divining other people’s feelings via magic. You can set a standard that people either tell you when an issue has come up so you can properly apologize and work out a solution together or they can solve it themselves, but you won’t be taken to task for problems you weren’t informed existed. And you can simply remove people who don’t follow that from your life. Obviously you can’t be mean and uncompromising — you have to hold yourself to the same standard you’re demanding, and you have to be honest without being insulting or manipulative. You’re being honest for the health of the relationship, not to be unkind. You can still intuit; if I think I might’ve hurt someone’s feelings you can literally just ask. You can say “Hey, I feel like I might have upset you earlier, did I? If so I’d really like to apologize and talk about it a little bit” and that’s not inappropriate. You’ll come across people who REALLY do not fucking like that and will try to make you feel like you’re demanding or dramatic or weird for it — I did, and getting told that I’m “too much” for expressing my opinions confidently and wanting honest communication in my relationships almost broke me — but you aren’t. You’re making a choice that is right for you. People aren’t obligated to stick around if they can’t understand and respect that choice.

I don’t act like this because I don’t trust people, it’s the opposite: I trust other adults to handle their emotions like adults and be able to assess if my friendship with them is worth the discomfort of an open conversation every now and again. I trust my loved ones to tell me if I hurt them and allow me the opportunity to apologize and modify my behavior. It’s because I trust people that I require this level of frankness, and if that trust is broken and I’m not confident it can be repaired, we go our separate ways. Easy.

You can just do all this. You’ll find people who fuck with it. Stop being a fucking doormat and find people who love you, not just how you serve them.

I can’t thank my friends enough for loving me and being willing to be honest with me. I never want to go back to how alone I felt, and being supported and cared for by you makes me sure I’ll never have to.

[kamotecue]

number one rule┆彡 c. nevin

pairing: courtney nevin x reader

summary: y/n raso always had her number one rule, to never date her sister’s teammate, however that all changed when australia’s #2 catches her eyes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“you’re here.” hayley said, as you put your phone back into your pocket, giving your older sister a soft smile.

“i am, i didn’t want to miss the bronze match.” she gave you a soft smile and nodded.

“glad your here, how’s college?” you shrugged, it was an absolute terror, but you managed.

“it’s fine, been busy with the biology assignments. but it’s worth it, i suppose.”

“college football, then?” hayley asked, as you gave her a wince, making her have this questioning look.

“i’ve torn my acl a few weeks back, currently in the process of rehab.” you said, as hayley’s eyes furrowed.

“it’s the first time i’m hearing this.” you gave her a nod.

“i’ve told our parents to not tell you, i’m out for this year’s season.” hayley gave you a hug, as you returned it. she knew what it was like for an athlete to tore their acl, it was torture as they’d be sitting out for months.

you spent the whole morning catching up with your family as you were mostly in the states busy to maintain your school scholarship. hayley was first to leave, giving your parents tight hugs before giving you one.

“cheer loudly for us, kiddo.” as you nodded, she gave you a smile before exiting the cafe. you went through different shops, carefully selecting a gift for your sister.

you watched as the gift got wrapped, thanking the worker as she handed it to you. you gave her a smile before leaving the shop, putting the bag in your backpack for double keeping.

you headed to the stadium afterwards, taking a seat in the family and friends isle. they were against sweden, a team you looked forward to as they had great players.

you kept your eyes on the field, analyzing the starting eleven from both teams which made you wonder.

“busy as always.” your mother said, as she chuckled. you looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, as you hummed.

“you always analyze the line-up, and see how they would play.” she continued as you laughed knowing that she was extremely correct.

it was a whole blur at this point, you watched as frido had scored a goal as it was deemed as a penalty after the pressure from polkinghorne.

the little shove between asllani and gorry had you amused, but at the same time concerned. in the early minutes of the second half, you watched as mary fowler tapped the ball in scoring it at the top right corner.

you cheered from your seat, as the crowd went wild. it was an equalizer, all you needed was for one more point. however, in the 62nd minute you watched as asllani, sweden’s captain hit the shot from just outside the box, as arnold couldn’t get enough to keep it out.

the game ended with 2-1, you watched as hayley sat down on the pitch. the way the swedish team celebrated, while the matildas looked so flabbergasted and dejected at the same time.

you approached the pitch as you felt hayley give you a tight hug, you knew she had tears in her eyes.

“you did well, haz. although it isn’t what you expected, finishing 4th out of 32 teams is a great accomplishment for the team.” you said, as hayley just shook her head.

you gazed at one of her teammates who set their eyes on you. it was their #5, courtney nevin someone you’ve heard about through your sister who’d talk about her teammates.

she furrowed her eyebrows, probably the fact that she’s never saw you before.

“listen to me, haz. you’ve already made a great accomplishment for the country, i know you wanted to win, but you’re also a winner despite the loss today. you played your best, however sweden was the better team today. besides, since when does a raso quit? i thought we never give up.” you said as hayley laughed, gently punching your arm as you jokingly winced.

“let’s meet the team, yeah?” hayley asked as you shrugged.

“you only know gorry, kyra and cha cha.” hayley said as you snickered.

“well, introduce me to them then? they might be my future teammates after all.” you said, winking at the last part.

you hopped over the barrier, landing on your good leg as you approached the team with a smile.

“oh, look it’s little raso.” katrina said, as you laughed at her joke.

“hi, mini” you said, towering over her to which she softly pushed you. but you ended up bumping into a certain person who landed on the ground.

“sorry about that.” you said, which a cheeky grin. courtney gave you a soft smile, before looking at you in the eyes.

“i’m courtney” she held her hand out as you accepted it, pulling her up from the ground.

“i’m y/n raso.” you said, and that’s how one of the best love stories existed. katrina claims that she should be some credits in creating the couple.

[can i just say that this was long overdue?]

[siena-sevenwits]

Goodness of the Day:

Went to the big city for a second day in a row because while he was in the area, Brother Two wanted to go to the dear parish we used to drive out to every week before gas and the carbon tax made it unfeasible. My dad went here in town, but my mom and the guys and I all piled into the van again and had a stunning drive along the highway through the wintry fields. The hoarfrost is thick and glistening atop the snow, and honestly Pinterest could never.

I was sitting in the front pew, directly in front of the Advent Wreath, and of course all four candles were lit, including the one that has been burning at every Mass since December 1st. It had wasted away to practically nothing, and during the Gospel it got altogether too low and the wreath (artificial) caught fire - just a tiny bit. So I leaned forward and blew it out. It was not as subtle as I could have hoped, because the wreath and I were close-ish to the ambo, so everyone was looking that direction anyway, and also the amount of smoke that went up when I blew it out was way more than I expected. Partway through the homily an altar boy showed up to replace the candle with a longer one, so I didn't accidentally set us back one week of Advent. Thank you, altar boy. I am grateful you saved me from too bad of an interference with this time stream we're all in. the whole thing was funny to me.

Really wanted to confess before Christmas, thought I wouldn't have the chance, and unexpectedly did! Very glad.

Bullied my mom into letting me buy lunch for her and another lunch to bring back for my dad. She never wants to let me get away with treating them, so it was a win.

Christmas pudding work was accomplished. More tomorrow. It's a whole process. The fruit is soaking in French brandy overnight. Sounds fancy, but I went for the cheapest I could get that was still a high enough proof that I can also use it to flame the pudding when I serve it. It's not worth making if I don't get to feel like Mrs. Cratchit when I bring it out.

Listened to some short talks by Father Mike Schmitz.

