#I have shit I need to do and be awake for

[aajjks]

morning sex (m)

synopsis. To your surprise, you wake up in bed with your nightmare of a horny roommate and learn the advantages of morning sex.

pairing: horny roommate jungkook x fem!reader

genre: crack, 18+, cringe, smut, explicit, and dark comedy.

warnings. 18+, ëxplicit sèxùàl dïàlögùë, mïrör çhëck, sèxùàl téñsïøns, bïg dïçk ënërgÿ, çhëëky flïrts, sàssÿ çòmëbàcks, jungkook’s funnÿ bïg dïçk jôkës, hümørøüs ánd sèxy.

note. lmao I couldn’t resist he he’s such a fun character. I love writing him and honestly I kind of need him so bad even though he’s cringe as fuck.

You wake up to the most obnoxious thing ever.

Jungkook is spooning you.

Not in a nice, sweet way where he’s just trying to be comfortable.

No. He’s literally drooling on your shoulder, his chest pressing against your back like he’s staked his claim, and his hand is—oh no.

His hand is dangerously close to your chest.

Your eyes snap open. Oh hell no.

You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but it’s like trying to break free from a bear trap.

He’s clutching you like you’re the last life preserver on a sinking ship.

“Jungkook, get off!” you whisper-shout, but all he does is groan and snuggle into you deeper.

“What’s the rush?” His voice is muffled, his head practically buried in your hair. “It’s comfy here.”

“Yn babe look, my bed was really uncomfortable tonight so I had to sneak in your bed even if you mind I don’t really care and I think we should definitely have insanely hot morning sex.”

you want to slap the shit out of him.

You can’t even begin to process how absurd this is. How did this even happen? How did you go from roommates to this weird… spooning situation?

AND NOW MORNING SEX?

"Look, babe, morning sex? It's simple. You wake up, I get you off, and we both start the day feeling fucking amazing. No need to overthink it. It's like an instant mood booster, I swear."

You try again to push him off, but all you manage to do is accidentally press your ass into his—

oh no.

“So.. in conclusion we should definitely fuck baby, see I’m hard as fuck.”

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “Oh, so you’re really selling me on this morning… routine?” you tease, leaning in a little.

“Let me guess, does it come with a small surprise, or should I be worried it won’t rise to the occasion?”

You watch his face shift, that smug look he always carries flickering for just a second. It’s too much fun.

“Maybe if you prove it to me, I’ll consider it,” you finish with a wink, making sure he knows exactly what you mean.

“Babe, is this really how we’re doing this today?” Jungkook mumbles lazily, lifting his head just enough to stare at you with that mischievous grin of his.

You feel his chest rumbling with the deep chuckle that follows.

“Stop calling me babe!” you snap, now fully trying to pull away.

But the moment you try to move, he tightens his hold around your waist, practically trapping you in his vice-like grip. And he’s not even pretending to sleep anymore.

He’s wide awake, eyes gleaming with that cocky look that makes you want to strangle him—while simultaneously kiss him senseless.

You’re struggling to get out, but then, just as you’re about to give up, you feel something against your back.

Something hard.

Something you definitely didn’t expect to feel.

You freeze.

“Uh… Jungkook?” You swallow hard, trying to pretend you didn’t just notice what was happening.

His lips curve up into that infuriating smirk. “Oh, so you feel it now?”

Your face burns. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you—;”

“I mean, it’s not my fault you’re so cute and cuddly in the mornings.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t help it, babe. I’m only human.”

You bite back a sarcastic retort. “You’re a man-child,” you mutter, trying to ignore the fact that the man is physically pressing himself against you, and it’s not just a “casual” spoon anymore.

He chuckles again, his fingers digging into your sides as if trying to tickle you into submission. “C’mon, you know you love it.”

Your frustration boils over. You twist around, and you have no idea how it happens, but somehow, you end up straddling him.

You stare down at him, breathing heavily from the combination of shock and—well, you’re not sure what you’re feeling anymore.

Jungkook’s face is completely smug, his hands resting lazily behind his head, like he’s a king and you’re his amused servant.

“You—” you bite your lip. “This isn’t funny, you know.”

“Then why are you on top of me, hm?” His voice is dangerously low now, a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess you wanted to be close.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this too,” he teases, eyes tracing over your body as if he’s memorizing every detail. His fingers slide down to your waist again, making you flinch.

“Jungkook, seriously—;” You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence before he interrupts.

“Okay, fine, we’ll call it a draw. But—;” He smirks, his hands slipping down to your hips now, “…—I do have a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’ll wait for you to ask.”

You glare at him, ready to push him off you, but the moment you shift just enough, he’s at it again.

His lips are on yours, and you swear you feel the earthquake beneath you as he pulls you closer, his kiss deepening immediately.

He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore.

Jungkook’s hands are everywhere, and his lips are moving against yours with an intensity you didn’t expect this early in the morning.

“Guess we’re just doing this now, huh?” You whisper against his lips, struggling to keep some semblance of control.

“Oh, we definitely are,” he growls, suddenly flipping you onto your back and trapping you underneath him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not getting away this time.”

You both know it’s only a matter of time before this chaotic situation completely spirals out of control.

The only question is how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t enjoy every second of it.

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

a near heart attack the moment you awake from slumber was not how you wanted to start the day.

your body has been pushed to the very edge of the bed, on the verge of falling off. scared, you turn around to your side only to be met with a puddle of drool covering both percy’s chin and a large portion of the sheets.

“holy shit…” you murmur under your breath.

you sit upwards. instinctively, percy’s arm tightens around your waist. you remove it from your frame and await his eyes fluttering open. it’s only a few moments without feeling you beneath his fingertips that he wakes.

“I am going to kill you.”

his eyes squint, adjusting to the light of morning. you slap his head.

“what…?” his voice is raspy. you’re very glad you’re not standing right now.

“you drooled all over! and you took up the entire bed, I was about to fall off!”

he manages to sit up alongside you, his hand falling to the pool of his saliva that had fell onto the sheets. he pulls it back quickly.

“oh. sorry ‘bout that, sweet girl.” he smirks.

you hit his head again.

“I’m not laying back down until that is rectified.”

he frowns. but grabs a tissue from the bedside table and begins to sloppily wipe away his drool. it manages to contain about ninety-nine percent of it before he throws the tissue away.

“happy now, sweet girl?”

“yes, thank you.”

his smile returns. he takes your hand and places it on his chest, snaking his own arm around your waist.

“it’s cold in here,” you complain.

“that,” percy begins. his index runs along your spine. “is because you don’t have any clothes on.”

you scowl. “if I don’t need to wear clothes I don’t want to wear clothes.”

“I’m not complaining, sweet girl— just pointing it out.” he holds his unoccupied hand up defensively.

you slide farther against him to prevent yourself from falling off the edge. you do recall once when you had fallen because throughout the course of the night percy had subconsciously spread out into a position impossible for the both of you to fit.

you haven’t let that go since then.

“I don’t think I like sleeping with you very much.”

“awww, I thought you loved my—”

you place a finger to his lips with a disapproving look. “no.”

he nips at your finger until you pull it away. but his hand takes it back and he presses a kiss to it this time, trailing downwards to your palm, the back of your hand, and your wrist before placing your palm over his heartbeat.

it’s serene.

and unlike how you woke up, for the next five minutes you were able to enjoy peace and quiet! how great is that?

[burningcheese-merchant]

ANSWER THIS AND YOU GET A FUNNY BURNING CHEESE COMIC

Hear me out

The ancients giving themselves up to the beasts as sacrifices if they agreed to leave earthbread alone and never wreck terror or show their faces again

I'd say everyone besides Flour would go:

Say less Babygirl*hops into a pumpkin carriage and rides off into the sunset*

Maybe Salt would need a lot of convincing because... Holy shit it could be this easy, Milk you seeing this, quick Spice snap a photo this is a moment in history

Flour is just in massive denial but would find a way to agree to mke it seem like it isn't about love or anything

Unknown3doors, don't tempt me like that 👀 don't tempt me like that, unknown3doors 👀 you're playing with fire, unknown3doors 👀🔥

Pure Vanilla surrendering to Shadow Milk would be the happiest day of Shadow's life. He makes Vanilla repeat himself multiple times, makes him announce it through a megaphone, they do a radio broadcast, Shadow makes a TV special out of it, Shadow writes poems and essays gloating and taunting... And then he eventually agrees to Vanilla's terms (although, he DOES try to haggle for permission to continue annoying people). Pure Vanilla is HIS!!! HE'S FINALLY HIS!!! FOREVER AND EVER!!!!!!! (And the Soul Jam, technically. But WHATEVER!!! HIS SILLY VANILLY!!!). Now Vanilla must endure having to spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life within 10 feet of Shadow AT ALL TIMES, or else the deal is off and Shadow will commit genocide in retaliation. Why the long face, though? You agreed to this! You knew this would happen! Maybe if Vanilla behaves well enough, like a good little doll, Shadow will allow himself to be HIS doll for a time. Tit for tat. It's only fair. They can be each other's playmate for eternity now...

