#lort help me i have read for pain

[riddlemethisbatboy]

Love Jason Todd x Reader

This song is stuck in my head like my hair is stuck to my scalp. Gods help me, oh lort. I’m not really confident in this but I’m posting it anyways because someone else might like it. That being said I hope you lot have a wonderful day or night and as always Happy reading!!

Edit: I forgot to say yesterday but this story is for @electra-writes33 she got sick and I wanted to make her feel better ahsbbsbfbbd ily bestie)

Look at you kids with your vintage music coming through satellites while cruising, you’re part of the past but no, you’re the future, signals crossing can get confused yeah.

You sat in the passenger seat, belting the Eagles and Elton John. Your fingers intertwined with those of the man you love. It’d been a long day, you both needed a minute alone. This being true neither of you wanted to leave the other’s side. It was weird but you both dug it so who else cared? He turned the radio down a bit, then looked over to you. His emerald eyes studying rigorously the very finite details of yours. He smiled, then looked back to the road ahead. His hand never left yours the rest of the ride.

You headed up north, hoping to find better booze in Canada. What a time to be alive, you both agreed. It was either that or a beach trip. In the frigid January weather, the booze cruise sounded better. Leave it to Jason to pick side roads and scenic stops along the way, such a romantic when he needed to be. You took your hand back to look something up, a hotel or something. He pulled over at a gas station. That trip meant the world to you, looking back.

Though it’s enough just to make you go crazy, crazy, crazy sometimes. It’s enough just to make you feel crazy.

You’ d moved in together, hoping for a more domestic life. This ideation was short lived, given his alter ego’s agenda. Tears threatened to fall as you stitched up yet another gunshot wound. He joked, trying to lighten the mood. Said you could become a private nurse with the amount of first aid you’d done. Any other time, you would’ve laughed. It was pure torture to see the one you fell for in such a state. Bloodied, beaten and covered in bandages and stickers. Things were getting harder to deal with, but you didn’t want to just give up.

“We need to talk,” you started, finishing up his patchwork. “Real talk, babe.”

“Yeah,” his voice was gruff and tired, “can we do it tomorrow? Kinda hard to stay focused right now.”

“Fine, go rest up.” You masked the pang of sadness with a callous tone.

You get ready you get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular, back to work or the coffee shop, doesn’t matter because it’s enough to be young and in love, to be young and in love.

A few months brought no doubt, more pains and aches from the one you promised forever to. The stress was beginning to eat at you but you couldn’t talk it out. It was damn near impossible to talk anything out with someone who nearly constantly suffered from blood loss. You did the best you could, carried on with tremendous weights pressing down on your shoulders. You couldn’t do anything more, you loved the man too much.

Finally, you got your time to talk, “I’m leaving.”

“What,” he dropped the dish in his hands. “We can talk it out.”

“When I wanted to you blew me off,” your words rained down like liquid fire scorching everything around you. “I have stitched and patched and bandaged you up. I have tried so hard to keep you okay, but you never are.” There was a sullen sorrow in your voice, “you never are and I… I just can’t take anymore.”

“Baby, please,” he rushed to your side in time to catch the dew drops falling from your chin. “If it means that much to you, I’ll take some time off. We’ve been together so long.”

You were subdued once more by that charismatic man, “let’s go on a trip or something.”

Look at you kids you know you’re the coolest, the world is yours and you can’t refuse it. Seen so much you could get the blues but that don’t mean that you should abuse it.

He’d been gone for two months straight. You moved in with his parent, hoping to find solace among familiar faces. Instead you took up helping Alfred cook and clean, much to his happiness. Jason strolled in, unscathed for the most part, and shattered the glass in your hands. You flung yourself into his warmth and practically melted in the embrace. The glass would be missed but you were more important.

“Where the hell,” you began to scold, “have you been? I’ve been worried sick for you!”

He patted the back of your head, still holding you tight in his arms, “that doesn’t matter. I’m here and.. I haven’t been the best to you.”

“I don’t care,” you cried, peppering his cheeks and smothering him with months of affection you’d kept safe. “I helped make pot roast. Did you know there wasn’t any pot in it??”

The man of your dreams laughed, as did his family and you. That night was spent under the glow in the dark stars pasted on his childhood room’s ceiling. After breakfast the next morning, you and the love of your life headed to enjoy a day at the beach. You offered the family to join, and that they did. A vacation to exotic lands was taken. There in the light you were dancing barefoot on the white sand of a private beach. It felt amazing to have a sense of togetherness, especially with the early spring sun warming your faces. Any blues you felt while your love was away had been replaced by such a tender happiness.