We had the first session of the Saltmarsh Christmas Special! A giant boar attacked a caravan on the road in a snowy forest, and heroics happened. The great beast was dealt with and is being brought back to town for somebody's solstice celebration feast. The villain has quietly made her appearance, and I got way too indulgent about letting certain characters cameo as children (It takes place nine years before our current storyline.) My brothers allowed it. :-)

[one-true-houselight]

Part next ish of Psych fic! Feat. Scared Aro Shawn my poor sweet boy. I might take some of the school stuff from the middle and make another vignette more focused on his ADHD/dad stuff, but I wanted to get this portion done lol.

Gus was feeling antsy as he sat in Calculus, checking the clock every two minutes. There was still 17 minutes left in class; in practice, luckily, there was maybe ten minutes of actual class left. The teacher had long since learned the futility that was trying to keep a couple dozen seniors focused until the end of the last period of the day.

This was especially true given that many of the students had received college acceptances through the past week, and most kids lost all semblance of academic rigor. Gus thought he was one of those kids, making the decision to not finish every assignment in the same class (just most of them), and was ready to be out into the warm spring afternoon.

Despite himself, he was drawn into the last of the lesson, and was surprised when the end of day announcements started playing. He packed up, mind wandering, and his subconscious managed to guide him through dismissal, only brought back to reality when he saw a familiar figure slouched against his locker.

"Hey, buddy," said Shawn, flashing a grin that only Gus could tell was forced. "Can I walk home with you?"

"Like I could ever stop you," Gus joked, then immediately regretted it as Shawn flinched just a little. "Hey, I was kidding. Are you ok, man?" Gus realized that this was the first time he'd seen Shawn in almost a week. The last time he'd seen Shawn was-

Ah. It was when college letters came out. Shawn had been there when Gus had opened his, of course. To Shawn's eternal credit, both his smile and his tight hug had been nothing but genuine when he saw that Gus had been accepted. As much as he might tease Gus for his accomplishments, as much as he could seem flaky and aloof and all the reasons people were always giving Gus about why he should leave Shawn behind, Shawn was always in Gus' corner, no matter what.

Which is why Gus' stomach flipped when Shawn quietly opened his letter, flicked his eyes over the letter, sighed, and started making a paper airplane out of it. Shawn hadn't even wanted to apply, but had acquiesced when Gus had promised to help. Gus thought Shawn's essays were surprisingly salient, but there was nothing either of them could do about his grades.

Shawn had never been a spectacular student, but high school had been a difficult transition. There came a point where perfect memory couldn't save him, especially when he had dozens of half finished essays, posters, and other projects strewn around his room. Gus tried to help when he could, but Shawn more and more told Gus to not worry about it, that 'it wasn't worth it'. Gus started getting a queasy feeling their senior year that Shawn thought he himself wasn't worth it, but once the Spencer's relationship started falling apart, well. Even Gus' mighty intellect couldn't get Shawn to focus on academia.

So Shawn had fidgeted with his denial letter as they celebrated Gus, and at the end of the night, Shawn had given Gus another, tighter hug, and left. Left and, judging from his appearance, went on a jaunt through a desert or something. He looked exhausted, and his hair, which was normally firmly in the 'cool messy' category, had crossed the line into 'just a mess'.

Shawn shrugged as they walked, running his fingers through said hair, helping to solidify said mess. "Oh, you know, doing a little of this, a little of that."

"Did your dad get on you about the college thing?" Shawn looked at Gus and laughed, and it sounded rusty, almost, as if he hadn't made that sound in a while.

"I didn't even tell him I applied. I'm not giving him another reason-" He sighed instead of finishing. "Anyway, I've just had some trouble sleeping."

"What do you mean by 'trouble'?"

Shawn thought a moment. "It's day 3."

"Day 3 of what?"

"Of no sleep."

"Shawn, that's...that's really bad."

Shawn brushed him off, lightly saying, "I've been too busy Footloose-ing it up. It helps, you should try it."

"Playing chicken with a bunch of tractors?"

"Gus, don't be a wombat riding a unicycle-"

"That's not a thing."

Shawn sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I've been wandering the mean streets of Santa Barbara, occasionally breaking out some sick dance moves, because I've been pondering a...personal quandary, I guess."

"And not sleeping?"

"You seem extremely hung up on that fact. You know, humans can go a whole month without sleep."

"That's without food, Shawn. I can't believe you're even standing here right now."

Shawn flicked his eyes away from Gus and said quietly, "I know, bud, I didn't want to bother you with this, but-"

"Again, not what I meant. You're never a bother." Shawn really laughed at that, stopping in place and leaning over until his arms were braced on his knees.

"Wow, you must be worried about me. Never? I'm almost offended." Gus couldn't help the chuckle, and soon they were both standing on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, and things were ok again, for a second.

But then they calmed down, and Gus saw the deep, dark bags under Shawn's eyes, and his worry crept back in. They started walking, and Gus asked Shawn what he needed to talk about.

"Yes. Ok. Yes. You know Abigail?"

"Lytar? The girl you've been low key harassing since the start of the school year?"

"I've not been...ok, maybe just a little. Look...ok. You know when you see someone, and you're like, 'oh yeah, that's a hot bod', and your oats get all bothered?"

"I hated every word of that description, but...I guess?"

"Ok, so then, you know how sometimes, rarely, you also get a...desire to like...settle down with them? Write awkward poems and all that stuff people are always confessing in the rain in movies?"

Gus stared at Shawn, confused. "I mean, yeah, of course. Romance and stuff."

"Yes! That stuff!"

"I don't think that's rare, though."

"I mean, not being romantic, sure. It's part of the dance, person, queen, goddess, person again. Perfectly reasonable. But you don't...it's not..." Shawn groaned, aggressively rubbing his eyes before continuing, "When I look at her, when I talk to Abigail, there's this vertigo in my stomach, and all the sweet gestures feel like a need instead of a want, and it's terrifying."

Gus didn't know what to say for a while. "I mean, I get that with all the girls I've liked, I think? Like butterflies in your stomach."

"All of them? All of them, you've felt like the world was ending if you didn't get to hold their hand, or whatever?" Gus nodded. "And you can function? Feeling like that, all the time?"

"I mean, I guess you...get used to it?" Shawn laughed, but the mirth was gone. Gus countered, "Shawn, I think you're stressed. You've liked loads of people before."

"Ok, yes, but those were all the hot oats! I would remember...whatever cereal this is."

"Have you not been eating either?"

"Unimportant."

It was Gus' turn to sigh. "Alright Shawn, let's get you some food, get you some sleep. Maybe you'll feel better." Shawn gave a noncommittal shrug. "And for the romance thing? Why not try telling Abigail how you feel, instead of just cycling through niche movie references and your usual self-aggrandizing schtick?"

Shawn looked at Gus, eyes slightly wild. "Do what now?"

"Tell her all the nice, sweet stuff, instead of me."

"You're saying you don't like my sweet stuff, Gus?" Before Gus could smack Shawn, a low hanging branch did it for him, and Shawn almost fell over. "Ok, yeah, maybe I need some sleep."

"You know that's right."

A few months later, Gus was lying in bed when he heard a sound from his window. It rang out two more times before Gus managed to make it over and see Shawn standing in his backyard, his nice outfit (relative to Shawn, at least) crumpled. Gus snuck outside, and was finally close enough to see the tear tracks on Shawn's face.

