#a horrible caffeinated vision

[faeriekit]

"Okay." Danny slowly laid the already cold body back onto the table, ready to slide back it into the refuge of cold storage. "Okay. Dead guy. Stay there."

The body didn't move.

"Fantastic. Now. Hang out while I pour the embalming fluid into the pump, alright? It should only be a minute."

And it usually did; working in a funeral home wasn't extremely glamorous, but it paid the bills, and Danny had already been used to the rhyme and rhythm of negotiating death with the public by the time he sent in his mortuary school application. It had been a transition that made sense. And in the end, the degree had only cost him a few extra years post-graduation and a little dig into student loans, and now Danny had a stable 12-8 job and health insurance valid in the state of new jersey.

Today, though, the pump had that decided enough was enough. With a bang and a boom, the pump spat out a cloud of smoke and clunked uncomfortably.

The dead body sat up.

Danny scrambled over to push it back down. "No. We talked about this. Dead people don't move. If you want to stay here and have me put you back together all the time, you have to stay put. Got it?"

Whatever the weird gold-eye corpses were on in Gotham, they at least listened to him on occasion. They weren't ghosts, per se— they never pinged on any of the ghost detection devices Mom and Dad had packed in his going-away-to-college bag— but they were, despite being occasionally animate, perfectly deceased.

Weird. Danny had never gotten used to it. Still, they came in droves, too eager to sit on the top of the basement stairwell and lurk in the corners and stare endlessly at them with their weird, avian eyes, and sometimes they heralded the arrival similarly weird-ass bodies that had lost their heads or their arms or their limbs through the more conventional channels.

"I'm losing too much thread to all y'all coming in all the time," Danny complained to the dead body, who, at the moment, was the only person present to blame. "Stop getting your limbs cut off. This stuff is expensive, you know. It's a specialty order."

The body didn't even have the courtesy to blink. Rude.

"At least let them bury you this time. Every time one of you darts off when my back's turned, my boss thinks I'm stealing corpses. My coworkers think I'm building my own Frankenstein or something."

The corpse neither verbalized nor blinked, but Danny hadn't expected it to; with a sigh, he rolled the corpse back into cold storage, locked its little door (not that locking it in had ever stopped it) and called it quits for the night.

It's not like anyone was paying him for the extra hours anyway.

The whole fic on ao3

[illusioncanthurtme]

I have this Online Artist Disease where anytime I get an idea I feel like I need to make a thing in order to deliver that idea. Like, oh, a headcanon? Time to make a 5 panel comic to illustrate this vision. Well fuck that, I don't have the damn time. DIPCIFICA HEADCANON GO:

Pacifica keeps her job at greasy's diner for a long time. She eventually finds comfort from being there, routine, having some independence with a paycheck, having lazy Susan as a (very kind and loving) parental figure, etc. And dipper, teen years, crushing on her, sometimes takes his paranormal research work over there. Camps out in one of the booths for a few hours, hoping to interact with her a bit. And hes HORRIBLY awkward. He tries playing it cool, (oh, you know, nice to take my work outside the shack for a change, heheh *sweating*) but EVERYONE knows why he's there. He orders a coffee. Maybe he doesn't even particularly like coffee. Caffeine doesn't set well with him. But he drinks it anyway so she'll come back and refill it, and he'll get a chance to, at BEST, talk with her. Usually he doesn't muster up the courage. He just smiles awkwardly and says thank you.

Lazy Susan probably makes sure Pacificas the one who waits on his table. (Pacifica is very embarrassed - she likes him too but is in denial.) Dipper just thinks he's lucky.

Eventually, when they're dating, he still goes there with his work to spend time with her.

[peachgardendreams]

Rei’s Journey to Getting Healthier

So @yanderepuck and I headcanoned that Rei is probably super unhealthy from all the time he’s spent living alone in the dead zone and eventually it starts to catch up to him. Quincy just finds him passed out from dehydration one day and takes him to the mansion.