Even the world noticed, in all her glory, that you shone brighter than the sun with him next to you. Photographs and videos would forever hold the smile that graced the Earth. A few days brought him the courage to get down on bended knee. There was tropical music in the air, a rush of wind laced with coconut and plumeria. Everything was perfect when you cheered yes. You wasted no time leaping into his arms with excitement and glee.

Though it’s enough just to make you go crazy, crazy, crazy. I know, it’s enough just to make you go crazy crazy crazy.

The wedding attire fit you like a glove, your family and his waited for you to walk into the chapel. Rose petals and rice were scattered before your feet and for once you felt like royalty. Your whole life had been leading to this moment here. Where your hands and his became one an you exchanged vows. Everything went accordingly and you couldn’t ask for more. A long time ago you’d have run, but today you felt the world smile upon you. It cried tears of joy from the sky as you said I do, and the rest... The rest was history.

I get ready, I get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular. It doesn’t matter if I’m not enough for the future or the things to come cause I’m young and in love. I’m young and in love.

[maybeitsfriendly]

MBTI type the Fruits Basket characters please? :3

Anon…thank you for asking me my favorite type of question… I am sorry for the late response… But here you go~

Some of these I’m less certain of than others, but I love doing MBTI chart (hi, INFJ here). I can get deep into why I chose these for each one – I’m not out here to do some arbitrary typing. You came to the right place. But let me do it under read more because I don’t want to be that bitch. Also because my analysis will involve spoilers.

Tohru is 100% ENFJ - I will accept no criticism on this decision. She gets her energy from being around others, she sees the big picture in everyone she meets - looking at what they could be rather than the specific things they’ve done, I shouldn’t have to explain how feeling she is, and she’s very plan-oriented. She may “go with the flow,” but it’s never without structure.

Yuki is very ISTJ. His happy place is a garden. Just because he wants to be social doesn’t mean he can’t do it as an introvert. He sees things as they are. He acts based on what he thinks is the logical thing to do, even if the logical sometimes involves what will feel best in the end. He also never goes with the flow lmao. Except with Machi but we will get there.

Kyo is very ESFP. He’s always sought social interaction. He views things very as-is. He is very feeling and very sensitive. His decisions to listen to people only comes when it’s based on feeling. He went off into the mountains for months to hide from his pained emotions and escape himself due to the guilt. The boy couldn’t make a decision based on logical thoughts over feelings to save his life, @ me. Also going into the mountains to hide from yourself is both an example of how he’s P not J - and also a mood.

Shigure is ESTP and this is one of the ones people might fight me on but come at me. I don’t need to explain what an extrovert the man is. The S/N is one that could be debated, but I feel he’s always focused on the specific details that will lead him to achieve his goal. He only sees one big picture, and that’s his plan to make Akito his. Everything else is a stepping stone, viewed as is. The T/F also follows that logic. His one drive for feeling is Akito. But he falls distinctly into T because of that. He’s far, far less considerate of everyone else’s feelings, only concerned about how to get Akito. He’ll step over anyone to do that. It’s all calculated. The P should be obvious, the man is an irregular mess.

After getting the main 4 out of the way I’ll try to condense these next ones into just explaining the interesting/less obvious decisions. Sorry I’m long winded.

Uo was hard to decide with T/F because of her choices with Kureno but I ultimately went with T because of her childhood actions. She could kill her feeling to survive. The rest is more obvious.

Hana I don’t think I have to explain at all, really. Except you may have written her as thinking because of how stoic she seems. As if her choices we see don’t all revolve around Tohru smh.

When I realized Haru was an INFJ I felt so happy because we’re so underrepresented. He’s an odd INFJ though - especially because of Black Haru, but he’s just a fucked up abused INFJ.

FINALLY THE INTJs HAVE SOMEONE REPRESENTING THEM THAT ISN’T EVIL I’M HAPPY FOR Y’ALL. I shouldn’t have to explain though.

Akito is a fucking mess of a P. Who also can’t see the big picture to save her life - the damn S she is. T/F is very much where I was at odds with myself here. Some of these characters are so fucked up they just don’t fit the norm for any of the typings and Akito is one of those.

Ritsu is kinda obvious too. A literal, introverted, emotional, all over the place mess.

Kisa is kinda hard to place definitively she needs to grow into herself again.