"I couldn't do it, Gus," he said, voice raspy. "I saw her on the pier, and she was so beautiful, and I thought...I was so scared. And I couldn't stop wondering, what was wrong with me, that I felt like this? Or didn't feel like this?" He swiped at his eyes. "She deserves better than me. Everyone does."

Before Gus could speak, could reach out and say anything to calm his friend, Shawn muttered apologies and ran from the yard. The next day he was back on Gus' porch, cocky smile firmly in place. And Gus couldn't find the words, so he didn't, and the two spent their last few months together before Gus had to go off to school, leaving Shawn...

Gus knew Shawn would figure it out. He always did.

[itsclydebitches]

I think one of the things that bothers me most about the way RWBY has handled the whole b/umbleby thing is the fact that volume 9 kind of puts paid to the idea that their relationship was a 'slow burn'.

If it were a slow burn, if their relationship had been steadily growing and changing over the past few volumes and according to their experiences, then that burn ultimately resolving and becoming explicit and them getting together would have been a significant milestone that changed things between them so completely they could never go back to how things were before.

But... nothing changed. If you took out the confession and the kiss and Ruby's (understandable) anger... you'd never be able to tell anything had changed between them. They have the same level of physical affection and tenderness they've had since volume 6. They don't talk to each other any differently. There's been no change in their behavior, no evidence they are now a couple in a way that they were not before except their one single kiss. And that's just deeply unsatisfying to me.

This criticism popped up after the episode aired and I came across a couple of posts that, with lesser and greater respect, pushed back against it. One in particular was rather snide, asking what RWDE folks expected to change: for them to be kissing non-stop? Declaring their undying love at ten-minute intervals? Pulling out a ring for marriage? People are still themselves while dating, you know. Besides, they're a little busy at the moment!

Now, I personally believe that yes, there should be changes to their behavior. I likewise believe that this could have easily been accomplished if a) Blake and Yang hadn't already gone through the physical displays of affection that RWBY uses to confirm a romantic relationship (primarily hand-holding) and b) if they hadn't jumped straight to "I love you." Removing the numerous moments of hand-holding since Volume 6 would have left that as an easy, visual indicator of the change in their relationship (rather than the confusing "So are they canonical or not??" we got for three years). Likewise, having them admit to having a crush could have opened the door to actually dating which in turn could have eventually led to the big "I love you" moment. That's how you do a slow-burn post-confession: breaking up all those relationship milestones and thus making time for the characters to run into obstacles and celebrate the success of each step forward. The way bumblebee has been written, it simultaneously feels far too slow (why did it take 4+ years for them to admit they like each other?) and simultaneously way too fast (they don't actually admit that they like each other, but that they're IN LOVE).

Beyond what all might have been added though, I think it's worth considering what might have been lost in a better written romance. Slow-burns, as mentioned above, thrive on obstacles. There has to be a reason why the characters don't get together, whether that's internal ("I'm too afraid of commitment to date them") or external ("Our families will lose their shit if we date"). Seriously, this is like writing 101, yet Bumblebee gave us NOTHING. For literal years there was no reason, internal or external, why they couldn't/wouldn't admit to their feelings, which not only begs the question of why in the world it took a magical prison to force them to confess, but ensures that their relationship doesn't change as a result of that weight being lifted from their shoulders. If Blake was scared of what it would mean for her to love a human, or if Yang was scared to commit after losing so much else in life, or if there was homophobia to deal with in Remnant, or if they both wanted to wait until the Salem fight was over, or if they honestly didn't realize they had romantic feelings, or if one of them needed to come to terms with being queer first, or if there was a literal curse at play that hindered the relationship somehow... there are a HUNDRED ways to provide obstacles and the removal of any one of them would have changed both the character(s) and their relationship with each other.

Not to continually bring up my blorbo Trent Crimm, but Ted Lasso does this beautifully. With the removal of his obstacle (inability to admit that he's gay) Trent becomes a radically different person from who he was in Season One; a more authentic person. His style changes, he smiles more, his conversation becomes more "dorky," and his relationships with the rest of the cast likewise develops. What would Yang look like if she went on a journey of coming out as queer? What would Blake look like if she kept her activist roots by fighting for the right to date a human? How would they both act post-kiss if they'd been afraid, for whatever reason, to show that level of affection in public before? Something like holding hands could have been a radical act -- it IS for real queer people!! -- rather than a generic, cutsey detail we've been getting for years now.

Instead, as you say, anon, literally nothing changes. I am 99.9% convinced that Ruby wouldn't even know Yang was now dating Blake if they hadn't exited the storm still kissing because them sitting close and occasionally holding hands has been their norm since VOLUME SIX. Nothing changes because RT didn't do any of the work to write an actual, romantic relationship. They wrote a couple of years worth of implied queerbaiting and then confirmed it when it looked like RWBY would be cancelled. We don't know anything about them in regards to romance and/or sexuality. When did Yang realize she likes girls when she started the series only appreciating guys? Is Blake expected to marry anyone in particular given her status as the pseudo-princess of Menagerie? Have either of them ever been in a relationship before? Do they have any idea what they want out of a relationship? Does the fact that they're on a supposedly doomed quest with their world hanging in the balance have any bearing on their long-term plans? There are fictional couples who avoid admitting feelings because of the presumed hopelessness of their plot and there are those that grab at a relationship and hold on with both hands because they're determined to live and love for whatever time they have left. Bumblee offers none of this. Their love exists only between the two of them, primarily off-screen, separate from both the plot and the rest of the cast.

The fact that Yang never once talks to Ruby about her feelings and then the Volume drops Ruby's annoyance really says it all. Of course nothing changes. RT doesn't want to write a Blake/Yang subplot. They just want to have a queer couple among the main team to bring in viewers and sell merch. The fandom has done ALL the work to make Bumblebee a nuanced, heart-felt love story. It literally, barely exists on screen and what little we have gotten often makes no sense. They hide their feelings when they have no reason to. Yang is worried about a fight with Blake that never happened. They both say they love things about the other that sound like a list of generic Good Characteristics, rather than traits that actually align with these characters. They're caught kissing thanks to the magical world they're in and the characters treat this as a given, giving the story an excuse not to engage with their reactions because again, the story isn't interested in that. One reaction is tossed in for the drama? Don't worry, the tree will cure Ruby of her understandable anger that Yang is more concerned with holding Blake's hand than her sister's tragedy-inducing depression. Everything is only canon in the moment.

Outside of the kiss checkbox there's no romance here and, thus, no reason to show its development. All RT needed was to get one kiss on screen and then boom, their merch sells out and (they hope) Volume 10 is greenlit. Don't get me wrong, I'm still pleased it's actually confirmed now, but it's nevertheless the fans who are doing all the work to make this an epic love story, not the writers.

[smexy-fish]

Is Moana Capitalist Propaganda?

With Moana 2 coming out in a few days (rumour has it she might literally be coming out), I thought it might be nice to cast our minds back to the first one (first released 8 years ago now…) and consider whether the film itself is a subtle vehicle for capitalist propaganda.

Disney has been historically critiqued as a multinational conglomerate who's sole purpose is to create childish animations mass-produced for private profits.

Moana was revolutionary, not only did it celebrate Polythesian culture, but Moana was also the first Disney princess to have a normal body shape, rather than the typical pinched waist of most Disney characters. This was an enormous breakthrough as Disney's princesses and increased Disney's visibility and consumer base.

However, Disney seems to be monopolizing on the stories of Polythesian culture for personal gain. Their artistic representations have been appropriated to attract audiences and increase merchandise sales, and Disney is the largest merchandise vendor in the world.