Eternal Sugar would be 100% awake for the first time in forever if Hollyberry offered herself to her - in exchange for anything at all, it never had to have been for keeping innocents safe. Typical of Holly, in her estimate; she's not necessarily surprised by this. Maybe she'll feign a bit of surprise just because, maybe she'll tease Holly about it... But all in all, she's quite pleased. Now she can keep those pesky subjects of Holly's away from her much easier (as well as her friends... Including that ridiculous dragon...). Holly will learn to see things her way eventually. Appreciate the little things. Like a nice, long nap in a warm bed, in the arms of a loved one... Pleasant, sugary sweet dreams that are too comforting to wake up from... No one ever bothering them about anything ever again. Free from their responsibilities, free from the burden of the shield and the crown. Just the two of them in their own little world, pursuing their own happiness. Won't that be nice?

Mystic Flour would struggle to even entertain Dark Cacao's presence, never mind his... proposal (oh gods, not that word). She would refuse, and refuse, and refuse again. But Cacao does not give up, stubborn fool that he is. Curse his Light of Resolution... Eventually, in lieu of plainly refusing, she tries to appeal to reason. What about his kingdom? His people? What would they say, think, do? Will he leave them behind just to keep her pacified? What about his friends? His son? Who will rule in his absence? Unfortunately, Cacao has an answer for every single one of her questions... and, with an even greater undertone of misfortune... she likes them. That part of her that likes HIM also likes this. That he always has an answer for everything she says. That he won't bend the knee to her, no matter what. His self-sacrificing nature, bordering on martyrdom... just like hers once was. In truth, every word out of her mouth is only serving to delay her inevitable acceptance of his offer. A feeble attempt at shooing him away, one final shot at denying her feelings towards him, for having him around her constantly would be too much to bear, and she might... She... She'll break. She knows she will. And she can't have it. She won't stand for it.

... Dark Cacao, stubborn, handsome, selfless fool that he is. He has undone everything she ever worked for. Her apathy meant nothing the moment they locked eyes. It means nothing now, as they go back and forth about this foolish deal of his. And it won't mean anything when she eventually says yes.

(But she'll try to pretend otherwise, for as long as she can. Neither of them could handle the truth...)

Golden Cheese: Burning Spice, if you leave everyone else alone, I'll give myself to-

Burning Spice: DEAL!!!!!!!!! *pounces on her before she can actually finish or explain herself any further... What he does next, I'll let you imagine/decide 😉*

Silent Salt... wouldn't even believe it at first. He'd be astounded. Dumbfounded, really, that White Lily would say such a thing... Is this really her? Is someone forcing her to do this? What is the catch? Enough reassurance from her would convince him that she's being real and sincere and every other word that can be used to describe her deal, and... he accepts it. No other ifs, ands or buts. His White Lily... now, she really IS his White Lily. Forever and ever... He doesn't mind having to keep away from society; that's hardly a punishment. It costs him nothing. And if his White Lily is there with him, he won't even notice the difference...

[littelovelunette]

can u maybe do sevika x reader making up w sex after they had an argument..

Makeup Sex

contains smut, angst, rough sex, hitting, spanking, choking, biting, mentions of blood

I:30 AM here... I can't sleep I have to try I'm sorry if this is too shitty lmk if it is and I'll edit it

"you always do this!" you yelled at sevika.

this wasn't the first time she broke something out of anger. but it was worse than other times when she did it. she knocked over a snow globe that she had gotten you as an anniversary gift.

of course she didn't throw it by purpose, she threw something else which caused the snow globe to topple over off the show piece shelf and onto the ground shattering into a thousand pieces before your very tear stricken eyes.

"it was an accident and you know it," she retorted, her voice was low, almost a rumble from her chest and you knew she was still angry, not because of the snow globe but because she was left fixing silcos shit and currently was under a lot of stress.

but still the fact that the globe was broken made something inside you break as well, "i hate you so much!" you screamed and ran into your shared bedroom with her, burying yourself under the thick duvet and cried silently.

sevika promised she would try to soften her harsh edges for you because she needed to put effort in the relationship too, it couldn't always be you trying to string things together.

you were curious, just a little part of you was curious to see how she'd salvage this not that you expected anything high and fancy from her.

6 hours pass the incident and sevika had stormed out of the house never returning. you didn't know if she would even return at this point.

anxiety gnawed at your chest and kept you awake, you just wanted your baby back at this point. you didn't care if she would try to fix things or not. you just needed to be in her arms as you cried your pain out.

slowly, your sadness faded into some sort of anger, the moment you heard the door open and close indicating sevika was back home, you were fuming as you walked to the door to confront her and have another round of arguments.

however sevika looked absolutely wasted and tipsy the moment she saw you, she lunged forward grabbing you and pinned you to the wall lifting you off your feet, her lips crashed against yours.

"let me dow—" you began but she kissed you so deeply forcing her tongue inside as her hands squeezed your thighs, mechanical arm holding you in place as her flesh arm trailed up and cupped your breast in her hand.

"I hate you..." you mumbled angry tears forming around the corners of your eyes.

her fingers rolled your nipples over and squeezed the sensitive nub between her rough calloused fingers. "I hate you too." sevika said but you knew she didn't mean it because right after she sunk her teeth onto your shoulder making you gasp and cry in pain mixed pleasure.

her teeth left a slightly bloody imprint of her fine teeth over your shoulder and you could see it under the sheer fabric of the dress you wore to bed earlier. soon it was ripped off your body along with your underwear and thrown somewhere far away without a care in the world.

sevikas palm came in collide with your cheek not too harshly but just enough to get her anger across along with building sexual frustration, "I'll ruin your holes." she said more as in declared.

you cried out as she threw you onto the bed, ass facing up and crawled in bed herself, unbuckling the belt of her pants and letting all her clothes begun looking around the bed one by one.

"sevika you're inebriated don't do this," you whispered earning a harsh smack on your ass followed by a few more firm slaps.

"I'm fine. and you need to be taught a lesson."

you yelped in pain, biting the sheets to keep yourself from screaming out too loudly in pain, drool covering sheets as your wetness increased feeling the firm slaps on your plush butt.

"cute ass, covered in my slaps. you should keep it like that always," sevika slurred.

sevika didn't wait too long before strapping herself and shoving the huge 8 inched toy inside your soaked hole earning a loud scream from you.

you clawed at the sheets helplessly as you clenched around the toy and tried to crawl away from the animalistic woman who only grabbed you by your hips, metal and flesh digging into your skin.

"hurts! hurts!" you cried out, earning another smack to your ass, and a slam of her hips making the dildo hit your cervix.

your face slowly sunk into the pillows as you drooled over how the silicone toy stretched you out. her pace started getting sloppy and fast as she gave another smack to your ass.

"I'll break your hole," she slurred out as she continued thrusting, pausing as she felt you squirting your release and wasn't long until the older woman collapsed on top of you.

you moved on away from under her and you were so exhausted yourself you could only unstrap the toy and fall into bed beside her again, body shutting down and giving into sleep.

[beldamtarot]

-ˏˋ MASTERLIST ˊˎ-

Hello there! This is my first pick-a-pile reading here. I'm very sorry for not being able to post sooner, as I'm quite busy with life. But here you go! I'll do my very best to stay as active as possible here and do readings as much as I can.

Also, this reading is The Secret History-themed because I'm rereading the book for the 3rd time now! I really love it so so so much. I highly recommend that book btw! So before further ado, let's dive into your reading. X.

DISCLAIMER: take what resonates, leave what doesn't. Not everything here will resonate nor will be accurate to your situation, as this is a collective reading.

If you struggle in choosing between these piles, you may choose more than one if you feel connected to them!

⭑ ─── PILE ONE !

Your future spouse's first impression of you is that you embody both masculine and feminine energies, and you can switch it and turn either energies on and off whenever you want to, like a light switch. When it comes to your masculine energy, your future spouse thinks you're a passionate and adventurous person. I feel like your future spouse finds you hot in your masculine energy. You could be someone who likes to hit the gym and do weightlifting. You could be someone who has muscles. If you're a woman, you could have a big booty and you really have a lot of strength in your lower body, which your future spouse likes looking at. And if you're a man, you really have some muscles on your biceps and you have broad shoulders, which make your future spouse fold. As for your feminine energy, you're someone who's opinionated and doesn't hesitate to speak up. You're not scared of being "too harsh" for other people just because they can't handle the truth. You're someone who doesn't let anyone disrespect you in any way. You're willing to fight them if that means keeping your peace and this serves as a warning for them not to walk all over you again. Your future spouse likes that and admires you for that. I feel like your future spouse finds you extraordinary and different from everyone they have met in the past, and because of that, you pique their interest a lot. I also feel like that your future spouse thinks you tend to feel stuck and have a brain fog whenever you're stressed and overwhelmed. Because of this, they want to help you in any way they can and protect you. You also seem like someone who's willing to take the risk. It's like what they say, take the risk or lose the chance.

Signs: Aries, Libra, Aquarius, Leo, Gemini, Capricorn. Business. Workaholic. Morning coffee. Spilling coffee when in a rush. Office as a workplace. White button-down blouse. Wavy hair. Blonde. Brunette. Long hair with highlights.

⭑ ─── PILE TWO !