Machi is INTP and like, the I is obvious. The T is clear to me because of how she was able to try and become “perfect” to abide by her mother’s will. She tried to follow logic presented by parent. Her ability to see why that would be the logical thing is why she’s an N. Also her seeing her hated concept of “perfection” in everything is a very big-picture, not literal kind of thinking. The P is kinda for similar reasons to above. Anyways I love Machi and anyone who disses her can catch these fucking fists.

Momiji being an ENFP is very, very obvious to me. Side note: Ayame is also an ENFP.

Y’all may really disagree with me putting Kyoko as a T. So lemme take a sec and explain this one. The E and N should be obvious. An extroverted, not seeing the individual things right in front of her kind of person. Not seeing what’s right in front of her should be really fucking obvious if you know what happened post her husband’s death. The P should be the most obvious decision - she’s all over the place so much of the time. Her decisions are so at-will. Now lemme. Explain. The T. My dad is a pastor and he identifies as a T that uses the logical thinking to help people. His logic may deal with feelings, but it is logic based. Spare her moments of insanity, I feel like Kyoko is the same way. She did what she needed to in order to survive. She does what she needs to to keep Tohru alive. She gives Tohru so much logical advice related to feelings. To not judge people, to see things a certain way, to be sure to finish high school. She is always thinking of the way to achieve the best life for herself and her daughter. This is all why I put her in T. She’s very middle ground though, between the two. I just think she’s like my dad, and uses her logic for feelings. Not feelings for logic.

Kagura is ESFJ but J is the only iffy letter there. I just don’t see her as go with the flow, she has a plan and her plans revolve around Kyo. That’s why she’s F though.

Hiro’s only not obvious letter is N instead of S, but I chose N because of the scene where he tells Akito about his feelings for Kisa. He wasn’t thinking about the in the moment. He was thinking about big picture. That’s why.

And that, anon, is probably more than you even wanted. I’m sorry the INFJ in me just popped out and I wanted to psychoanalyze everyone. Lort I need to finish rereading so I can respond to other anon’s LOADED question in my inbox about Shigure. It’s so loaded I can’t answer without rereading. I’m so glad to be a voice in this fandom though thank you guys for liking my thoughts afjlwajfa

[jogginwithjess]

JOG BLOG MONOLOGUE

It was Monday, September 9th, 2019. I had exactly 19 days to train for what I estimated would be one of the most grueling physical challenges I had ever faced. I had donated to enter a 5k fundraiser run for St. Jude’s in honor and memory of my sweet cousin Abbi. There was no way I was going to be able to merely walk the course. Not when I was part of a team representing such a fighter. I decided to start running as often as I could, introducing my muscles gradually to the pain so I would be prepared. You should probably know, by “running” I mean floundering along until I gasp to a walk, clutching my stitched side, wondering Dear Lort, is this the day You take me home? By “prepared” I mean, so I would not pass out after barely making a mile, thus requiring me to feign a heart attack to avoid embarrassment. You see, I am not a runner. I do not enjoy this. I have ridiculously long, knobby colt legs – good for absolutely nothing. I can’t even keep up with my sister when she is on a Target mission. I employed the best motivation I knew how to acquire... inviting my military buddy to join me. Because I KNEW she would blow my meager efforts out of the water and, since I am sickly spurred by a lifetime of abject failure to find perfection, I resort to negative reinforcement. Shush. It works for me.

I had one more secret weapon, however. A weapon so delightfully sinister in nature that I’m not even sure I should share it with you. Because with this weapon in your hands, you could turn from a mere couch potato level nerd...to a semi-buff nerd who actually ventures outdoors. Fast forwarding to the current global crisis, I can see the need for new ways to achieve fitness goals in this scarred and slowly re-emerging post-apocalyptic landscape. Therefore, I will share with you this little gem I discovered with the help of a friend. I mentioned one day, the only way I would ever be spurred to run on purpose would be if I feared for my life and was trying to evade a horde of ravening zombies. He said, easy, they’ve got an app for that. I was incredulous in belief that such a thing, seemingly a figment of my vivid imagination, could exist. He screenshot it to me and thus, in a flurry of wonderment, my enduring relationship with Zombies, Run! began.