Moana's journey prioritises individual agency and self reliance, she is constantly berated by those around her for attempting to leave the island and even suppose that there is another, better world out there, but she choses instead to restore her island to its former glory, in line with the capitalist beliefs that one's personal efforts can drive societal change.

Maui also holds seemingly capitalist principles, his achievements are what makes up his self worth. Maui's rediscovery of his purpose through earning back his magical fishhook, emphasise that personal accomplishment are central to his identity. This aligns with the capitalist ideals that value is derived from one's personal contributions and success, rather than the success of a community.

Tamatoa, the coconut crab most famous for Jemaine Clement's Shiny, exemplifies consumerism and the desire for the biggest and shiniest treasures out there, similar to how corporations thrive off advertising and marketing 'must-have' products. His character aligns with how corporations such as Disney, emphasise exclusivity and luxury: the allure of possessing the very best.

Moana's community thrives on collectivisation and collaboration, key communist ideals, yet Disney's portrayal of them shattering as soon as Te Ka, the film's main antagonist, has had her heart stolen, implies that if power is in the wrong hands, a seemingly harmonious world can crumble. This draws on the idea of how many communist ideas seem perfect in theory yet are unable to be executed due to mankind's desire for power. Te Ka's rediscovery of her old self, Te Fiti, who previously embraced freedom and discovery, links to Jean-Paul Sartre's idea that we are 'radically free' and to deny our radical freedom is bad faith.

This can also be seen in the portrayal of Moana's father, who in his youth also longed for a similar freedom yet after the death of his friend, developed aquaphobia and forbade his people from venturing beyond the reef. Although freedom may be messy, humans value their right of choice, even though it comes with certain responsibility.

We can also link this to Sartre's ideas of existence over essence, since we have no creator, humans are not born with a predetermined purpose; instead, they must create their own meaning. Moana's internal struggle—torn between staying on the island to fulfil her expected role and venturing into the unknown to forge her own destiny—mirrors this existential dilemma. Ultimately, she chooses to forge her own path which suggests that she wants to be more than just one of the many (emphasised in the scene where her father shows her the rocks of the fathers before him), she wants to break free and become her own self.

It is only through Moana's independence and self determination that the heart can be restored and the community, and individual action is emphasised as the catalyst for communal success which endorses capitalist values over collective problem solving. Her community also remains passive throughout her journey, once more amplifying the independent voice as a means of restoration.

At the end of the film the people of Montunui embrace Moana's independence and start a life of their own, yet this could also draw on themes of human's exploitation of the natural environment as they begin to cultivate more and more of the earth's resources.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I knew I was going to cry at Defying Gravity, but I didn't know I'd cry THREE TIMES.

tl;dr Wicked is something Special, as always.

I saw the movie today... (Spoilers below, probably.)

Putting down the times I cried to simultaneously celebrate Finding My Emotions again, and recording what resonated with me most at this time of my life. And, well... Most of my life, really. I don't think it is as much My Story as it was when I was a teenager. Not the beginning, anyways... But it still hit home hard enough for me to cry three times.

==> I ALMOST started crying at "No one mourns the wicked." Because the whole story poses the question of, "Who decides what's wicked?" Who deserves to be mourned? Who chooses? Who deserves to be loved and who deserves to be spit on?

Having been told most of my life that I deserve to be spit on, even knowing deep down that I don't deserve it, by my stepmonster of course but also my peers, at times my siblings, and even my teachers at school, it really hits me hard that people can just DECIDE you have no worth, and will ACT on that, and that doesn't mean you DESERVE it, and it's INFURIATING to me whenever people treat someone who doesn't deserve it with that kind of scorn.

Also, I love Elphaba, I love her to the core, I appreciate her, I WAS her, I hate to know how they hate HER.

1.) But I did cry tears (so many tears) at the song about The Wizard and I (its title eludes me atm). Having just read the book, I had it fresh in my mind, so very fresh and raw like a wound, exactly how that meeting with The Wizard goes. The lies, the betrayal, the disappointment, the horror. The fury. It was the dramatic irony in its cruelest form, knowing this character had so much trust in her future only for me to know it will crash down around her.

As my mother put it (she was also crying), "She has so much hope. And look what they do to her."

Also the lines about (paraphrasing) "he'll see my worth and know I'm not just a freak." That's a secret dream I had for so many years, to be loved for who I am despite the Weirdness. That was a pain I felt, being ostracized and still standing strong, but I always hoped to meet SOMEONE who'd see my worth despite it all.

I did eventually, and I love you guys for it dearly. (Mags, Icarus, Siren, you guys were a dream come true for me, do you know that? Link and Teri and Robyn, Lapi and Caleb, you weren't among that first wave of friends ever, but I cherish you dearly. Thank you for seeing my value despite all of us knowing there are those who would scorn us all for the reasons we made our friendships!)

2.) I cried at the song about "I'm not that girl" (again, can't remember if that's the title or not). Not necessarily because I relate to its romantic inclinations, but I know the feeling of not feeling like you're good enough. Knowing others prefer Other People over you. Knowing you're not anyone's favorite; knowing you can try and try, but you can never compare. (paraphrasing) "Don't hope too hard, don't forget who you are." Always less than, always a freak. It hits me DEEP.

3.) Defying Gravity, of course. I can be sitting at work keying in names and numbers when that song pops up on Spotify, and then I will be at my desk crying. "I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game." "I'm done accepting limits, just because someone says they're so."

And "Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I lost. Well if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost!" "And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free!"

Especially this line: "So if you care to find me, look to the western sky!" I long to sing it with my full chest at work.

The DEFIANCE! It's in the song title! The triumph! The return of HOPE! The self-determination! The FREEDOM!

I've just spent so much time being put down by people and fighting to rise above it, to make my own choices, to face the people telling me "You'll never accomplish anything" and PROVE to them I can do it. I WILL DO IT!

Specifically now it brings to mind a certain personal endeavor that shall not be named because I know how many people feel about it and frankly I don't want to meet that here, but even my dearest friends most often tell me to give it up or refuse to support me.

I have to be the wind in my sails, my wings against the gales. It gets exhausting but my GODS, I can't deny it's FREEING.

"To those who'd ground me, take a message back from me: Tell them how I am defying gravity."

I'm going to do it, "and nobody in all of Oz, no Wizard that there is or was, is ever going to bring me down."~

And gods, the way the movie ARRANGED that song! It did split up the last couplets, which I feel detracted just a LITTLE from the emotional catharsis of the last verse of the song, but the whole rest of it was so emotional and so well built-up and GLORIOUS. The whole song through, I was WILDLY emotional!

And oh my gosh, they both sing so well in the movie and I love them for it, but Elphaba's last vocalizations in Defying Gravity are ICONIC and Cynthia Erivo's voice was PHENOMENAL on it! Gods it was GLORIOUS.

And, I mean, the whole movie was fun and emotional and creative. I've never seen the musical (though I got the Broadway original cast recording CD at an estate sale about 20 years ago, so I know the songs). I don't know Exactly how much was drawn from the musical. (Quite a lot, given what I know from the songs and what I know with the book fresh in my mind. Where the songs conflict with the book, it did choose the musical's canon.) And I do so love the songs! At the beginning of the movie, they had a little thing that said "No singing", and I was like "That's going to be the hardest part for me."

I was, however, tapping my foot and mouthing the words. And at Defying Gravity, I was BOPPING.

((My mom and I are thinking about going to a performance of the musical in June-ish! We just... both have to do some Serious budgeting. Long drive, expensive tickets...... sigh.))