I feel like you'll meet your future spouse when everything in your life is falling apart so their first impression of you is that you're brave but miserable and you can't get your shit together. It's when you're so confused with what you're going to do with your life because nothing is going the way you want it to go. Your career is falling apart, you might be sick of your job and thinking of resigning but you can't find another job, or you just got fired, or you're really unemployed and need to get a job. During this time, you'll feel defeated. It feels like life will never be gentle to you, ever. You might be going to clubs or bar, drinking a lot, you might even be sleeping with a lot of people you just met that night and barely know. You have a messed up sleeping schedule, you're awake at night but asleep during the day. You don't eat healthy and you smoke a lot. There's a lot of confusion in this energy and I feel like you'll consider stealing money from people or selling drugs because you don't know how to help yourself financially. And this is where your future spouse comes along. I feel like your future spouse has been there and they also went through so much. They already know how to take a grip and take control of their life, and I feel like they will help you get through this. I'm seeing that when you meet, you might be drunk in the middle of the night and they will help you get sober so you can go home safely. I'm seeing a woman drunk and a man helping her, so most of you here could be women. Though they will take you home themselves and ensure that you're safe. But when you get home. Nothing will happen between you that night. Nothing sexual. They respect you a lot and will never take advantage of you. I feel like this is when you realize that they are the one for you, and they inspire you to change for the better. It feels as though this person leads you to the light at the end of the tunnel.

Signs: Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius, Pisces, Sagittarius. Paris. Big cities. Bar. Clubbing. Alcohol and wine. One night stand. Junk food. Fries. Burger. Pizza. The movie The Menu. Anya Taylor Joy. Francis. French.

⭑ ─── PILE THREE !

Your future spouse sees you as the one for them, the moment they see you. I feel like this is love at first sight, whether you like that concept or hate it. They think you're a happy and jolly person, it seems like, to them, you don't have any problems in life. And they know that of course, you have, because no one in this world has zero problems in life. But you make it look so easy, it's like you're not dealing with anything because you're a calm person and you have everything all-together in your life. It's like, even if you get upset over something, you know how to deal with it without crashing out. I also feel like you catch your future spouse's attention in the crowd. You both could be in a crowd of people, maybe at a business party of a friend's party. I see a woman holding a glass of champagne or any drink, talking to some people, and the man is walking towards her to approach her. So I feel like most of you in this pile are women too. I also feel like your future spouse might be someone who likes to make plans. They will let you be in your feminine energy while they handle everything. It's like, you don't have to worry about anything, I have it all under control. You or them or the both of you could be asking people about each other because you have a lot of connections with other people, so it's like you're both connected to each other all along, you just haven't met sooner yet. It's giving the invisible string theory where you're both in the same place at the same time, you just haven't met sooner because it wasn't the right time. You might even have pictures where the other is in the picture, you just didn't realize it before. And in the eyes of your future spouse, you're a confident person and really attractive physically. You have a specific charm where you can charm everyone in the room.

Signs: Libra, Taurus, Scorpio, Cancer, Virgo. Blonde. Blue eyes. Barbie. Elegant & classy fashion style. Black hair. The movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Business party. The series Emily in Paris. Swan lake.

[notdotspot]

Dp x Dc Phys 3001

Masterpost

This has been one of the longest nights in Tim’s whole life. Yes, he did recently stay awake for approximately seventy-two hours, but his brain was led by routine. He could function at the lowest amount to stay awake while still completing tasks. Tonight is different. He is constantly processing and analyzing Phantom’s every move. Jason may be an asshole, but he is still his brother. Aside from the intent watching, Tim did not realize how emotionally charged curing Jason would be. He should have known. He remembers how Bruce and Dick acted following Jason’s death. 

Casual physical contact is not out of the ordinary for their family. Fighting excluded, his siblings never minded squishing onto one coach, but the hug Dick pulled Jason into was different. Jason seemed totally relaxed and at home in his big brother’s arms. Tim used to see them close like this at galas and high-class events when they were younger. Jason picks his head up to Bruce, inviting him in. It did not take much for the rest of the family to descend upon Jason in a dog-pile of a group hug, Tim included. 

Released from their grip, Jason yawns loudly, “I see what you mean by exhaustion. I could sleep standing up.” 

Danny gave him a small smile, responding, “Yeah. You need some rest and there may still be more side effects. Be careful.” 

“I think all of you need some rest,” Bruce says. He is ushering Jason toward the elevator. Before they reach the door, Bruce turns around again. Tim can see the look in his eyes before he utters a word.

“Phantom. Uh, Danny. Do you have somewhere to sleep? Alfred could set up a guest room.”

“No need. I have an apartment.” 

“But it is two in the morning. Crime Alley is across the city.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate the offer but I am more comfortable there.”

“Well, let Alfred drive you. You must be tired.” Tim held himself back from shaking his head in disapproval. Bruce was trying to adopt another kid right in front of their faces. 

“I travel just below the speed of light.” Danny seemed to know what Bruce was doing. Tim almost laughed at the startled look on his dad’s face. Take that old man. 

“I will be back tomorrow to discuss blueprints for the purifier. Bye!” Then Danny disappeared into thin air. Bruce seemed to realize he was not gaining another child tonight and entered the elevator. Tim was so tired a second ago, but now he is awake with thoughts thrumming through his brain. 

He had almost been too caught up to notice some of the odd things Danny had said. Who is Frostbite? Who are the other colleagues he mentioned at the Bat Burger? Are those the people watching his back? What did Danny mean when he said Jason’s hair was something he had seen before? Why did he need the special blade? Who is Danny? Is he more than just a ghost? How powerful is he? Tim had so many questions. He could not lay in his bed. He had to get answers, so he crept down to the Batcomputer and began his research. 

He should not have been surprised how easy it was to find Danny. One online search of apartment leases under the name Danny and he got three hits in Crime Alley. Danny Fenton was the name. Tim could have laughed. Phantom and Fenton. He would have to be blind not to connect the dots. With a first and last name, finding the rest was child’s play. Danny Fenton is a student at Gotham University majoring in astrophysics and a minor in engineering. Tim even found his class schedule.

Wait. A college student? Danny did not look a day over thirteen. Double wait. How does Danny Fenton exist? Is he not dead? After a little more digging, Tim found Danny’s high school transcript and birth certificate. They almost looked real. Almost. Danny Fenton is a fake persona. Unfortunately for Tim, that means no social media or background to look into. The only place he can guarantee finding Danny Fenton is at his physics lecture in Garrett Hall at eight in the morning. Shit. That is in three hours. 

“Better get some sleep. Wow. Never thought I would say that.” Tim yawned, logging off of the Batcomputer and shuffling all the way back to his room.

✩✩✩

Finding the lecture hall was easy, but Tim could not recall the room number for the life of him. He spent the first fifteen minutes of investigation time looking for the class. 

“Do you need some help? All these rooms look the same,” a girl giggles. 

“Yes. I am looking for Physics three thousand one.”

“Second floor, first hallway. Room two-ten.”

“Thanks.” He rushed up the stairs two at a time. Turned left in the first hallway and walked to the end. He silently opened the door and sat in the back row, pulling out a notebook and taking notes to blend in. He should have gotten more sleep because the dark room, lit only by the soft glow of a projector, and the monotonous tone of the professor lulled him right to sleep.

“Tim.” He jolted awake. The lights that had been turned on burned his eyes and he could feel the imprint of his spiral notebook in his face. 

“Of course, you had to track me down. Come on. I need to grab food before my next lecture. You are paying.” Tim blinked the tiredness out of his eyes. He got up to follow Danny with haste. This Danny was different. Taller with brown hair and blue eyes. Tim realizes they look around the same age.

“I have seen you before. At the Bat Burger.” 

“Yeah. You were in my favorite seat, so I left.” Danny’s voice displays his clear annoyance.

“If I were not so pissed at you, I would probably be impressed, but I guess all of you Bats are little detectives.”

“Sh!”

“Oh, so secret identities only matter when it is you and your family?” Tim panics. Danny is right. He violated the unspoken code of heroes.

“But, I am an unknown, right? Dangerous? Even after I helped Jason and cooperated with the Lazarus Pit plans?”

“Okay! I am sorry. What I did was wrong. I got caught up in theories and research. I am sorry.” Danny grabbed a sandwich and drink from the cooler and went to the register. The worker scanned the items, and he stepped to the side motioning to the card reader. Tim took out his wallet, handing a ten-dollar bill off. He grabbed Danny’s food and walked to a table, not stopping to grab his change. Danny sat across from him to start eating.

“So, why do you look so old or should I say so young as Phantom?”

“Right to the questions, huh?”

“Sorry. You do not have to answer if you do not want to.” Danny appraised him while chewing on his sandwich. 

“It is fine. Phantom is only the ghost half of me. Well, more like three-quarters of me. The rest is human.” 

“How are you a human and a ghost?”

“Poor parenting and a lab accident,” he says, sipping his drink. Tim is shocked by his casual nature. 

“How old are you really?”

“Depends. My human side only ages in human realms, making me about nineteen, but I have been alive far longer than that. A millennia? Give or take a few decades.”

“A thousand years? How come Phantom looks thirteen?”

“Fourteen, actually. Ghosts look the way they did when they died, minus an odd circumstance here and there.”

“That is why you talked to Jason about death like you knew it personally.”

“I do.” He whips his hands of crumbs, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and grabs his drink.

“I also have another class. Throw my trash for me. See you tonight and get more sleep. You are useless to me if you are too tired to read a blueprint.”

✩✩✩

Danny landed on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, letting the white rings of his transformation reveal his civilian clothes. He rang the doorbell and waited for an answer. Alfred answered the door politely.

“Hello, may I help you with anything?” Danny thought Alfred would recognize him as a human but it seems he was wrong.

“Um. I am here to see Tim.” Tim would be the only one to recognize him. Does he look that different? Just then, Steph was passing through the foyer.