Developed by stroke of genius, this app combines fitness goals with collectible items, an engaging storyline, buildable interactive base and, best of all **drumroll please** ZOMBIE CHASES. Oh yes. You read correctly. Suddenly and without warning, a little blip will sound and a voice will intone the undead is near and it’s time to run for your life. It doesn’t matter how tired you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re about to cross a street. It doesn’t matter if there is a grandma pushing a stroller dead center in your path. When you hear that alarm, you RUN. I don’t want to brag... but in my 9 months of owning this app, I have NEVER been caught. I’m sure the day will come and you, my reluctant reader, will have to comfort me in the throes of that depression. All this to say, if I can do this, with no passion or real dedication to running, just for the fun of it – so can you! My children have joined me on various occasions, and I’ve inspired 2 friends so far to try this incredible app as well. I created this blog to showcase some of the most phenomenal local jaunts and hopefully get others to join me on this quest for health and wellness. Much to my chagrin, I will post my run stats at the end of each entry and hope my transparency will encourage others as they surpass my attempts. I will also encapsulate the beauty of the locales in which I run with photographs, as long as you don’t judge me for the blurry nature of those snapped hurriedly whilst evading the clutches of sheer terror. Welcome to my little world.

[seasless]

OK, I SWEAR TO THE LORT that someone posted about a Marvey/Beauty and the beast crossover thingy on @parabatez about a library and I wrote this for that, but I cannot find the post, so if it was someone else, or you know what I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit appropriately!

Anyway. Here’s the shmoopiest hurt/comfort fluff. 

--

Mike checks his phone for the fifth time in twelve minutes.

”Come on, dude, it’s eleven o’clock. PM, you douchebag!”

"What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You told me to ‘go the fuck away.’ You don’t get to be pissy now, princess.”</i>

“I am your goddamn boss. I will be however the fuck I want. This is as much your case as it is mine, and you’re the one who screwed the pooch, so you get your uppity little ass to my condo with those notes or you won’t have a job to come back to.”

Mike breathes deeply. “I’ll be over in thirty.”

It hadn’t even been that much of a fuck up. He’d get the signature. He just hadn’t gotten it today. Harvey’s been avoiding him so much he hadn’t managed to mentioned they were on a timeline. How was Mike supposed to know?

It’s not the kind of neighborhood where people sit on doorsteps, but Mike’s feeling salty about being chewed out, threatened, and then stood up on a Friday night, interrupting a standing date with his ratty couch and a six pack of shitty beer, so he plunks down on the edge of one of the giant pots holding the plants that guard the building’s entrance with a huff, which is when a rough voice says, “Get your goddamn ass off my planter.”

Halfway through, “Technically it’s not your planter,” Mike chokes. “Oh my god, what happened?”

Harvey sneers. “I tripped.”

“...In front of a bus?”

“Go away.”

“You just threatened me into coming over!”

“Kind of obvious plans have changed,” he grits, struggling to dig his keys out of his pocket while holding his ribs together with the other arm.

“Here.” Mike jumps up. “Let me.” Harvey jerks away from him, but jars something in the process, badly enough that Mike doesn’t even have to be quick about reaching into his coat and withdrawing the keycard. “After you, princess.”

Mike's pretty sure he's not invited in after Harvey. He goes anyway.

The front desk guy is nodding off so Mike flashes him a smile and steps forward, blocking his groggy view as Harvey limps to the elevator. Pissed as he is, Mike’s not about to leave Harvey alone.

“Go home, Mike.”

“Make me.”

The desire to throttle answers from his is nearly overwhelming, but Mike abandons that tack, knowing it won't do any good, instead doing his level best to gauge the severity to Harvey's injuries from sight alone. He’s pretty sure it was a mugging -  Harvey’s brow is bleeding freely, blood tracking the line of his jaw before dropping down to stain his lapel, his lip is split, and he looks to be having trouble breathing.

The knot in Mike's stomach tightens.

With a hushed sigh, the elevator opens and Mike beelines to the bathroom, past one beautiful bookshelf, a few paperbacks peeking out. When he reemerges, bottles tucked under his arm and rag draped over one shoulder, Harvey's peeling his suit coat from his torso. Mike pokes the books back into alignment as he asks, “How bad are your ribs? They didn't stab you, did they?”

 Hissing, Harvey drops the coat to the floor. “They?”

“Oh come on. If it was just one you’d be crowing about how you beat some guy’s ass. It had to be at least three.”

 Harvey fiddles with the button on the cuff of his sleeve before muttering, “Four. And no. Just a few bruises.”  

 Mike nods and goes to the freezer. He’s not surprised to find a medical grade ice pack in the door, though if it were his place, or any of the other apartments where he’d patched people up, it’d be a bag of frozen peas. “Sit down.”

“No thanks.”

“You’re bleeding on the floor.”

“If you’d leave, I could take a shower.” 