Anyways, I really enjoyed it. I really thoroughly enjoyed it! The love triangle with Fiyero is a bit tired and unnecessary for me; I much prefer the book's version of that one. But aside from that small complaint (that I'm so used to lodging anyways), this whole big story spoke to me in so many ways.

It did NOT feel like nearly three hours of movie!

I mean, part of the reason I cried so easily was probably because one of my chinchillas died last week, and, you know. Grief for me burns low and slow. It's long, and it aches and it aches and it aches. I always Almost Cried when I was at work, or in public, but couldn't. So maybe that was a factor in the Massive Amounts of Waterworks... I think I needed to cry.

But it's still a story about someone being ostracized, finding friends, finding out There Are Troubles In The World, and doing what she can to stop them. It's a story about realizing the authority you trust isn't what you thought and hoped and dreamed it would be, and a life being taken apart by hearsay and vengeance and lies.

It's so much of my story, in essence...

It's getting better now. The characters I related to so much before age 25 aren't practically narrating MY life anymore. Things are changing. Slowly, painfully... They are changing.

*I* am changing. I always had Elphaba's spunk and struggles with emotional intelligence. Wearing ostracization with no pride, exactly, but being independent enough and strong enough to push on despite it. To still be firmly grounded in myself. The sense of justice. Right and wrong. The urge to Do Something About It. The righteous fury of knowing you've been wronged. That same for others, too, and wanting to right the wrongs they've been dealt.

Now I have more grace, more diplomacy. More patience, to be sure. (...sometimes.) I have a better handle on Holding Conversations and Dealing With Offenses and Slights. I know how to rein in my tongue (at least sometimes) and I know how to turn my fury at injustice into action instead of aimless raging.

But I don't know that I'll ever forget What It Felt Like to Be That, either.

So yes, grief or not, I'm certain I probably still would've cried at least once.

[chronicmigrainetime]

im terrified.

I ve had this for over three years, its constant. its pain, tinnitus, noise sensitivity, the insomnia, the muscle tension, the brain fog. its the occasional immobility. the rare paralysis. its spending three days not being able to practice basic hygiene or eat

I’ve just graduated from uni. Everyone I talk to tells me that Im amazing for even getting beyond my first year with my condition (I started uni within 8 months of me getting migraine). They say I should be proud of myself and I am but

This last year was so hard. My depression is at an all time high, I wake up and go to sleep anxious. My pain was so bad. I spent 4-6 weeks bedridden and alone

How am i supposed to enter the workforce?

I know I’m capable, logically speaking I graduated with a law degree in a debilitating condition. I managed to do quite well for myself despite spending essentially 5 weeks completely incapacitated so part of me knows I’ll be okay.

I also know how bad it gets, how bad it was in the beginning, how bad it was during those weeks, how bad it was just at the end of last year, how bad it probably will be despite my every precaution.

if you have any advice Id greatly appreciate it. I know i need it.

Hi iselenris, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. It is scary, and I can understand why you would want to scream into the void about it. I have given it some thought and hopefully I can say something helpful, or at least provide some comfort that you’re not alone.

I can really relate to a lot of what you’ve said here. I became incapacitated by chronic migraines at the start of my second year of uni, had to take a year out and then came back part time. I did eventually get my degree (in physics) but it was a real struggle and incredibly detrimental to me physically and mentally.

Now you and I are both out here with prestigious degrees that we worked really hard for and that we can’t put to use. I agree that it is a tremendous accomplishment and I think you should be proud of yourself, but I also understand the hesitation to celebrate fully. We put ourselves through hell to get here, and that’s not sustainable. So what do we do now? And if we can’t do the thing we wanted to do with our degree, why did we put ourselves through all that?

It’s now two years since I graduated, and I still haven’t ‘entered the workforce’, which is maybe not the most hopeful thing to hear, but I do think in that time I have found an answer to those questions.

My answer to ‘what do I do now?’ Is to make you and your health your top priority. I get the sense that you know that this is a crisis, I think it’s a good idea to treat it as one.

I don’t know your situation so I don’t know how possible this is for you, and maybe this is a frustrating thing to hear, but my main advice on how to do this would be to stop for a while. If you keep going when your body is telling you to stop, eventually it will force you to stop, y’know? Unfortunately, stopping obviously requires outside support, but if you have that now is the time to use it. If you are in a position where you don’t have to work, don’t, and if you’re not, find something that uses the minimal amount of your energy while keeping you afloat. If you have the option of someone else making your meals, take it, if not make your meals as easy as possible. In any case my advice would be to use the time that you have stopped doing other things to:

Rest without feeling guilty, you are doing the work of healing

Unlearn the idea that your worth is tied to your ability to work, you are enough just by being you

Take note of how your body is feeling and respond to what it needs

Prioritise yourself and your body’s needs above any “shoulds” and “oughts”

When you do have the energy to do things, focus on the things that bring you joy or make you more comfortable

Learn about your condition(s) and the things that might help you

Decide what kind of medical care you want to try and get (if any), and get the ball rolling on it

How long will it take to feel well enough to come out of this recovery state? We cannot know. But I know that (thanks to a combination of all of this, and finding some medications that work for me) I am feeling better than I did a year ago, and much better than I did two years ago. I may not have ‘entered the workforce’ but most days I know I can do the work of being a person (which is not an insignificant amount of work!). On the good days I can even imagine getting a job again, and then I’m glad I did finish my degree, because I know it will still be there when the good days become frequent enough for me to use it.

If you are looking for advice on the more medical side of things I will point you to this post, this resources list, and the #ajovy tag on my blog. I can also give more specific advice on navigating medical things if you’d like, but I don’t want to do that unprompted.

I hope that some of this is helpful to you, and I hope you are able to find some improvement. Be kind to yourself

- C

[sherlollyandspoilers]

We're worth it, Chapter 26, March 6th

Chapters 1 through 25 of We’re worth it can be found here Here be Dragons is the original fic that this fic is a companion piece for - HBD timeline: Chapter 18,before the Epilogue

“Sherlock, you have been quieter than usual this morning,” June pointed out. He gave her a questioning look. “Would you like to share what’s going through your mind?”

He rolled his lips in as he sat up straight, hands till clasped together in his lap. “I had a stag night over the weekend.”

June looked between Molly and Sherlock, but Molly looked confused as to why he was bringing it up and Sherlock was clearly still working his thoughts out in his head. “How did it go?”

June could see that Molly was working something out for herself as well. “You got drunk?” Molly finally asked.

“I don’t know that I should have,” he said quietly, still not looking at her.   

Molly reached out and touched his arm. “I’m not mad at you for it.”

Sherlock looked at her hand and then up at her. “I know.” She squeezed his arm gently before dropping her hand. “Besides, it is always clear when you are mad at me.” A cheeky smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned to look at June again. “I worry that without all of my faculties about me I could potentially make a disastrous decision.”

June nodded, doing her best to connect the dots. “You are worried that being drunk could cause you to relapse and let your family down again?”

He gave her a curt nod. “I haven’t had my individual session this week yet, but I plan to discuss it more in depth.”

“I think that is a good plan.” June turned from him to Molly, “For now, Molly, you say you aren’t mad about what happened?”

She shook her head, “No, not at all…in fact I remember thinking to myself that I was glad alcohol wasn’t his drug of choice.” She paused and turned to him. “I typically try to stay out of your recovery therapy stuff, but will you talk about trust tomorrow?” A look of concern flashed across his face, but he nodded yes instinctively. “Not regarding me trusting you, but you trusting you.” He nodded again, a look of understanding now on his face.