“Who is here, Alfred?” Her head peaked past the butler. Her eyes lit up seeing him.

“Oh my god! The cute guy from the Bat Burger! Come in! We can go find Tim together.” She interlocks their arms to lead him into the mansion. This mansion has much more style than Vlad’s. Less dingy too. 

“How do you know I am here to see Tim?” She gives him a sidelong look, her smile widening further. Danny blushes at the implication and she giggles. She pushes open the door leading him into a room. 

“Tim,” she sing-songs.

“Steph, I am busy with WE reports. Can you wait a moment?”

“Someone is here to see you,” she responds, dragging out the end of her sentence in a teasing manner. Tim’s head turns slowly, his eyes still tracking his laptop screen as he types. When his eyes finally snap to Danny, they widen and he flips back around to his screen. Steph holds in a laugh as he vigorously types. Quickly finishing his report, he shuts down and closes the computer. Popping up from his chair, Tim puts on his best smile and strides over to him.

“Danny. I will show you to the cave.” He can see Steph’s demeanor change in an instant. She turns Danny to face her, examining his face.

“Danny? You look human. How did you age overnight?”

“Uh.”

“Steph, leave him alone. He can explain later. Right now, we can bring him to the cave. Bruce is probably already down there waiting for Phantom to show up. Why did you use the front door?” 

“I figured you had already told them about my identity. Either way, I know all of yours, so it is only fair.” They seem to take his answer, and Tim opens the door for him to exit the room. The journey down to the cave was longer than he expected. Getting to the elevator shaft and riding down probably took close to ten minutes.

“Is there not a more efficient way to get to the Batcave?”

“We have thought of other options but this one is good enough for the time being. Secure too.”

“Plus, B rejected Dick’s idea to add a firepole,” Steph tacks on. She leads the group into the main area Danny was in last night. He never did get the time to admire the Batcomputer for the glorious machinery it is. He would love to see its capabilities. 

Jason is parking his bike and removing his red helmet when they walk in. 

“Is Danny here, yet?”

“Yep,” Danny speaks up. Bruce finally turns to see the group walking toward him.

“Oh, I thought it was just Steph and Tim.” He can tell Bruce is taking in the change in appearance.

“Danny,” Jason calls, “You look significantly less ghost-like.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“Danny is your real name, then?”

“Yeah, so is Phantom. Are we going to get to work?”

“Yes,” Bruce speaks up. “Tell us the plan.”

Danny slipped the backpack off of his shoulder and pulled out a binder. Laying it on the table in the middle of the room, he takes out each blueprint to unfold them. 

“There are multiple components to my plan. This,” he points to a paper, “is the design for the ectoplasm purifier.” He bends down to his bag again. He produces a gadget that looks like the sketch.

“I made a prototype and tested it on a few samples I had in the fridge.” Bruce gives him a look.

“In the fridge?”

“Yeah, it is like an energy drink. I stock up once a month. Caffeine is insufficient and I have homework to get done.”

“Homework?”

“Tim, really did not tell you?”

“Danny, here, is a student at Gotham University,” Tim states.

“Yes, where Tim so gratuitously tracked me down this morning,” Danny quips. Tim looks embarrassed with his family's eyes on him.

“I said sorry.”

“And bought me lunch. Oh, before you ask, yes. I am older than fourteen. My ghost form just looks that way.”

“You are a human and a ghost? Like Jason?” Steph’s genuine curiosity stops Danny from yelling angrily at getting off track. He forgot these people do not know the ghost world or him. He has never had to answer this many questions about himself since Jazz found out he was Phantom. It is a solemn thought that makes him miss her even more. He has had centuries to mourn, likely more with the Ghost Zone to human realm time difference, but he just misses his big sister. Steph’s enthusiasm reminds him of her. He signs, resigning to the fact that he will have to explain himself. 

“I am a Halfa. Half human and half ghost. I would not say it is half, more like a quarter human. Jason and I are not the same. I died under entirely different circumstances.” He could feel the looks of pity burning into him. One part of him hates it, but the other part of him is grateful for the understanding. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz took a long time to realize he was only Phantom because he had died in the accident. Truthfully, he was so caught up in fighting ghosts that he almost did not realize it himself. 

“I am okay. I have had many years to come to terms with it. Let us get back to this.” He pointed at the table. Their attention was back on the project, but he would still sense their sad eyes. Jason especially looked heartbroken. Maybe he was realizing why Danny knew how to comfort him. 

“The prototype was effective, but we will need to scale it up. The next problem to solve is getting the processed ectoplasm into the Ghost Zone. There are only three ways to access the Ghost Zone: occasionally successful summoning rituals, naturally occurring rips, or a homemade ghost portal. It would take too long to find a ritual that actually works, so that is out. Finding natural portals is next to impossible without the Infi-Map. I will not endanger it by bringing it here, nor would the rip last long enough to complete the mission. A mechanical ghost portal is the best option, but once you open it, it is a two-way street. We could make an off-switch, but even a few seconds is enough for ghosts to slip through. I have not figured out a way to get around that. My only idea would be magic.”

“We can Zeta in some magic users. They may have the knowledge to assist you on the more ghostly aspects.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” 

“Well, later nerds. All this shit goes right over my head. Call me if you need to change a tire.” Jason turns to the elevator.

“I will go to. I am useless when it comes to this.” Steph jogs off the catch Jason, waving as the elevator door closes.

“Where is the blueprint for the ghost portal?” Tim inquires as he flips through the pages on the table.

“Up here.” Danny points to his head. “That knowledge is far more powerful than you think it is. I trust you, but not that much. It is my responsibility to keep the Ghost Zone safe.”

“But-”

“Tim,” Bruce cuts him off, “you can work on the purifier instead. Danny, can you build the portal from memory?”

“Yes.”

“I will go make some calls. When do you think it will be done?”

“A few days if I have all of the materials and work long hours.”

“And, I can finish the purifier quickly too. The blueprint is well drawn, and with the prototype, I should have no problem recreating the effectiveness.”

“I will leave you two to work.” Bruce turned, pulling his phone from his pocket, walking off to make his calls. 

Tim gives Danny a quick tour of the equipment and tools.

“How much space will you need?”

“I should be able to build the portal here. I will make it as small as I can while preserving functionality.”

“What is so dangerous about it anyway? Aside from opening a gateway for enemies. You seem a lot more scared of this thing than you are telling us.”

“It is unstable. I have tried to fix other versions of it, but I can never guarantee the safety of the operator. You guys are mortal and this portal has consequences I would never wish upon anyone. My parents were reckless. I can not be responsible for an accident.”

“That is what you meant when you said poor parenting and a lab accident. A ghost portal is what made you Phantom.”

“I have to hand it to you. You are sharp. Get to work. It will take you at least a few hours to construct the filter.”

For once, Tim got the hint to stop pushing into Danny’s past. They both descend into their work silently. Working well into the night before Tim yawns.

“Go get some sleep. You have made good progress.”

“Do you not need sleep?”

“Not really no. Do you want to head upstairs, or should I just put you to sleep? I have to warn you. Your neck will be sore if I knock you out in the chair like that.” Tim’s eyes widen.

“Is that something you are capable of?”

“Do you want to find out?” Danny raised a hand, making it glow green. Tim shoots up and walks to the elevator. Danny watches as the doors begin to close.

“Goodnight, Tim.” Tim smiles and opens his mouth to respond, but the closing doors cut him off. 

As his alarm rings, Danny is proud of himself. He got the whole frame built. All he has left is the wiring and the ectoplasm circulation system. The elevator door opens behind him. He turns to see Dick strolling in. He is dressed in workout gear with a protein shake, humming a tune. He stops in his tracks when he notices Danny. 

“Who are you? Better yet, how did you get in here?”

“Dick. I am Danny. I am also going to be late for class, so bye.” He transforms into Phantom right in front of Dick. If it were not for his enhanced senses, he would not have heard Dick’s shocked whisper.

“Woah.” 

Then, he is shooting off to his Astronomy class. 

-----

more romance coming eventually

aside from that, this is the first chapter I actually proofread

Thanks for reading!

[love-quinn]

— EMPLOYEE DISCOUNT

summary — you’ve missed a lot of work recently. carmen has no choice but to check on you, especially when you order dinner from the restaurant.

summary — swearing, general mentions of not eating due to finances, reader maybe doesn’t have the best relationship with her parents but that part is glossed over so quick it might as well not be there, reader is struggling financially, reader is heavily implied to be chronically ill, boss/employee relationship

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader

pronouns — she/her, explicitly mentioned as a girl + wears a skirt

word count — 4.3k

note — most of my waitress reader stuff is self-indulgent and that includes this. reader is heavily implied to have chronic pain, this is just my experience with things similar. this might not be everyone’s experience but i wrote this to make myself feel better about how i was feeling. thank you so so much for 250 followers, i hope you enjoy this <3333

Richie is tapping his fingers. They’re both in the office. Carmen’s chair is being held up with a pack of plastic forks that Sydney had banished to his space (“We’re a restaurant, Carmy, we don’t need plastic forks”), and Richie is perched on a box labelled “Important shit.”

Richie is playing Angry Birds on his phone, as he usually is when he’s not yapping to whoever is nearby. He’d probably be talking to Carmen if Carmen hadn’t already pissed him off that morning. He’d asked Richie if there was oat milk in the latte he’d gotten down the street and Richie had called him a “pussy bitch” and a “slave to the milk industry, Carmen, fuck you.”