Mike places a glass bowl in the sink and begins filling it with warm water. “Twenty bucks says you can’t even unbutton your shirt without help. Sit down.” 

“The hell you think you’re going to tell me what to do in my own -”

“Fine,” Mike bites out. “Catch,” and he tosses the ice pack in a soft, slow arc. Harvey extends a hand and gives a shout, face contorted in pain, as the ice hits his hand and then the floor with a thunk. “That’s what I thought. Now Sit. Down.”

 Harvey grunts onto a stool at the bar. He rolls his eyes hard enough to pull something else, but he goes.

“Jesus. You big baby.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Mike slides the bowl across the island and plucks the ice pack from the floor. “You heard me.” He hands over the pack. “Onto your ribs. And hold still.” 

“You’re awful pushy for a fake associate who fucked up a contract negotiation today.” 

“Oh fuck you.” It stings, all that accusation in one simple statement. “You never fucking told me we were on a timeline.”

 “I definitely did.”

“No, you were too goddamn busy avoiding me, so don’t act like that’s anyone’s fault but your own.”

<p>“I am <i>not</i> avoiding - ow!”</p>

“Would you quit moving around so goddamn much? You’re such a goddamn pain!”

Something cracks behind Harvey’s eyes and he roars, “Then why don’t you fucking leave!”

It’s a good question, and Mike comes closer to answering it than he ever has before.

He wrings the cloth and takes Harvey’s chin in hand to stabilize his face, observing him quietly for a long moment before dabbing away a few errant streaks of blood. “If I left right now,” he says softly, “I’d spend the whole night staring at the ceiling and praying to a god I don’t believe in anymore that you’re ok. I don’t know how much staring at the ceiling you do, but let me tell you, it’s even worse than getting reamed out by your boss who’s finally decided he hates you.”

It takes until the blood is gone, turning the water pink, before Harvey murmurs begrudgingly, “I don’t hate you. I just -”

Mike shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Harvey.”

The way the older man is chewing on his lips suggests he thinks that maybe he does.

Mike takes a break from cleaning to take a look at Harvey’s ribs, popping the button closest to Harvey’s throat easily, but as he works his way down, he notices his hands shaking. Hopefully Harvey misses that part.

There are a smattering of bruises across the tan skin, but most are concentrated on his left side. Mike wrings the towel and wraps it around the ice pack so Harvey can hold it to his bare skin.

“You’ve done this before,” Harvey observes quietly, and until then Mike hadn’t really noticed how close they are.

“Yeah. My friends tend to be idiots.” Harvey looks up quickly at the use of the word friend, but Mike’s focusing desperately on the task at hand.

“They were harassing this kid,” Harvey says finally, wincing as Mike butterflies his eyebrow back into one piece. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty one, and they were just…” He trails off, looking genuinely unwell for the first time. “Anyway. What?”

“I can’t even be mad at you.” Mike huffs. “You literally probably saved that girl’s life.”

“I don’t think you can be mad at me for being late, but there might be some other shit,” Harvey grumbles, twitching one shoulder in a shrug.

“Are you admitting you’ve been a dick?”

“No,” he protests tightly. “I’m just saying you’re not the only one who’s been doing some ceiling staring.”

Cautiously, Mike cleans out a cut over Harvey’s cheekbone. “Watch out, old man. Someone might think you have feelings.”

Harvey sighs tiredly. “Now there’s a scary thought.”

“Worse than staring at the ceiling?”

Harvey doesn’t answer, but he almost smiles, making it even more difficult for Mike to complete the impressive task of applying neosporin to Harvey’s lip without licking his own, but he manages. It’s the last of the injuries, and as loathe as Mike is to stop touching him, he can’t really justify staying, so he stands with a groan.

“You sound like an old man.” 

“My boss is putting some years on me. Where are you going?”

“Couch,” Harvey yawns. It takes him several minutes to kick his shoes off, and Mike finally takes pity and shucks his socks for him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll finish the paperwork right now. You should get some sleep.”

“It’s fine, kid.”

“It’s ok, I’ll just do it right he-”

“Mike. Stop. It’s ok. I don’t care. Leave it until tomorrow.”

“But you -”

“I was being a real piece of shit.”

Mike can’t help but smile at that, though he hides it by fetching blankets from the hall closet - one for Harvey and one to roll up beneath his own head where he sprawls next to the couch.