“It’s been over a year, now, yes?” June asked

“14 months.” He nodded. “It was a year on my birthday.”

“Ahh, someone got reengaged that day, overshadowing the important milestone.” She smirked at them both.

“I do feel a bit bad about that, actually,” Molly looked apologetic, but Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at her. “A year is quite an accomplishment, and we didn’t even acknowledge it, let alone celebrate it.”

Sherlock smirked, “We did celebrate that night.” June giggled as Molly’s face warmed. “Honestly,” he said after a moment, “I wouldn’t have necessarily wanted to celebrate it.”

“No?” June asked.

“Sobriety is something that I need in order to be the person my family needs me to be – I don’t want to be celebrated for doing something that I should just do.”

“That’s a very mature way of thi – ” June started but he interrupted her.

“I want to be celebrated for my extraordinary accomplishments, like being the one and only consulting detective in the world.”

“Lord.” Molly and June shook their heads at him. “Ever humble, honey,” Molly patted him on his knee.

[tea-and-secrets]

I worry about my future, but what I’m able to accomplish and what others think I can accomplish. I think I compensate for other people, so as to not feel their judgment. I allude more to what my future may be, I make it vague when I myself know it is clear, I say I have more options but I do not want those options. I’m afraid my Dad will give up on me. He’’ll think it wasn’t worth it, and after the many, many times I said it wasn’t, he might actually believe it. I’m scared my sisters will think I was pathetic for not trying, but I’ve tried, and I still am, working hard, doing my best, But I wonder if best is enough, maybe their best is better? Maybe my best isn’t even half of what they are. And then the age old question I’ve faced for half my life comes running back, just as it knows the road is clear for it to reign freely - why can’t i be like them? Though I know the answer to this question, I feel it in every conversation, every hangout, every fight, every celebration, it’s so easy to ignore, yet I feel so guilt ridden to do just that, like I’m not honest, with them, with myself, like im not telling them that im not what they think,that im not them, just a failure. I hate to cry about old wounds, but scars are lasting and this one hurts even after the 9th bandage shoved its way across my stomach, im sick. and tired. of feeling like im not one of my sisters, like im not smart, or pretty, or sensible, or funny, or like if i acted like myself than i would be the farthest thing from what they are. I’m so scared. What if one day they leave me alone again? What if they make me hate myself again? What if they think i deserve to feel that way again? I know i don’t. But do they? Do they convince themselves that ive changed? Ive become one of them? I wish, i wish so badly that i could be like them, so pretty, so smart, so sensible, so funny, i wanna be like them, i convinced myself for years that i just had to try harder and i would be if i spent years convincing myself i could be all of that on my own. But i dont know. did i waste years obsessing over being one of them, or being a perfect version of myself and now im neither? Im not sure, i dont know, and i'm so scared im gonna end up like 6 years ago - hating myself, and praying to god i could be them so i would love myself. I attempted it you know? I actually tried 3 times, and failed 3 times evidently with the way im writing this 6 years later. I wonder if i thought itd be like this, i feel a sense of clarity knowing that im not that anymore, not despising myself anymore, but i wonder, if it’ll all come back. I learnt in society n culture that the theory on change is that it might be linear or circular, i think its circular, history repeats itself constantly but at the same time we dont regress in our most advanced institutions. i don’t know if nursing or the way we medicate changes in 30-50 years but i don’t think we’ll go back to believing we should leave it upto god. not to say god isn’t who we should depend on, i am faithful, when it comes down to science or philosophy, god rules everytime. But that doesn’t mean human concepts aren’t futile on me, in the wise words of Lessons in Chemistry - Religion is the why, Science is the how - and like all things i believe, god is involved in every step of evolution and change and repetition and that they are things that happen through the power of god and the lack of from humans. The point is, we’re ever-changing for the better but we will repeat ourselves, our mistakes, our decisions. So what if my self hatred is just a repeating cycle, waiting for the next obstacle to let its self out? If so i think id rather of killed myself 6 years ago,

.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #60

Journal Entry #59 // STORY INDEX

Yuri

At the beginning of September, Victor and I moved into our forever home.

We thought we might go in the middle of the month, but I knew Victor wanted to have time to begin training with his new coach before the start of the competitive snowboarding season, and I wanted to be settled into our house in time to celebrate my birthday, so I suggested that we should arrange to go sooner. Victor seemed surprised, but he was pleased, and it made me happy to offer something he genuinely wanted without feeling like I was doing it as some sort of repayment for an imaginary debt I owe him.

That's one truth I've come to realize over the course of this year; the debt really was imaginary. Victor loves me, and he does things for me because he wants to help me and make my life easier. He never expects me to repay him deed for deed. All he wants is for me to do my best to help him whenever I can.

Sometimes my best is quite a lot, and sometimes I’m not physically capable of doing much of anything. Either way, it’s okay. Not being able to do everything all the time doesn't make me a bad person or a failure as a husband, and I'm beginning to understand that it was only my insecurity and lack of self-worth that made me believe it did.

Learning to trust myself and to believe in my own abilities and my value as a person hasn't been easy. Some days, I struggle to find even one affirming thing to say, and that's when I know I need to ask for help.

Doing that was difficult at first, because I had to get over the hurdle of thinking that asking for even the smallest thing made me a burden to Victor or my family. Releasing the guilt and shame is an ongoing process, just like teaching myself to be more positive and self-confident is, but I'm determined to succeed. I owe it to everyone I love, and I owe it to me.

When I can't come up with an affirmation, Victor always knows what to do. Rather than simply saying something good about me and asking me to accept it, he challenges me to name something I accomplished during the previous few days. It might be something big like planning and cooking an entire meal on my own, or maybe it'll be something small like folding laundry or sending an email, but there's always something. Then, he gets me to stand in front of the full-length mirror in my room and congratulate myself aloud.

Initially, that felt like an utterly silly thing to do, but Victor told me his first coach used to get his students to do it before competitions. He said the coach used to tell them to look at themselves in the washroom mirror and tell themselves things like, “I am brave and I am strong. I want to win, but even if I don’t win this time, I won't give up trying.”

Now I look forward to my little early-morning pep talks. As ridiculous as this may sound, these days it actually feels good to look myself in the eyes and say something like that, because it's not just a rote exercise any more. I am brave and I am strong, and even if today's not my day, there's always tomorrow. It's an effort to pick myself up and keep going, but I won't quit, not when I've gotten this far.

Honestly, the thing I’m most proud of lately is eating. I still don’t really love consuming most foods, but eating feels less stressful to me now, and most of the time I’m able to look at food and think about eating without becoming anxious.

I'll admit, I have moments when I wish I could go back to formula and not have to put anything in my mouth. I still have my tube, and fresh formula is only as far away as the pharmacy, so the temptation is certainly there. When I feel like that, I have to remind myself of my goal and push through as best I can. Victor encourages me on my bad days too, and I always look at my sticker chart to remind me of the progress I've made so far.

Yes, for those who may be wondering, we did bring my sticker chart with us from Japan. Mama rolled it up and put it in one of those cardboard cylinders normally used for maps or architectural plans, and I carried it with me on the plane. it's hanging in our kitchen here in Willow Creek now.

If you're looking for an update on it, tomorrow is the twentieth of September — my twenty-sixth birthday, incidentally — and I'll only have twelve more days to go before I can say I've been formula-free for sixty consecutive days.