Carmen’s looking through the schedule, working out the roster for the next month. Everyone’s full-time but Marcus has a few days off this month he needs, Ebra has a doctors appointment and Sydney has a few commitments as well. So in Marcus’s case he needs to move his prep time around so they’ll be ready for service, and for Sydney he’s figuring out what the menu should look like when she’s not there. It’s still constantly changing, but he doesn’t want to load something too heavy on the rest of the chefs without their sous.

And then of course, there’s you.

You haven’t been to work in over a week - eleven days to be exact. You’re in a full time contract, have been for a year. You have leave saved up, Carmen doesn’t know exactly how much, but he knows you have it. He should probably look it up soon; you’re chewing through your paid time off like you haven’t eaten in weeks.

He’d have appreciated a heads up. You requested it three days before it started and he’d granted it because Carmen knew that you wouldn’t do it without a good reason. But it’s been six days since he last heard from you, and he feels like he would’ve known if you were going out of town.

Carmen is your boss. He’s not your anything else. He has to remind himself of that. You have no responsibilities to him when you’re not at work. He is your boss.

It’s hard to remember that though when you’ve been asleep in the passenger seat in his car, listening to his shitty radio station because he can’t stay awake in the silence and you can’t stay awake with the noise. When you’ve sat on the floor of his office during your lunch break, sipping a lemonade and letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue. When his thumbs have ghosted over your pulse points as you place a bandaid on his arm with the utmost delicacy and care. It’s hard to not want more when he’s had everything already.

“When’s she comin’ back?”

Richie’s standing right behind him, hunched over so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling. Carmen’s written your name and underlined it, staring holes at the shapes of the letters as if they’d bring about your return.

Carmen shook his head. “I don’t know, Richie.”

Richie sat beside Carmen, leaning against the desk. “She’s been gone a while, ‘s she doing okay?” He bent down further so he was closer, crossing his arms. “Listen, cousin, is there something I need t’know?”

“Like what?” Carmen doesn’t even look up at him, head resting on one elbow, massaging his temple. He’s only really half listening, the best way he’s found to deal with Richie.

Richie muses, looking up at the ceiling. “Like how you fucked up and lost me my best waitress?” He looks pointedly at Carmen. “Like that, maybe?”

Carmen heaves out a sigh and tilts his head back so he can see Richie properly, squinting at the light. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Richie scoffs. “I’m not a fucking moron, idiot. I let you do your thing, I thought maybe she’d get you to calm the fuck down. But no, because you can’t have a mature adult relationship to save your life-”

Carmen stands on instinct, “Oh, you think I’m immature,” he’s too angry to even scoff out a laugh.

Richie doesn’t stop, “And now because you’re a fucking jagoff, I’ve lost my fucking waitress!”

“Oh, fuck off!” Carmen points at him. “You have no fucking clue what the fuck you’re talking about!” His face is hot, both at the idea that he’s the reason you’ve been not coming to work and also at the idea that whatever is going on between the two of you is important enough that he could’ve screwed it up.

He hasn’t let you know how important he finds it. When he first started with the restaurant, still sickly with the grief of losing Mikey, and resentful that he finally had what he wanted only when his brother was gone, you were literally the only person that didn’t give him a hard time. And sure, he probably deserved it, but maybe he didn’t need it from everyone. You were gentle, probably nervous around him because he’s your employer even though he’s only three years older than you.

“You think I’m fucking blind?” Richie counters. “I didn’t say anything cause I know you get all flighty and scared when you like a girl and I was really fucking hoping you wouldn’t fuck it up with her!”

“Oh, fuck off Richie!” Carmen feels his whole body getting warm. Richie antagonises him on purpose, neither of them possess any tact. It runs in the family, so it seems. Carmen isn’t any better, he’s half way through a facetious “Where the fuck is your wife, huh?” when Sydney hurls the door open.

It’s enough that he’s caught off guard. Sydney always knocks.

“What?” They’re both facing her now, anger directed away from each other.

Sydney looks apprehensive. “Uh, I um,” her eyes flick between the two of them. Carmen, red in the face, and Richie, chest heaving. “The kitchen got a ticket for a to-go order, and, uh.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Richie asks. Carmen doesn’t agree on the gangly motherfucker with much, especially not in the moment, but he does wish Sydney would elaborate on what the issue is.

Sydney holds out the ticket as if it’s about to explode, and Carmen rips it from her hand. She watches him intently as he reads it. It’s normal, it’s for a cacio e pepe, pre-paid for on the website. His eyes dart over the ticket until they finally land on the part he knows Sydney wanted him to see.

Your name. Your address. The price at the bottom has been modified with your employee discount code.

“Okay..” Carmen is struggling to stay composed. “What? What do you want me to do with this?”

Sydney shuffles on her feet. She can tell he feels almost explosive about it, and she doesn’t know what to say in order to not set him off. You and Sydney get along well. From what he’s gathered, you get lunch together on days you’re both not working, you often join her at the farmer’s market before her shift starts, and she spends an hour or so every week explaining the new menu to you and helping you understand why it works from a chef’s perspective. Carmen might not currently have any, but he knows the word for that is being friends.

So he trusts that Sydney also knows what he knows.

You’d told him one night as you were unlocking the front door to your apartment. He was leaning against the wall, looking sideways at you. It had been an unusually cold night, and he’d given you his woollen jacket. You hadn’t objected, you’d been doing this long enough that you didn’t have to pretend you didn’t want it. You’d been wearing tights that night, another thing you didn’t usually do. Everything else was standard - simple black skirt, white button up blouse, silver name badge lit up by the flickering hallway light.

You were rummaging in your bag for your keys, swearing you could hear them jingling in the bottom when you’d sniffed. Normally he’d ignore it, but it was the third time since the two of you had left the restaurant.

“Are you getting sick?” He’d asked it mostly as your friend (he was telling himself that’s what the two of you were), but also as your boss in the food service industry.

You shook your head. “No, I get stuffy when I’m tired. All I need is a good night’s sleep,” you promised.

“If you’re getting sick let me know,” he said as you pulled out your keys. “I’ll bring you soup. What’s your favourite kind?” Carmen enjoyed doting on you, it was the only way he felt like he reciprocated your gentleness. Ten hours of yelling in the kitchen couldn’t be undone by the promise of bringing you a hot meal, but he needs whatever he’ll get.

You wrinkled your nose, still smiling sweetly at him. “Not a soup but when I was a kid my mom would make me cacio e pepe,” you finally muscle open the door. It gets stuck most of the time, which is why Carmen always comes up with you. One time you couldn’t open it and you’d had to call him and ask if you could crash on his couch. You had been mortified but he’d brushed it off.

You liked Carmen a lot. He was highly strung and quick to anger. He was kind of an asshole most of the time, and when something pissed him off he made it everyone else’s problem. He didn’t know how to act around people, and often dug himself into a pit so deep nobody could reach in to help him out of it.

But you were also positive that he liked you too, and that changed things. He was still an asshole, he couldn’t help it, and you were slowly learning the building blocks that had made him the way that he was. But surely, very very cautiously, he was realising that he didn’t have to be defensive around you. You weren’t going to attack him. Taking that away and he was a whole new man.

It’s not your job to help him regulate his emotions. But you find you enjoy being around him so much that even if he’s pissed off and yelling, you don’t mind.

Carmen does this thing, especially when he’s driving you home after dinner service where he’ll leave his palm up, hand open. You like tracing the lines, bringing the tip of your index finger up and down his palm, from his wrist to his fingers. You catch him smiling out of the corner of your eye.

He hasn’t quite figured out how to tolerate people yet. So to see him smiling at something you’ve done that’s born from nothing but pure affection for him sometimes makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You’d invited him inside, which was happening more and more frequently these days. He’d come in, you guys would talk for a bit, and then he’d go home. That was all that ever happened.

“It was the only thing she ever knew how to cook without a recipe,” you said, pulling off your coat and scarf. It was meant to be almost springtime, but nobody had told the weather that. Yet another cold front was headed your way, which meant another couple of weeks of spending every free moment at work under the guise of ‘helping out.’ Carmen’s been making extra at family and then conveniently forgetting to put it out. You went home most nights with a grilled cheese and a warmth in your chest. “I’d, uh, I’d wake up from a nap all sore and dehydrated and all I’d want was black pepper and cheese. She’d have to check, to make sure, but once she was she’d be at the stove talking about coagulation or whatever.”

You looked bashful, cheeks visibly warm in the cool light. “She hated making it, said she only got it right half the time. Never wanted to. Sometimes, I’d…” you looked hesitant. Carmen’s eyes were shining at you, emphasised by the neon of the 24-stop across the street leaking in through your window. The colours were saturated and soaking, and when they hit just right on your face Carmen would forget that he’d seen you with mustard in your hair.

He watched you, wanting you to keep talking but not knowing how to say.

“Sometimes I’d pretend I wasn’t sick,” you tried to sound nonchalant, but he could feel it radiating from you. He wasn’t good at naming emotions, it had never been a strong suit for Carmen. He knew the basic ones, sure; happy, sad, fuck off, angry, ten hour shift, hurt, your hand on his pulse point. The basic ones. He could tell you were somewhere been hurt and ten hour shift.

Carmen couldn’t imagine not giving you whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted it. Especially not if what you wanted was food.

Food he could do.

Normally, he’d never dream of leaving the restaurant during service, but Sydney had shoved the receipt at him, clenching his fist around it for him, and told him to handle it. He’d made himself a little corner on the line and got to work.