The knot in Mike’s gut finally loosens enough that he can breathe again, and he uses the time to scan the bookshelf along the wall for something to read. He’s read most of them at one point or another, from the library as a kid, or stoned in Trev’s old apartment, or to Gram when she’d been sick. It’s hard to come by a book he hasn’t read, so he finds a title he enjoys and begins sifting through it in his head, skipping the long-winded forward.

He thinks Harvey’s asleep, listening absently to the measured breathing when the older man says, “What are you reading?” 

“Huh?” 

Harvey reaches down with scraped up fingers to take the hand suspended by Mike’s hip. He stills, frozen and aflame at the contact. “When you read,” Harvey says softly, running a gentle thumb down the line of Mike’s knuckles. “You track the words with your fingers. On paper and in your head.”

MIke blinks. “I never noticed.”

“I did.” In the low light it’s hard to decipher the expression, but there’s no ignoring the fact that Harvey’s watching him, tonguing the split in his lip thoughtfully. “I notice a lot about you.” 

Mike swallows hard. “Harvey…”

“Do you see the words in your head?”

“More or less.

“How many books have you read?”

“Thousands, I’d guess.”

“And you still love it.”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I - haven’t thought about it in years. Reading for pleasure isn’t something I give myself much time for.”

“That’s a shame.”

Harvey nods slowly, stroking Mike’s palm. “But I’m working on making time. For things that matter.” His fingers travel down to Mike’s wrist as he adds, “I really am sorry for being such an asshole. I’ve been trying to figure some shit out, and to be honest with you, I’m doing a crap job of it.”

Sitting up on his elbows, Mike asks, “Anything I can help with?”

“You already have.” 

--

“Is the building remodeling? There’s a bunch of shit in the hall. I still don’t see why this edit couldn’t have wait until tomorrow. Also,” Mike barrels past Harvey into the condo. “Whoa. Are you the one renovating?” 

“Yeah.” He fidgets his hands into his pockets. “I - uh -”

“You didn’t mention that.”

Mike’s kind of surprised. They’ve been better, the past few weeks, than they ever were before. They eat lunch together every day, and Harvey seems to have gotten his head out of his ass enough to cultivate the friendship that really only they could have, two brilliant, stubborn, freaky idiots. It hurts beautifully, but Mike thinks he’s doing an ok enough job at hiding the adoration in his gaze. Enough that Harvey hasn’t been suspicious, anyway.

“It’s. Um.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

 Harvey cuffs him on the shoulder. “Come here. I uh - got you something.”

“Why? It’s not my birthday.” Through the living room, down the hall. “Are you bribing me? Gonna sell me to Louis or something?” They stop outside a door that hadn’t been here the last time Mike had visited. Harvey opens the door, then steps out of the way. “Or make me - Oh my god.”

The carpet is a soft, creamy gray, but there’s not wall color to comment on, because one wall is floor to ceiling windows, and the other three? Well.

Some are new, but many are worn, old copies, originals, well loved. Law. Science. Art. So much science fiction. Lovingly, Mike walks the perimeter, letting his fingers dance over the spines. Two Years Before the Mast. He’s never heard of it, but the worn cover and yellowing pages extend a welcome. Walden. He can’t believe he’s never gotten around to that one. “Wait. This is - it’s for me?” 

Nervously, Harvey nods. Excitement builds in Mike’s chest like a bubble. A million tales, new characters, unknown or reframed information… He walks on.

Kitchen Confidential. It’s been on his to-read list for years. Stories in the Stars. It looks fascinating. He’s never seen it before.

Mike freezes. “I’ve never read...any of these.”

Harvey looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Good.”

“How is that possible?”

“I know a gal.”

“Who knows what books I’ve read?”

He shrugs. “Who got me a list of library book you’ve ever took out. Every credit card slip from a bookstore. Every book at your Gram’s. I’m sure a few slipped through the cracks but - what?”

“This must’ve taken weeks!”

“A month or two.”

“Hundreds of hours.”

“Yeah.”

“For me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here. At your place.” 

“About that…” 

“So you don’t hate me?”

Surprised laughter spills from him. “Remember that thing I was trying to figure out?” 

“Yes?”

“Well, this infuriating, beautiful, brilliant kid I know clarified a few things for me when he refused to leave my condo…” 

“So instead of calling the cops you built me a library?”

Harvey’s smile slides away as he says softly, “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

“Tell me?”

But the explanation appears to be lodged in his throat, so Mike stops talking and tries to listen instead.