Olivine gives him a check up and they discover Rei’s horrible eating habits. Rei does not drink water, that man drinks his own special cold brew that’s just 100% concentrate. He smokes like 3 packs of cigarettes a week. If he does eat, it’s usually roadkill meat or potentially poisonous vegetation that he finds. Not only that but his sleep schedule is nonexistent. He sleeps whenever god lets him. Apart from this he has a side pain, knee pain, back pain, headaches, blurry vision and ringing in his ears.

Olivine is horrified and teams up with Yakumo to try to make Rei healthy because he’s severely malnourished from his horrible diet. Yakumo is taking this seriously because he feels so bad that he didn’t offer to take some food to Rei. He is meal prepping. Making sure Rei is getting all his nutrients and the meals aren’t repetitive.

Olivine is also taking this very seriously because he had been wanting to address some of the clan members’ concerning habits so he puts Rei on a diet to help him get back to a normal weight. Eiden is 100% for this idea he’s helping to make sure Rei is comfortable. Kuya is mostly to bully Rei. Quincy would have not bothered but since he found him he feels some sense of responsibility.

Rei is lowkey so annoyed. This is disrupting his schedule so much and he constantly tries to run away. They have to get Quincy to drag him back. (Quincy just picks him up like a sack on potatoes) Father also snitches on Rei if he tries to escape so he’s just stuck there until he gets better. They’re literally killing Rei with kindness.

The first week he’s there is the worst because he’s severely dehydrated and they’re trying to get him to drink as many fluids as he can. He can’t sleep on account of his horrible sleeping schedule. So he’s just staring at the ceiling for hours at night. Not to mention the withdrawals from not smoking anymore. Olivine somehow convinced Kuya to not smoke in the mansion so Rei wouldn’t be exposed to secondhand smoke either. (Kuya did it for fun as usual)

Not to mention the caffeine withdrawals. He was drinking alarming amounts of cold brew so he’s having the worst headaches right now. The others are trying to get him to drink stuff without caffeine but Rei doesn’t really like many of the alternatives. Dante suggests milk and that’s how they find out that both Rei and Kuya are lactose intolerant.

Which leads Kuya on a mission to find a type of milk he likes. Kuya likes banana milk and tries unsuccessfully to gaslight himself into liking normal milk. The entire time Rei is stuck at the mansion, Kuya is trying different types of milk to see which ones he likes. Somehow Dante gets dragged into this mission but he let himself be dragged in. Dante actually likes milk and wants to see what milk alternatives he could potentially introduce in Solaria.

Then Rei gets a little better and keeps trying to escape. They have to get Garu to make sure Rei eats his meals. They know Rei can’t resist Garu’s puppy dog eyes.

Garu: You aren’t going to eat it ᐡ◔ ·̭ ◔ᐡ

Rei: I’m not really-

Garu: ᐡ◔ ·̭ ◔ᐡ

Rei: … I’ll eat it.

Kuya: *walks in with a pitcher of milk*

He cannot tell Garu no. They quickly realize that and things started to go a little smoother. The rest of the clan is still insane though. Blade is doing his best to help by helping Yakumo with the cooking. He’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit. He just keeps suggesting food combinations that are technically nutritious but taste horrible together.

Edmond also got really invested because Olivine suggested that Rei needed some light exercise. Olivine also suggested that Edmond lower his sugar intake, that was an interesting conversation. It took some adjusting and a lot of chasing Rei around to prevent him from running away but they got him to start doing some light exercise to help with his body pains.

Anyway after like 3 months Rei is actually doing pretty well. His hair starts to grow out so he doesn’t have as much gray in it. The gang realizes his hair was supposed to be black. His ribs are no longer visibly showing. Bro is actually healthy. Kuya realized he likes coconut milk. Dante has tried at least 12 different types of milk. Edmond has slightly lowered his sugar intake. Blade is no longer suggesting mac n cheese for breakfast.