It’s not something he makes often, but he’s got it right often enough that he’s confident with it. He pulls out all the stops - two kinds of peppercorns, two skillets (so as to not let the cheese coagulate).

It’s technical, and he’s best when it’s technical. If he can just stir at the right rate, if he can temper at the right speed - hot, cold, on off - then surely he can figure out what to say to you when he’s in your indigo-bathed kitchen, so close he can smell your deodorant.

The pasta should be the hard part, getting it cooked and packaged and driven over to your place with the heater on full blast even though Carmen’s already sweating through his t-shirt. But he’s out the front of your door, looking at the way your paint is chipped off your door.

He knows he has about two more minutes before the food in his hand gets cold, and that means the heater was all for nothing. He also knows where your spare key is kept. It’s nestled right between the key to his place and the back door to the restaurant. It was under your spare mat, but Carmen had shamed you into putting it somewhere more secure.

He knows where you keep your bowls, and that you prefer to eat with a fork in situations where a spoon is an option. He’s quiet, and he’s not sure how you’d feel if you knew he’d been moving around your kitchen, but he’s in too deep to think about that now.

Now that the pasta is in the bowl and it’s twirled delicately around a fork, he has to actually find you. All the lights are off, which isn’t unusual. You worry about the electric bill, he doesn’t have to be observant to notice that. He doesn’t turn any lights on, he takes the bowl in his hands, using his elbow to rest it on and hoping to preserve the heat.

He calls out your name, wincing at the way his voice breaks. It echoes in the cold of your apartment. There’s a shuffle from behind him. “Sweetheart?” It slips out in a way that feels both embarrassing and empowering.

You’re the kindest person he knows, and he’s in your apartment right now calling you a petname.

Carmen knows all the basic emotions, the middle school descriptors. He doesn’t know what to call the feeling that bubbles up when he hears your voice say his name. You’re on the floor beside the sofa, and despite the blue washing everything out, he can see your eyes are red.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is small, croaked.

Carmen sits down on the floor so he’s facing you. The bowl is still warm in his hands. “I made you pasta.”

Your lashes are watery and it feels like he can hear a piece of you break. You don’t want to be this, you’re aware of how pathetic it must look. Crying, curled up on the floor of your apartment in front of your boss. You’re a grown woman, you can usually handle this.

You’re not quite sure what happened.

“You,” there’s a dip in your voice. It fails completely on the second word and you have to start again. “You didn’t have to bring it here. You’re stealing jobs from delivery drivers.”

He wants to reach out and smooth your hair, instead he puts the bowl down on your coffee table. “I did have to bring it to you.”

Carmen doesn’t know what to say to you. It’s a whirlwind in his head, like when he was a kid and he used to lay on his back and try to follow the blades of the ceiling fan in the living room. But like, if one of the blades was Richie convincing him that he was the reason this was happening.

“I don’t.. I’m not,” he huffs, “good at…” He can feel himself getting frustrated, which makes it worse. You don’t deserve to have him come here and get angry. You deal with it enough. “You haven’t been at work in a while,” he says finally. “I got worried. So, I wanted to come and just,” He inhales shakily, deep and full like he can swallow some of the light in the room. “I wanted to.”

You don’t handle that as well as he’d hoped you would.

Carmen’s seen you cry a few times and, sure, it kind of freaks him out, but he feels like he’s gotten pretty good at soothing you. This is the first time you’ve ever cried in front of him and it’s been his fault.

You let your head fall forward so half is covered by the sofa and the other by your arm. The sweater you’re wearing is new, he knows that, not one of the many you’ve donned over your white button up after the dining room’s cleared out.

He’s not sure what to do, but mercifully, you beat him to speaking up.

“I’m sorry.”

Carmen can’t even fathom how awful he must have been to you for your first instinct to be an apology.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I know I’ve missed a lot of work and I wasn't even that good of a waitress to begin with, I’ll be back soon, I promi- if you want me back, I know you could probably find someone more reliable.”

“What do I have to do, give you tenure? Write it into your contract that no matter what I’m not gonna fire you?” Carmen runs a hand through his hair, knowing he sounds about as desperate as he feels and choosing to hope you don’t notice it.

“I didn’t even mean to take all the time off,” you’re still crying. “It just.. I thought it would be a sick day and then I just-” you hiccup. The tears seem to be slipping out of your eyes involuntarily, faster than you seem to be able to choke down the sobs, “didn’t get better.”

Carmen has never seen you like this. You’re inconsolable, to the point where you don’t even notice when he moves some of your hair out of your face.

“Sweetheart,” his voice is so low it grumbles against his chest. “What.. what can I do? Do you need to go to the ER?”

You finally take a gasping breath. “It hurts, Carm.”

He leans towards you, urgently. “What hurts, where? Where? What..” he can feel panic rising in his chest, trying to quash it for the sake of your wellbeing. “What can I do?”

“Everything,” you sound drowsy, voice wet and thick from the heaviness of your throat. “My- my hands, my shoulders, m-my back, fuck, my head.”

Carmen knows none of this is his fault, he knows that. But the idea that this - whatever it is - seems to be swallowing you from the inside, and he can’t do anything to stop it? He’s never felt more useless. He thinks about you more than he probably should - it’s intermittent between the feelings of despair and terrified aching. You’ve expanded in his chest, starting as a name on a roster and slowly filling every cavity of his body.

Like milk on a stove.

“Why didn’t you go see someone?”

You laugh, and that should be enough to make him feel better, but it’s not the laugh he hears at night. It’s tired, it’s cold, and it’s empty. “Do you think I can afford the fucking hospital, Carmen?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the words die in his throat.

“Look at this place,” you don’t even have the strength to lift your head to look around. One of your wrists twitches in a muscle spasm. “I… this is all I have, Carm. This. What you see here. This is my life, okay? This apartment, this job… you’re all I’ve got.”

Carmen is a success in his field. There’s no contesting that. He has his restaurant, he has his accolades. Some nights he looks at you and thinks to himself “she’s all I need.” He’d never considered the difference.

“I’m sorry,” he folds, not even thinking about getting defensive. This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten pissed at him for this exact thing. You live well within your means, Carmen forgets that sometimes.

He’d have helped already if he thought you’d accept it. He can’t give you more of a raise, you’re already making well above minimum wage and at that point it wouldn’t be fair to the other staff if you were getting a boost. Anything he’d give you would have to be out of his own pockets, and he knows you’d never accept that. So he does what he can to keep you safe and happy. He drives you home from work, he keeps your key on his key ring, he makes sure you’ve always eaten at least two meals every day.

But he can’t fix this, and he knows that.

“I… I’m not mad,” you say softly, fiddling with your fingers. They’ve been stiff lately, but they’ve loosened up over the last few days. “It just hurts, that’s all. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I…” you look embarrassed, like it’s just hit you how he’s seeing you. “It happens sometimes, every so often, that’s why I didn’t take all the time off at once. I can usually handle it. Pull myself together until my day off, and then bounce back from it.”

You’re lying to him, only slightly. Some days it seems like your body is punishing you, for what exactly, you’re not sure. You can barely drag yourself up the stairs to get home, before collapsing to fall asleep on the couch. Some nights the migraines at work get so bad you shut yourself in the walk-in under the guise of being upset while you wait for the pills to clear your head. Some days your stomach burns so badly that you don’t eat the food you know Carmen is forcing your way. It goes home, in your fridge, to be eaten when you can stomach it.

But you’re not lying about the fact that you didn’t think you needed more than a few days off. You could feel the flare up getting worse than usual, and with your one day off that week approaching, you’d finally decided to use some of your PTO to take a couple extra days.

Then, like you’d said you just… didn’t get better.

This is the worst it has ever been. You’re crying daily, you can barely move, and Jesus Christ you’re hungry. This is you on the mend. You wouldn’t have dared let Carmen in a week ago.

“Whatever you need,” Carmen tells you seriously. I would give you whatever you wanted. “I’m just sorry that I can’t make it go away.”

Something that you’d googled said stress makes it worse. You’re overworked, you know that, but you’re not sure what to do about it.

Carmen gestures to the bowl of pasta. It’s cold now, but it’s all he has to offer.

You raise your head to look at it. “I tried once,” you admit, “to make it myself when I first moved out on my own. I’d seen her make it so many times, surely I could figure it out.” Carmen is a chef. You know he doesn’t need to hear the story to know how badly you’d messed it up.

“I’ll warm it up for you?” He offers. You nod finally, resting your head on your forearm so you’re looking sideways at him.

It’s a hard dish to make right. It involves making a smooth sauce out of hard cheese. You need to avoid going in too hot so the sauce isn’t clumpy. It needs some time to cool first, before you finally let it melt.

Carmen watches you while he watches the numbers on your microwave shift closer and closer to zero. He doesn’t give a shit if he needs to start paying your rent for you. You can’t keep going on like this. Six days a week is causing your body to chew on itself, making worse something that would be there regardless. He can’t let this get worse.

You’ll be back at work four days later, now only working five days a week and somewhat shaky in your deliberations. He’ll keep an eye on you and you’ll roll your eyes and insist your fine.

But right now, he needs to make sure you’re relaxed enough to melt. To coat his motivations and to spread, pooling in the hollows of his collarbones and in the gaps between his cells.

You eat slowly, the fork scraping against the bowl sickeningly. When you’re done, he asks if he can do anything else.