Harvey spent thousands dollars building a new room in his condo. A room he spent even more time and money stocking with things he knew Mike would love and appreciate. It’s the most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever extended to him, and the fact that it’s Harvey is even more mindblowing. Hesitantly, Mike steps forward until he’s inches from the other man, close enough to watch the light dance in those dark eyes. 

“Harvey Specter, are you trying to con me into living with you?”

“Is it working?”

“Honestly, I would’ve settled for a french press and a decent blowjob, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Harvey throws his head back and shouts a laugh, but Mike catches it in his mouth. Without hesitation, warm hands pull him in, cradle his jaw, hold him close in this magic room in a home he’d have chosen a hundred times over but never thought he’d be able to have. A little breathless, Mike pulls back to say, “Harvey. Thank you. This is -” His throat closes up then, so he leans in for another kiss, which Harvey returns so sweetly it makes it worse. “I can’t believe you did this. That it’s mine.”

A gentle thumb brushes the line of Mike’s jaw as Harvey says, “Just about everything that’s mine has always been yours.” 

[blueeyedwifey-blog]

The Other Stuff

Pregnancy is showcased as Glowing Health and those ever so sweet baby kicks. The only time movies portray the less glamorous side of baby-growing is the one time the actress throws up, and when she goes into labor. I'm here to set the record straight, y'all. Pregnancy is uncomfortable. Guys, don't give your lady shit for her complaints during pregnancy. It will not end well. I promise.

Let's start with morning sickness. You can't brush your teeth at first because doing so triggers your gag reflex and whelp, there goes your stomach contents. Even thinking about the smell of toothpaste set me off. Smells. The thought of certain foods. Moving the wrong way. Eating. Not eating. Breathing. (Okay not really). Oh, and 'morning sickness' is the understatement of the century. It can pop up any time of the day it damn well feels like it. It can even hang around all day. The best is when you are trying to sleep and you get that feeling of 'Hey! I drank too much alcohol and now the room is spinning!', except you get all of the horribleness without the alcohol. Also, I don't know who decided that 12 weeks was the magical number where it supposedly stops, but that is A LIE. THEY. ARE. LIARS.

So your morning sickness finally stops (but not really, because I still throw up sometimes). Then you have the fact that you are so incredibly tired like all the time but things still have to get done in between puking sessions and Lort help you if you already have kids because you are screwed. You were in last place before the race even started, sweetie. Mr. Blondie is kind of like a kid. He can't cook to save his life, so I had to brave the smells of dinner and cook for him. I still don't have tons of energy. I'm 20 weeks and could still sleep all day, even though every website says "YASSS 2nd trimester you get all of that energy back!". No. First trimester, you are exhausted all the time because your body is in overdrive, and the second trimester you don't sleep because your body aches and can't get comfortable so it needs a nap. Especially if you were once a stomach sleeper. You might as well just toss the idea of sleeping out the window. Consider it practice. Make a game out of it. 'How many hours of sleep can I function on today?' It's like college finals all over again.

I will say my emotions have been pretty steady. Compared to PMS, pregnancy has been a walk in the park! When I do get upset or angry, it goes 0-100 reaaalll quick. A nurse pissed me off at an appointment, and I thought I was going to rip her head off of her neck. You will not be happy-go-lucky your whole pregnancy. My anxiety has shot through the roof, especially right before bed. It's not even about Squid or anything. It's literally things that happened 10 years ago that no one else even gave a second thought. 'Ugh why did I wear that sweater in 6th grade?' Your skin is either great, or it's fucked. There's no in between. Some weeks my skin looks flawlessly airbrushed and others it looks like I just hit puberty.

Growing hurts. You get period-like cramps in the beginning weeks, but once you actually start getting a bump, your stomach is sore, as if you did a hardcore stomach workout. (Mr. Blondie could be specific here, but since I know almost nothing about working out, we'll just leave it at that). It's from your ligaments stretching and whatnot, but I feel like gravity also plays a role because if I'm walking around a lot, my lower abdomen starts to ache. Your boobs hurt. You might scream if you bump into something because they are sensitive. You get leg aches like an old person. Oh! Then there's indegestion/heartburn. I didn't even know something could be so annoyingly painful. It starts it your stomach (which has been smushed upwards by your uterus, look it up) and slowly bubbles its way up into your throat. It feels like drinking a warm bubbly Coke, but in reverse. Mine always shows up when I lay down, no matter how long ago I ate. Cheese is the devil. I avoid it, except whenever I cave and eat a pizza.