[itsmaybitheway]

WiP Wednesday 13/03

Thank you @wordsofhoneydew @magicandarchery @onthewaytosomewhere @suseagull04 @getmehighonmagic @sunnysideprince @priincebutt for the tags!!! I’m so sorry if I’ve missed someone I’ve been in and out of meetings and transporting to those meetings all day <3<3<3

Happy wip Wednesday tho!!! This week @happiness-of-the-pursuit made a comment about how my horrible stay-alive-during-law-school-finals-week juice should be in a fic and I ran with it, so there you guys go!!

It was inadvisable. Alex knew it was inadvisable the first time he did it, and he knew it the second time he did it. By the third time he was so high on caffeine, his hands were shaking, but one might argue attending law school was inadvisable as well. So Red-Bull lattes it is.

And it’s not like he meant to create this monstrous concoction in the first place. The milk his annoyingly perfect and considerate asshole of a roommate placed on his desk, along with a can of already opened Red-Bull, the cinnamon shaker and the mug holding his three shot of espressos (waiting for the addition of milk to his liking, decreasing by the increase of his stress level) were all next to each other. So when he accidentally picked the can and poured the contents of it inside his mug, it wasn’t on purpose.

But it got him an A on his Constitution Law paper so the next time he had a big dead-line coming up he did it again.

And now after mainlining three of them, running across campus for his Tort Law final, the tightness in his chest seems like a predictable outcome. What Alex doesn’t expect is for his arms to go tingly and lose the sensation in his legs. His vision goes blurry, the ground coming closer and closer. And the last thing his mind registers before it all goes black is the incessant ringing in his phone and Henry’s contact name- ‘HRH Dickhead 💩’ popping up on his screen.

As always this is an open tag to anyone who wants to participate and some no-pressure attached tags are under the cut!!! So sorry if you already posted and I missed it, like I said I had to adult all day and I hate it 😔 and if you guys don’t wanna be tagged lmk!!

@agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @absolute-audacity @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @cha-melodius @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @cricketnationrise @clottedcreamfudge @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @emmalostinwonderland @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @i-am-freyja @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @msmarvelouswinchester @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts @orchidscript @porcelainmortal @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sweetmidnights @sherryvalli @smc-27 @songliili @theprinceandagcd @three-drink-amy @zwiazdziarka

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 9 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~1.5k

You rose before the sun did; the air was still chilled with dew and the streetlights were reflecting light off of the streets. It sucked– making yourself look like a functioning being as soon as you woke up. It was a small price to pay for your mornings, however. These mornings were fresh, calming, and slow. The air always seemed cleaner in the morning.

 You ensured your hair was out of your face, wore simple anti-slip shoes, and clothes that were easy to move in. You didn’t bother with full makeup today. You put on enough to ensure you didn’t look fully dead. 

But the first breath of air you took as soon as you stepped outside your apartment was always the best. The slight nip of the winter air bit at your nose as you started your walk. You took it slow. There was no need to rush.

But your mind was frazzled. As soon as you’d arrived at your destination, you had drank a cup of coffee and you finished setting up for the day. Yet, you sat at the counter with your mind in a foggy haze. 

“Hm. The lights look pretty. It’s still so dark outside.”

The jazzy lofi playing in the background was a great addition to the aesthetics of the place, but you just blinked, staring into the abyss while your brain felt as if it were hollow. The deep beats of the music melded into your thoughts. It slowly started to drift into daydream, making up incoherent thoughts and ideas. Thoughts about food and thoughts about what your dream was last night. Was it something with unicorns and bologna? Or was it a pony and bologna?

Wait, does that rhyme? Pony? Bologna? What…

Your vision blurred and you were in a completely different world. Time seemed like it didn’t pass while your mind drifted into space onto a cloud of murky thoughts. You sat slouched on the stool as your brain drifted far away. But your posture didn’t matter at the moment. You weren’t even going to open for another ten minutes, but you still took in a deep breath of the aromatic coffee scent in the air that you’d become so accustomed to. 

“Ehhh…” you groaned like a zombie. You didn’t even realize you’d made that noise out loud until from behind you, a guy made a “tsk” noise and dropped a paper bag in front of you. You stirred from the crinkle of the bag and blinked back into focus. “Hm?” 