You let him wrap his arms around you, fully engulfing you. Neither of you mention how it’s more for his benefit than yours.

[socgf]

you really got me - chapter 2

dallas winston x curtis!oc

wc: 2074

warnings: allusion to ed

when the pots clanging in the kitchen startle me awake and i peer my eyes open, the spot on the bed next to me empty but with the cologne still lingering, i know i don’t have much time before darry starts yellin’ from the staircase for me to get my butt downstairs for breakfast. i reach over to my nightstand, my fingers reaching for a marlboro red and my pink lighter. it’s not a habit i’m too proud of. despite everyone around me, even pony, smoking like a chimney, it’s different with me for some reason. not something that i should be getting into. but when i walk around smelling like cigarettes, i can blame it on dally rather than my recent affinity for dulling my appetite, if that’s one thing he’s good for.

sitting down at my desk, i run my brush through my hair and tie it back neatly with a bow, before dusting my face with some powder and blush. soda always tells me we got our mom’s eyes, all big and doe-like. i like to think they’re my best feature, and that if i make them pop, i’ll distract from the rest of my face, covered with red spots, though my layer of powder tends to do a decent job. i don’t like looking at myself in the mirror for long enough that i find something else i need to fix, so i snap my compact shut.

“yeah, ‘m coming, dar,” i mutter softly, cutting off his knocks.

soda and pony are already digging into their sunny side up eggs and bacon when i take my seat at the table.

“late night?” soda gleams, mouth half full. he knows better than anyone that when darry has to drag me out of bed, it’s because dally kept me up all night talking. or whatever it is we do, as far as he’s concerned.

“yeah, yeah, now be quiet.” i grumble, but with no malice in my tone.

darry sits down last, giving me a slight once over like he’s suspecting something, but he doesn’t know what. “eat your bacon, rosie posie.” he nudges his fork towards my plate.

“hell, i’ll eat it if you don’t want it.” pony responds earnestly, and i hand it over to his plate, darry huffing slightly but leaving it at that. i smack pony’s head lightheartedly.

“rosie, you gonna happen to be home for dinner? i need a little help around the house.” darry asks casually.

“ah, shit. i can’t, dar. marcy’s put me on the night shift tonight.”

that wasn’t entirely a lie. i was working late at the diner. well, later, as in until seven instead of five. after which, dally was supposed to pick me up and take me to some party at buck’s, on account of me ‘stickin’ my fuckin’ nose in a book all the time lately’. but i could leave that part out.

soda smirks at me slightly from his plate. it’s the same party he’ll be taking sandy to, and he’s keeping his mouth shut so i don’t get a lecture on how the only thing at buck’s to get into is trouble.

a flicker of guilt runs through me at darry’s understanding nod, but i remind myself then that i’m almost eighteen and doing far less than even what ponyboy gets up to on the weekends. besides, with the way dally hovers over me like a damn guard dog when i’m out with him, i’m sure i’ll make it home in one piece.

-

i lift my head at the doorbell jingling and watch dally saunter over to the counter, leaning over ever so slightly with a simple, “hey, doll.”

“what are you doing here?” i laugh softly, my eyes darting around the diner to make sure my manager isn’t watching. “i told you to come get me at seven. you know, when i’m done working.”

“got hungry.” he says plainly, stealing a fry from someone’s half-finished plate on the edge of the counter.

i scrunch my nose, focusing my attention back to wiping off the appliances until they’re perfectly shiny. “well, the kitchen just closed. i couldn’t serve you even if i wanted to.” 

he groans and blows the paper wrapper of a loose straw at my head. “useless.” he scoffs.

i swat the paper away and refocus my attention onto the group of guys in madras loitering around the high chairs in front of me. in my uniform, especially this one with the poofy skirt cut a bit too high for comfort, i’m neither a greaser nor a soc. and i know big tippers when i see them, so i turn away from dally like he’s some creep who won’t get off my back, and put on my most charming smile.

“just a moment, y’all, i’ll be right there.” i don’t know why they tend to like that stupid southern twang so much, but the tall one in the middle gleams in response. 

i don’t miss how dally stiffens up and clenches his jaw at the voices to his left. and if i know what’s good for me, i act as if i don’t know the hood at the counter.

-

“you about ready to go yet?” he drawls, eyes lazily flickering over my uniform. “interesting choice.”

“ha, ha. i brought a change.” i mutter. “wait here a minute. and don’t cause a scene, please.. marcy’s around the corner.” i grab a small backpack from behind the counter.

he can’t resist an eye roll and a hushed marcy can suck my dick for all i care, which i ignore as i head to the employee bathroom. at least he’s not trying to steal from the kitchen this time.

the little black dress is rolled up neatly as i take it out. i had stolen it from mom’s closet a while back, not that she would mind now, i guess. no matter how many times dally or the gang dragged me to buck’s, i never felt i had quite the right outfit for the occasion, but maybe that was just my stubborn refusal to wear jeans and a leather jacket. i liked this dress, though, it was the most daring piece of clothing i owned. i zip it up neatly - mom occasionally let herself indulge in a mail-order piece - smoothing it out in the slightly cracked sink mirror. it’s kind of mod, short and sleeveless with a boat neck, and i feel a little like pattie boyd. i keep my black mary-janes on from work and tousle my hair a bit.

dally’s waiting in buck’s t-bird when i walk out of the diner with my uniform stuffed into my backpack, waving a cheeky goodbye to janie as she finishes mopping up. the sun has already set and the wind is freezing my legs, so i rush into the passenger seat.

“oh my, my. who you all dolled up for, huh?” dally eyes my dress appreciatively, flicking my hair.

“i wasn’t sure what to wear. why, do i look silly?” my face suddenly feels hot.

“we’re going to buck’s and you look like a proper soc, honey. it’s cute.” he’s almost chuckling to himself, but the words have just a bit of bite to them.

as he starts up the car i turn my gaze away from him, playing with the hem of my dress while he tunes the radio to some rolling stones song. he’s tapping his fingers on the wheel like he always does as he speeds down back streets.

the smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke and the red fluorescent lighting always hits you right in the face as soon as you walk in, if some chuck berry song blasting wasn’t enough. i wouldn’t say it’s my scene in the typical sense, but i feel real cool and rebellious when buck waves me and dally in with a short “you’re good”.

buck is the kind of man i can never seem to figure out. i’ve been up in dally’s room or down in the kitchen enough times for him to give me a nod of acknowledgement when i’m at the door, but i can’t say i’m not still scared of him or what business he gets into in the corners of his parties. i smile politely and dally pushes me inside, with a hand brushing against the small of my back.

“aren’t those the guys in shepard’s outfit?” i mutter softly to him, meeting the gaze of a guy i recognize serving along with tim on the weekends. i didn’t know where tim and dally stood right now after their recent brawl, but i never really know anyway.

dally follows my gaze before giving me a little tap on my lower back. “don’t worry ‘bout that.” he doesn’t elaborate, but i believe him.

“c’mon.” he walks ahead of me carving out a path towards the bar. buck’s back behind the counter now, and he rolls his eyes at dally’s saunter.

“grab me a budweiser, would ya?” dally meets eyes with buck. i can tell when he’s putting on an act, bossing buck around like he isn’t permanently indebted to him for his spot upstairs. but buck seems to understand, even if wordlessly.

“and for the dame… vodka cranberry, ain’t that right?” he gives me that shit-eating grin, but his tone is softer this time.

“my answer never changes, dal. and uh, thanks, buck.” now that i think of it, my wallet isn’t even on me, not that dally would ever let me pay for a drink. though it’s less him being a gentleman and more the fact that he owes me a hell of a lot more in bail.

“she wants no more than a splash of cranberry, old man. don’t cheap out on her.” his eyes don’t leave my glass behind the counter, and i would protest his crassness if he wasn’t spot on.

“hey, you trying to get my baby sister drunk?” i hear that playful tone to my right, and dally and i both meet eyes with soda, who’s got sandy leaning against his arm.

“yeah, baby sister by about five minutes.” i smile wryly.

soda goes in for a real bro hug with dally, ever the affectionate one, before reaching over the counter and ruffling my hair. i’ve always liked sandy with soda. i never see him smile that hard when he’s not with her. he’s real sweet on her in a way i don’t think i ever imagine experiencing.

“hey sandy. i love your dress.” i lean over to her while dally and soda are lost in conversation.

she’s got a pastel yellow shift dress on with a headband in her hair, and she looks completely out of place, but she’s beautiful and radiant as always.

“oh, you’re a doll. i love yours too. i haven’t seen you in so long, rosie!”

“it’s just one of my old ones. and i know. school has been so busy...” i groan lightheartedly, before mentally slapping myself in the face for bringing up that subject with her. i knew how she felt about soda dropping out this year.

“no worries. hey, maybe we can hang out the four of us, go on a double date or somethin’.”

“oh, we’re not-” i tense up ever so slightly, and she gets the picture.

“ah shit, my mistake. well, listen, i’ll come by the diner, alright?” and she brushes it off effortlessly, while i will my face to stop flushing.

before dally beckons me away with him, gripping onto his beer, soda stops me with a gentle hand.

“ain’t that mom’s dress, posie?” his tone is cautious but never unkind, and i falter for a moment.