Then there's just gross stuff that no one talks about because it's mortifying. I'm here to take the bullet, ladies. Your hair grows faster everywhere, unless you're lucky enough to have had laser hair removal. But shaving takes so. long. and you just don't have that kind of energy, so you put it off...and put it off. Everyone knows that women produce discharge (especially when you are ovulating), but that shit can become a leaky faucet during pregnancy. It serves a purpose - it keeps bacteria away. Your nipples get darker or turn wonky colors, along with skin on your knees, elbows, etc. Your nipples will also eventually leak (this hasn't happened yet, thank God.) Probably the worst is that your lady bits get swollen due to the fact that you have considerably more blood circulating in that general area. I read it in an article several weeks ago, and brushed it off. Pssh! I've only gained about 8 lbs during pregnancy thus far, so I figured I would dodge this particular symptom. Nope. It will happen to you.

Then you have random inconveniences. Congestion that doesn't go away. Your eyesight fluctuates. Your cat that loves to step all over your stomach to hopefully off the baby because she doesn't like to share attention. Your boobs get bigger, which is a blessing and a curse depending on who you ask. Sex drive fluctuates. All this shit happens and more that either I haven't experienced or forgot. Except actual shit, because you're constipated.

[chubbymamafitness-blog]

fit in seven minutes (and casual regret)

So if you read my earlier post you know I’m using an app called BetterMe to lead my workouts and track my water intake. I’ve been doing some reading and decided that the person who writes their articles is probably not American, nor a native English speaker, based on their phrasing and choice of words. Because of this, some of their articles can be a little hard to follow, but I’m doing it. 

Since my last post, I started two other workout programs on the app. I did the “Young Face” program, which is good for a laugh, and involves fish faces and opening your mouth in a weird way that makes you look like a marionette. 

The other program I started is called Fit in Seven Minutes. I wanted to push myself just a tad and the graphic seemed intense. 

See what I mean? I figured I would at least give it a try, and if I failed, I’d just modify and try again. 

Oh my lort.  So first of all, the difficulty level is “HARD” in all caps. Intimidating, no?  The description says “Your ideal body journey starts now.”

Well, sign me up. 

There are thirteen exercises in the Fit in Seven Minutes program. First is a leg swing, right and left, for ten reps, then pulsing lunges left and right, also ten reps. The leg swings were no big deal, but the pulsing lunges I felt in my knees and they were a little more difficult to complete. I might need to practice my form, because joint pain is no bueno.   After the lunges, a thirty second plank, then a left side plank, then right side. As I said before, standard planks aren’t difficult for me- but side planks suuuuuck. I’m not sure what it is, maybe it’s my balance or maybe I need to build up my bicep/ tricep strength better, but side planks are always a challenge for me and I find myself wobbling. I haven’t fallen yet, so I’m grateful. 

Fifteen crunches, which, after the first fifteen earlier, I could feel but they weren’t painful. 15 double leg lifts-- When I took jazz, we called these “throwdowns” because someone would stand behind your head as you laid on the floor and they would push or “throw” your legs down nearly to the floor and it was your job to lift them back up so they could push down again.  Throwdowns (or Double Leg Lifts) are not as difficult as i remember them. I also feel them in a different area than I used to. It seemed when I was in dance they would pull at the entirety of my core, and now it’s like I really only feel it in the middle- above the belly button in the “midgut” area. I’m not sure why that is, again, maybe I need to modify it somehow. 

After the throwdowns, 10 push-ups. 10 squats, 10 tricep dips. If you don’t know this one, it’s where you hold on to a chair that is behind you, and with feet firmly planted and legs making a 90 degree angle, you lower your bottom so that your arms form the 90 degree angle, then bring yourself back up to the starting position. 

This one was difficult, mostly because my two-year-old decided she wanted to “help” by climbing onto my back. The chair I used was kind of low, however, so I think next time I attempt this one I will use a chair that is higher up and this may modify the exercise to be a little more challenging. 

The last exercise was the wall sit. Ugh, wall sits. Cheerleading preparation training was a blur of wall sits and splits. I’ve always hated those, and guess what, I still do. Go figure. After about ten seconds, I was ready to quit, but I did not. I got all soapboxy this morning about how I couldn’t quit anymore and had to see things through, and I did that today. I didn’t quit or give up on any of the workouts, and other than having to stop for a phone call from the insurance office, I didn’t take any breaks. So I’m feeling a little encouraged, and I’m almost ready for it to be tomorrow so that I can put in more work. But I have a feeling that I will wake up sore tomorrow, so I’m none too excited for that.