I’ve earned four small rewards so far, and in a couple of days I’ll earn the fifth one. I already know what it is, but Victor says we can’t bring it home until I complete this current ten-day stretch. It’s garden boxes, by the way. My previous reward was gardening tools, and the one before that was a book about growing vegetables.

I won’t be able to start my garden till next spring, but I’ve already picked out a spot for my boxes, and having the things now means a lot even if I have to wait to use them. Choosing what to grow and reading up on the best cultivation methods will keep me busy during the winter, and then I’ll be ready to plant my little crop when the time comes.

Victor says strawberries do well in this climate, so I think they’ll be first on my list. I’m already imagining eating strawberries I nurtured myself. Do you think love and hope will make them sweeter?

I haven’t even planted them yet and I have a whole multitude of emotions about them. Mostly, I’m excited. I’ve always wanted my own garden, but I pictured it as flowers, not vegetables and fruit. The idea that we have room here for both makes me happy, and I can hardly wait to grow my favourite Japanese lilies and hydrangea alongside my strawberries.

Anyway, please excuse me for getting slightly off-track. I was trying to tell you about my progress. Day sixty will be October first, and then I’ll get the big reward. I know what that’s going to be as well, and it is very big. Victor told me this morning. I guess he couldn’t keep the secret until my birthday, which is when he and my parents had evidently planned to tell me, but I forgive him. It was still a fantastic surprise, and to be fair, it’s a gift for both Victor and me, so I can’t blame him for being enthusiastic about it.

I’ll tell you exactly what it is in my next entry, but suffice it to say, keeping my eyes on this particular prize is going to motivate me through the next fortnight.

Unfortunately, even when I reach the sixty-day mark, I'll still have my tube for a few more weeks because my first appointment with Dr. Kim, my new specialist here in Willow Creek, isn't until the twenty-second of October. Meanwhile, I'm still having follow-up by way of video conferences with my nutritionist back in Kyoto, and Dr. Kasongo is technically still my doctor. When I finish my sixty days, I'll get to report my progress to them, and then Dr. Kasongo will probably write a letter to Dr. Kim to tell him I'm ready to have my tube removed.

Apparently, he can do it right there in his office in about five minutes. From what I understand, he'll numb the area with an injection of some sort of local anaesthetic, maybe something like the dentist uses, and then when I can't feel anything, he'll pull the device straight out. He'll put a dressing on the area, and we'll have to watch for any signs of infection for a week or so until the tube site heals closed.

According to the information sheet I read about G-tube removal, I'll have to rest a lot and eat several small meals of bland foods like rice and yogurt for the first forty-eight hours after it comes out, and I'll have to take showers instead of baths until the hole closes, but that's about it. It's not even supposed to be particularly painful. I'll have a scar, of course, but I can live with that.

Victor says it’ll be my badge of honour, a tangible reminder of having survived one of the toughest situations I’ve ever experienced.

“It’ll prove you’re a warrior,” he told me. “You fought the battle, and you came out on top. That’s the thing with courageous people, you know. They might be scared, but they don’t let their fear win.”

I will never, ever let my fear win again.

But, you’ve probably had enough of me going on about my health at this point, haven’t you? Let me rewind and tell you a bit about our lovely summer and about our move instead.

The biggest highlight of the summer for me was having everyone I love most all together in one place. I didn't think Victor would agree to stay at my parents' house. When Papa invited him, he said he'd have to think about it, and I was convinced he'd say no, but I'm glad he decided to take Papa up on his offer in the end. We shared my old room, and even though we’re married and it's totally normal for us to sleep in the same bed, somehow this felt like I was a teenager having a sleepover with my boyfriend every night.

Victor and I spent a lot of time together, going for long walks and visiting parts of town we hadn't seen in a while. We went to the public onsen in Kiyomatsu several times, and we visited the local shrine. On sunny days, we usually packed our lunch and ate it down by the lake. I've taken a liking to eating outside, and now I want a picnic table in the back yard so we can enjoy meals outdoors here as well.

Aside from our dates, picnics and leisurely walks, Victor and I also made time to hang out with our friends. I'm relieved to say, Fox forgave me for the horrible way I treated him. He seemed a little perplexed by my apology at first, not so much because of what I said but because of the way I bowed to him. Takahiro had to explain it to him, and then he ended up making a wholly unnecessary apology to me for the cultural confusion.

While I'm on the subject of Taka and Fox, I should mention that Taka passed his immigration English test. He also got accepted into the college program he applied for, and received his study permit in August. In a cosmic stroke of good timing, Taka's Canadian study permit arrived on the day Fox's Japanese work visa expired, and they left Japan together a few days later.

Back in the winter, Victor and I offered to let them stay with us, but a lot has changed for all of us since then. We were supposed to have arrived in Willow Creek ahead of them, but obviously that didn't happen. In the meantime, Fox was busy applying for jobs back home, and he got offered a social worker position with the Department of Community Services, beginning in September. He has a Master's degree in social work, so the offer was ideal, as the position is exactly what he'd trained for.

Fox's parents still aren't speaking to him, but his sister hasn't abandoned him. She helped him find an apartment that's affordable, close to the college so Taka can walk to school, and on a bus route that'll take Fox downtown to his office. They stayed with one of Fox's cousins for a few weeks until the old tenants moved out of the apartment, and then they moved into their place around the same time we moved into ours.

I can't even begin to describe how reassuring it is to have my friend Takahiro nearby, and he confessed that he felt similarly about me being here. As safe and content as we are with our respective partners, it's daunting to realize we're in a whole new country without our families and all the things we're used to. There's no escaping the fact that we're newcomers, but it's less scary knowing we're not alone in the experience.

I wish I could say things were going as well for Seiji as they are for Taka and me. Victor and I took a weekend trip to Kyoto in July, and we decided to visit him while we were there. We got the impression he didn't really want to see us, though, and we only stayed at his flat for about half an hour because the atmosphere was so awkward.

We made a lot of small talk, but he did tell us that he hates working at the convenience store and is trying to figure out what to do next. His mother wants him to come home and be her apprentice, but he said he can't picture himself as a tailor. That statement, when the only real furniture we saw in his flat besides a shikibuton, a thrifted table and two rickety chairs was a purpose-built desk with a sewing machine on it, was incongruous. But we didn't question it. Seiji is the only one who can decide which direction he should take.

Victor's theory is that Seiji does want to come home, but he's too embarrassed or ashamed to, after leaving the way he did. If that's the case, nothing we could've said would have convinced him anyway. He'll have to make up his own mind to set aside his pride or fear or whatever else may be holding him back.

It makes me sad to think of him being all alone in that bare, depressing flat. Despite all the hurtful things he said to me, I still consider him my friend and I want him to have a full and happy life. I'd like the chance to talk to him one-on-one, to explain some things and to let him get his feelings out. That may never happen, I realize, but I like to think I'm keeping the door open for the opportunity, should it ever arise.

The uncomfortable meeting with Seiji notwithstanding, Victor and I had the most magical weekend in Kyoto. We revisited all the places we went to during the week we'd gotten married. On one evening we attended an absolutely glorious performance by a local string quartet, and on another we went skating at an indoor rink where I was able to teach Victor a sporting skill for once. Would you believe I'm a better skater than him? Well... perhaps not better, but more graceful at least.

As for the rest of the summer, August passed in much the same way as July, with plenty of walks and outdoor meals and precious time with my family. One thing of particular note from August, however, was my meeting with Mr. Tanaka and the human resources representative from our firm. Dr. Kasongo submitted a report to our HR department recommending that my short-term disability claim should be extended until the end of the year. Her opinion is that I'll be medically ready to return to work in January, and both my boss and the HR department approved the extension.