You looked at the man who’d just snapped you out of your trance, and he stared at you with an annoyed look. “Grabbed some croissants from Starbucks . ‘Said you liked ‘em on the chat, so here.” The blonde grumbled at you before turning around to grab his mug and slowly sip at his espresso.

You were on autopilot mode while helping him open today. It was officially the last day of your training, so you were caught up to speed with everything. You weren’t even functioning enough for you to deny or question the croissant out of politeness, so you just picked up the bag and let the smell of the fresh pastry absorb into your mind while looking at the layers of the croissant and listening to Bakugou’s footsteps behind you. 

You took a moment to breathe in its doughy, slightly sweet scent before taking a bite.

It was buttery, crispy, and soft all at the same time. It was heavenly. You mindlessly ate it until you got to the end, crumbs all over your mouth. The croissant was even better with your espresso con panna. 

Just a bit more time before the café opens. 

When you finished your croissant, you were finally back to reality. “Mm. It was delicious. Thanks, Bakugou-kun.”

The hours were really flexible. You’ve worked at a café in the past but left because the management was horrible. But here? Bakugou gets you breakfast everyday (great employee treatment), paid breaks, pretty good hourly wage, and free unlimited drinks! Goodness, the benefits are almost better than your nepotism-baby job over at the new boutique. 

You come on days when you don’t have class. You’re in for the opening shift, but Bakugou finishes most of the things that are needed to open before you can even start.

With your mind cleared a bit from its haze, you made yourself an americano for more caffeine. Bakugou eyes you for a second, making sure you weren’t making too much. He tries to keep an eye on your caffeine consumption so that you don’t have a heart attack mid-shift. You don’t notice the way Bakugou’s eyes linger on your face for a little too long. You’re too focused on the smell of the freshly brewed espresso for your americano.

After preparing a mug with ice and water, you gently pour the espresso over it and bask in the flavor, letting it seep into your bones. You felt the caffeine coursing through your veins.

But your dazedness was contagious. As soon as you started coming back to reality, Bakugou started slipping out of it. He watches your carefully manicured hands shake as they move to pick up your mug of liquid death. You’ve already drank too much caffeine. He’s immediately anticipating the bout of anxiety that’ll pass over you for the next two hours. He’s going to need to cut you off soon, and it’s only been a couple hours. 

But just a couple more seconds…

The way your lips caress the edge of the mug makes him bite his lips. The sigh you released after a sip makes him mind blank. He’s never wanted to be a cup so badly in his entire life. The simple sight of your smaller hands wrapped around the mug makes him want to drown himself in you. He’s already dreading 11:30 am– the time you leave. 

Bakugou is ashamed to admit that he puts in a little (a lot) extra effort into his appearance on the certain days of the week that you come in for a shift before your shift at Kindeki’s boutique next door. He rolls up the sleeves on his silky black button-up, making sure his watch is strapped on his wrist correctly. He can smell a little bit of his cologne when he does this.

By this point, he’s only known you for two months, but his heart clenches every time he sees your face. It’s starting to physically hurt, even. 

When he realizes it’s starting to hurt, he quickly tears his gaze away from your form. 

—

“Hah? You wanna work here?” Bakugou asked, incredulous. A well-groomed eyebrow shot up his forehead, and his red eyes widened in genuine surprise. The gears in his head were turning so hard that it was almost visible. “Uhh… aren’t you already busy with other shit?” 

He peered down at your cheerful figure, wrapped in a puffer jacket and earmuffs rested around your neck. A cute Michelin man. 

“Well, I’ve got some commitments, but I’m going to work at the Kindeki boutique opening next door!” You beamed at him. He melted. “And I was thinking– wouldn’t it be good to multitask by working here and also working on that new line with you? So, on the days I don’t have class, I’ll be doing a shift here and then move next door.” 

The spiky-headed man (er- boy, with the way you were making him feel) didn’t know what to say. This girl is destroying herself. Isn’t that an insane amount of work? Shouldn’t you relax? It’s also way too attractive– the way you’re so focused on your goals. He doesn’t know whether he wants you to relax or not. After all, if you started working at this café… he’d be able to see the way those eyes of yours light up every time you were happy with the smallest of things. 