“...i know. i’ll put it right back.”

he pats me on the back affectionately, and pauses in thought. “i swear you really look just like her sometimes.” he mutters. “be careful, yeah? and let me know if you need a ride home.”

soda has a way of saying the most heart wrenching things so casually, like he doesn’t even think twice about their significance. but i don’t have time to think too hard about it. “don’t worry, sodapop. i’ll let you know. have fun.” i keep my tone cheerful, and he gives me a wink before wrapping his arm around sandy again.

a.n.

i am so self conscious about my writing but i wanted to post to get this out of my drafts :) update coming tmrw ACTUALLY

taglist:

@mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d

as always comment if u wanna be tagged!

[optimisticgrey]

Not tonight

masterlist | requests? | ao3| kink encyclopedia |

summary: You and Halsin are the last ones awake at the Elfsong Tavern and your mind drifts back to another time, where Halsin loved and trusted you.

author's note: I had a shit day at work and saw this post by @transkingcobra which got me thinking. So I had to write about it. This is a Spin Off of Echoes of the Thread, where a Tav remembers their previous runs (think honor mode)

content warning: Deep longing. Smut implied. Submissive Halsin implied.

word count: 1k

AO3 Link

You rest on one of the couches as the others slowly disperse for the night. One by one, doors close, Karlach’s wonderfully booming laughter echoing through the room until the last door swings shut.

It makes you smile as you turn your head.

Halsin is the only one left.

He finishes his pipe, carefully emptying the contents into the fire.

It’s the pipe you always grab for him in the Emerald Grove.

Ever since you first learned where he keeps it, you’ve made a habit of tucking it away in your pack until you can free him from the goblin dungeon.

Every time.

And every time, he’s charmed and just a little flustered when you hand it back.

“You need rest,” Halsin observes.

You look up, realizing your gaze had drifted to his hands, watching as he cleans the pipe with a small rag.

You know how those hands feel.

And gods, you miss them more than words can fathom.

His eyes study you closely, moving over your face with quiet intensity.

Those eyes.

Heterochromatic. The outer grey ring that shrinks as the day brightens, the warm hazel spreading like sunlight.

You remember waking up to them, nearly silver in the morning light, twinkling with mischief and love as his hand found your hip, your cheek, drawing you in for the first, intimate kiss of the day.

“I know,” you sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions, closing your eyes.

You can’t look at him without longing.

Without nearly breaking apart.

It’s hard enough during the day, but tonight… tonight, it’s unbearable.

“There’s so much to do,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice light. “We’ll be up and running again come morning.”

But the ache in your chest doesn’t lessen.

You crave him.

You always have.

And you know he would never decline if you reached for him.

He never has.

But that is not what you need tonight.

Tonight, you need the Halsin who trusts you.

The one you lost last time.

The one you failed.

The memory is a wound that has not stopped to bleed.

You have failed all of them, more times than you dare or allow yourself to count but Halsin’s last death still haunts you.

Orin had slain everyone, left their bodies scattered around you.

You had screamed yourself hoarse, fighting with every ounce of strength against the spell that held you in place.

You had begged her, cursed her, offered your own life in his place.

Anything, anything, anything just to spare him.

But she only smiled as she drove the dagger into his heart.

And you had watched, powerless, screaming and crying as the light left his eyes.

The love of your life.

The Halsin who trusted you. Deeply and wholeheartedly.

With his life, his heart but also his worst fears.

The one who let you hold him through his nightmares when the world crumbled around him, when for a few precious hours in the safety of your arms, he no longer had to pretend to be strong.

When he shed not only his armour but his masks as well.

When it all became too much.

When his past caught up to him, and he surrendered, offering himself into your care.

When he knew, and trusted, that you would hold him, carry him through the storm.

It was a rare gift.

He does not give his vulnerability freely.

“There is always work to be done,” he says, his voice low and measured, though his gaze lingers on you with quiet concern. “But even the strongest trees must rest, must drink deep of stillness to stand tall. We could all use a respite—if only for a day or two.”

You smile weakly.

You knew he would say this before the words left his lips.

You knew he would support your wish for rest.

He always does.

Your mind drifts to your last night together.

The night before you lost him.

He had trusted you so deeply, he had submitted to you.

Allowed you to bind him to the bed post and lustfully torture him for hours.

Until he was able to turn his mind off.

Until he was able to let go.

Until he begged you to allow him to find release.

But you have kept riding him, teasing him, never finishing him.

Allowing yourself to come over and over again, your lips pressed to his ear, whispering words of praise, love and lust that made him squirm.

You had pressed your body against his trembling lips, guiding his touch, allowing him to kiss only where you permitted.

When you finally let him find release, he cried.

Shuddering with relief, his sweat-slicked body trembling so violently that the bedpost gave way, bringing the canopy down with it.

You had managed to cast a quick shield, catching veils and wood splinters before they could touch you. And he had laughed, deep and wholehearted, pulling you into his arms.

One of the best memories you were allowed to keep.

You open your eyes and look at him now.

The sight of him clenches around your heart like a fist, all the memories you try to cherish in quiet, lonely hours, rushing back all at once.

You remember what his hands feel like.

How they feel, simply holding yours.

Drawing you closer into a hug.

Trailing soft circles on your hip bones.

How his lips taste.

The way they tremble in the moment before meeting yours.

What his gentle, quiet voice, the one he only allows to show when you were intimate, did to your mind, heart and loins.

You miss him more than words can hold, and you usually think yourself quite eloquent.

But not tonight.

Tonight, this Halsin is your friend and he watches you with quiet concern.

“Good night, Halsin,” you murmur as you stand, retreating to bed alone.

[alaskas-space-project]

I don’t often post my own thoughts on tumblr but it’s 1 am and I’m not afraid of much when it’s so late (early?)

cw: discussions of ED as they relate to figure skating

tldr: my thoughts on icebreaker and what to read instead

So! I’m going to be talking about figure skating romance novels. If you’ve been anywhere on booktok or sports romance circles, or even just the internet you’ve probably heard of Icebreaker.

I mean, if you only want a romance… it’s there. But as an a beginner figure skater myself, (and someone who has a mild (overwhelming)) interest in the sport as a whole, the figure skating portrayed in the book is really mid.

The fmc (Anastasia/Stassie) is a pairs skater, and her partner has her on a diet to keep her light (???) like sir. Eating disorders are already so rampant in the fs community you don’t have to do it for her. Her BF is a very typical romance intrest and he’s like giving alpha of the college frat. I’m not going to reread icebreaker to straighten out my memories because I don’t think I can manage it.

major problem I have with the plot of this book: Anastasia changes from Pairs to Singles months before the Olympics, and wins the fucking women’s singles. Are there no Russian or Japanese skaters in this universe? But also ????? She switched disciplines only a few months before the fucking Olympics and then won. They’re different disciplines for a reason—of course the skills and many of the elements can be transferred across, but there’s a big bloody difference between the two. And then she gets pregnant. Surprise baby at like, 20!!

so yeah. Not my favourite book of all time. I mean, I’ve read worse, but that’s not really what you want to hear when someone’s recommending stuff to you.

HOWEVER!! There’s a ray of hope for us! I’ve read two figure skater romances which have my seal of approval (if that matters)

1) Unsteady by Peyton Corinne

2) From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata

I’ll try not to give any spoilers if you want to read these books.

Unsteady is another figure skater/hokey player romance, and it does what Icebreaker wanted to do. Compelling fmc, love inrest isn’t two dimensional minus his abs, and there’s a really nice plot line about the fmc’s family (she has little brothers). I generally really enjoyed this book, and it also has a Spotify playlist made by the author, which includes songs such as: Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, American Teenager by Ethel Cain and Family Line by Conan Grey.

(Mild spoilers for this one) From Lukov with Love is a a figure skater/figure skater romance. Jasmine Santos is a pairs skater who has trouble keeping a good partner, and Ivan Lukov’s partner has decided to take a break this season (despite them being the Olympic favourites??) I don’t remember if it was explained why. anyways, the two of them pair up. Now, I liked this book. It was better than Icebreaker. The characters are 25/30 years old, instead of being barely above the age of consent, which is a point from me. I have a bone to pick with Ivan though—he calls Jasmine meatball because she’s heavy or something??? And it’s addressed… in a way? Like he says “if it’s really bothering you I’ll stop, you know I don’t mean anything by it” you know how fucking fast my skate would be snuggling up to this man’s liver?? Mach fuck. But, they have a pretty interesting (good?) relationship. They’re there for eachother, and they work together to improve their skating.

A massive plus for me, which almost makes up for Ivan’s transgressions, is the realism of the figure skating here. FLWL dives into the different lifts, jumps and spins the pair do, and I love the little details the author added—she did her work! like the figure skaters falling on one side more than another (and just being used to falling on the ice lol), the solid explanations of the jumps, not making her characters constantly do triple C elements, and having the Jasmine have a signature jump. There’s a lot more details I could put in about what I liked in the figure skating of this book. it’s got my seal of approval overall.

so uh, yay! There’s my alternatives if you like figure skater romances, and you’re thinking about reading Icebreaker. I mean, I won’t stop you, but I’d definitely give these two a go as well, or instead

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[amanedachi]

iron / heart

Part of LoL Esports Elemental Series.

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[sodrippy]

regressing to my worst teenage traits but also being in one of the best places w my mental health at the same time is insane. like insane insane. whats fucking going on.

[starlight---starbrights]

Undertale yellow flowey embroidery

This took about 40 hours, give or take a few

[strawglicks]

need more firesetter content of graham being horribly pathetically downbad for flint