I'm looking forward to getting back to work, but I'm also glad that I'll have the rest of the year to keep getting better. I was working remotely before, but now I'll be working extremely remotely, and I think it's great that I get to keep my old job even though I'm living in an entirely different country. Much to my delight, Mr. Tanaka seems to think so as well. He said it was a chance he couldn't possibly pass up because with me being fluent in English and physically located in Canada, our firm will be in a much better position to attract more North American clients. Mr. Tanaka said he'd contact me early in December to work out a schedule for regular meetings, and so we can discuss my job duties and responsibilities going forward.

Although he didn't directly say so, I think he may have given me a promotion of sorts. I'll be sure to let you know if that indeed turns out to be the case.

The other big thing in August was that Victor and I departed Japan on the thirty-first. We said our goodbyes to Mama and Yuki at home, and then Papa took us to the airport.

I could not have predicted how emotional that would be.

Papa and I have grown close this year, and I wish I could find the right way to express how much of the previously empty space in my soul he's filled. I knew I was missing him all those years when our relationship was so strained, but I could not have comprehended exactly how much until we both dropped our stubborn pride and opened up our hearts and minds to each other. Saying goodbye was even harder than I expected, and even though I knew it wouldn't be a permanent goodbye, part of me didn't want to let go.

He went with us all the way to the security area. We all stopped outside the big glass doors, and Papa held out his hand for Victor to shake.

"Take care of yourself, Victor," he said. "And take care of my son."

"I'll take the best care of him, I promise," Victor assured him. "Don't worry."

"I'm going to, regardless," Papa said. "But, I trust you."

"Thanks." Victor grinned mischievously at him. "But, you know, if you ever want to come check on him in person, you're welcome to visit us whenever you're able. We'll offer you a non-haunted bedroom."

Papa smiled. "Expect us for Winterfest, and tell Miss Sachiko that we wouldn't dream of taking her room."

"Will do," Victor said.

Then, Papa turned to me. For an instant, I thought he was going to shake my hand too, but at the last moment he pulled me into a hug. I can't remember the last time I was hugged by my father and didn't feel uncomfortable with it, but I had no problem this time. I put my arms around him and held on tight.

"We'll see you in a few months," he whispered into my hair, and I was startled when I realized he was crying.

But I guessed I couldn't fault him for it because my eyes certainly weren't dry either. "I'm really going to miss you."

"Me too," he said. "Think of me when you’re having your strawberry milkshakes."

"I'll think of you every day, no matter what I'm doing. You and Mama and Yuki."

"I love you, my treasure," he said quietly. "Be brave. Mama and I believe in you, and we know you're going to have a wonderful new life in Canada."

I was sobbing by that point, but I managed to get out, "I love you, Papa."

I meant it. Watcher help me… with every fibre of my being, I meant it, and I hadn't even grasped the full magnitude of my love for him until that very moment.

When he walked away, I couldn't watch. Victor held me while I cried my heart out, right there in the middle of the crowded airport.

"It's gonna be okay, Yuri," Victor said. "He's right, you know. We're gonna have a wonderful life."

It was hard to believe that when I felt like my heart was breaking, but once we were in the air and away, I began to feel better. On the plane, we looked at pictures of various places around Willow Creek that we'd taken back in June, photos of Dr. Grace and Dr. Julian's wedding, and some funny snaps we'd taken of ourselves and Yuki in my room at my parents’ house. We talked about our plans and dreams, and we made up stories about ourselves in the far future. Cute old men in rocking chairs on our front porch, Victor said, and the image made me smile.

We arrived at the tiny Willow Creek airport around mid-morning the next day, where we were met by Victor's mother. She drove us home, and as we were getting out of the car, she handed Victor a set of keys.

"Here you go," she said. "Your grandpa was supposed to be here with the set you gave him, but apparently he and Juliet went on a spur-of-the-moment road trip to Oasis Springs. He said to pass along his apologies. He’ll be here next week."

Victor looked amused. "How much you want to bet they're eloping?"

"Victor!" Dr. Grace exclaimed. "Michael wouldn't do that."

"You don't think?" Victor's raised eyebrow said he might've known something his mother didn't.

Dr. Grace shook her head. "You're impossible, you know. You and your Grandpa Michael.”

"Yeah, we get that a lot."

"Well, I'll leave the two of you to settle in," she said. "Come over around five o'clock. Julian's making his famous chicken parmigiana."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Italian food," Victor replied. "I think you'll like it."

“Strawberry cake for dessert,” Dr. Grace added. “Because I heard somebody around here really enjoys strawberries.”

Victor winked at me. “I wonder who that could be?”

“I’ll see you boys at dinner,” Dr. Grace said

She wished us a good day, and then she got back into her car and drove across the street. It's nice, living across the street from Victor's mother and stepfather. I know Victor's happy about it, and I like knowing we have somebody close we can rely on if we ever need anything.

Once Victor's mother had left, I was ready to go inside. I started for the doorstep, but Victor held up his hand to stop me. "Just wait right there, okay?"

"Why?" I asked, as I watched him bound up the steps.

He unlocked the front door and flung it wide open before rejoining me on the walkway. "Because," he said. "I'm gonna carry you over the threshold. Isn't that what they do in those historical movies you like?"

I laughed. "That's for newlyweds, Victor. We've been married nearly a year."

"Yeah, but we didn't have our own house when we were newlyweds, did we?"

"Are you certain you can even still lift me? And your arms—"

"My arms are fine, and you're not that much heavier than you used to be. If I can't still carry you a few meters, I think that'll be a sign to go harder on the weight training."

"Okay," I said. I was a little dubious, but also secretly thrilled at the thought of being carried. It'd been a long time, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it.

"Okay," Victor said. "Ready?"

I nodded, and a second later he scooped me up as seemingly effortlessly as he ever had. He carried me up the steps and through the door, and then set me down carefully in the front hallway.

"Welcome home," he said.

I wanted to run through the place and look at everything, touch everything, and soak in the knowledge that this was our home. Mine and Victor's. It was the place where we'd truly build our intertwined lives, where we'd finish growing up and growing old together. Our goals and dreams would spring from here, and we'd live happily ever after because even if the world around us was in chaos, happiness comes from the inside. Victor taught me that, and once I finally understood it, my outlook changed completely. Life may not always be smooth sailing, but together we can survive any storm and come out smiling on the other side of it.

Before I ran off to explore every corner of the house and garden, there was something I needed to do.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me. For being my soulmate and my superhero and my... everything."

Victor leaned down to kiss me, and I let myself melt into his embrace. I closed my eyes, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of coconut sunscreen and relishing the solid warmth of his body against mine. It was comforting and familiar, and it felt like the fulfillment of all my desires. For a moment, I forgot that I was in a foreign country, forgot that I had responsibilities... forgot everything that wasn't the sensation of being held by my husband.

"You are the most amazing person," Victor whispered with his lips still almost touching mine. "I'm lucky, getting to share the rest of my life with you."

I'm the lucky one, I thought. I don't know if I'd even be here to recount this to all of you if it weren't for Victor. I know he'd never take credit for saving me and would probably say I saved myself, but I couldn't have done it without him. I no longer think of repayment, but it's still important to me to show gratitude for everything he's done, and I think the best way I can do that is to appreciate the life he's helped me reclaim and live it to the fullest of my capability.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him one more time and then, hand in hand, we set out to acquaint ourselves with every detail of our beautiful new home.