When you’d drink a sip of a drink he made for you.

When you’d come up with an idea for a new design.

When you’d find a ladybug on your finger. 

‘“Oh, and here’s my resume!” You handed him a folder with your resume neatly tucked into one of the pockets. He was going to hire you without a resume anyway, but he looked through the words on the paper and choked on his saliva.

Your qualifications were almost terrifying. “You’re hired.”

“W-Wait. No interview? I got ready and everything.” You frowned, gesturing to your pinstriped blazer that was resting on your shoulders.

“I already know what your work ethic is like. No need to explain it to me. What days ‘ya wanna work?”

And from then on, you found yourself working at Bakugou Katsuki’s café as the cute barista behind the counter that everybody gives their number to.

Just kidding.

Bakugou has been glaring off anybody who gives you so much as a second glance.

But either way, he knew he was more screwed when he started working with you more and more. There was too much to like about you.

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 7

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Strong allusions to/descriptions of to Self h@rm. bl00d, swearing, general 18+ content but nothing way too explicit this chapter. Some slightly fluffy vibes as a break from all the shit because my boy has been through it.

“Have you forgotten, my Vessel?”

“No.”

“Does it tempt you? The light?”

“Not as such. The light hurts my eyes, and there is no music in it. I cannot be somewhere where music is not.”

“You do well. Stay in the dark, my pretty voice. And wait for my words.”

“Yes…”

It’s not a dream. But at the same time, he’s not awake. He’s locked in the space between his mind and his eyelids; a dark place where he can’t move or think beyond the words coming out of his mouth, words that don’t even feel like his own. And yet here there’s a strange sort of peace here; a foreign, fearless, silence of his thoughts. He knows his purpose when he’s here.

“Yes…” his lips form the word over and over. He’s glad he’s finally found the point of having his mouth; to create the word and know that in this void, he is approved of because of it.

Suddenly there’s eyes in the dark. They’re blue as glaciers and round as planets and for a second he feels his Eden being invaded. Then the vision suddenly vanishes, and in its place is sunlight.

And a headache.

A splitting, horrible headache.

He blinks a few times to get the world into focus, and suddenly realizes that someone is standing directly over him. He barely has a second to process the enormous blue eyes blinking down at him before the person turns their head and yells out of the room, “guys! He’s wakin’ up, guys!”

It’s the drunk drummer he met at the bar.

Vessel tenses, fingers clawing the blanket now half on the floor and pulling it up over his bandaged chest. He’s still blinking, trying to figure out if last night's events were real and, if so, where the hell he is, when a second person comes into the room. He looks more put together than anyone he’s seen so far, leaning against the doorframe with a calmly curious look on his face. He eyes Vessel slowly, smiling politely when their eyes meet.

“Goodmorning.” He says.

Vessel is starting to feel enormous sympathy for every bug he’s ever uncovered and examined when flipping over garden stones.

There’s dusty sunlight pouring in through the window frames, bathing both him and the tiny living room/music room/three men live here and it shows room. And the big blue eyes of the drummer are still on him, hovering about two feet away and waiting patiently for him to do something.

“Hello.” Is what he manages.

“Damn, you’re a bit busted huh mate?” The drummer says, eyes sympathetic now as he swipes his unruly hair. “Not great.”

“No, not great.” Vessel has to agree. He still hasn’t moved. “Um, II, right?”

The drummer smiles. “Nice memory! Good on you, man. IV, come introduce yourself.”

the guitarist shrugs off of the doorframe, wandering over casually and nodding down at the man on the couch.

“IV.” He says.

Vessel nods awkwardly, trying not to stare at the very noticeable sling around his shoulder. But the guitarist obviously notices his inner turmoil, because he instantly waves him off. “aye, I’ve got a break from practice for a few weeks, I’m grateful. If III tries to blame you though tell him he’s crazy, it was my clumsy ass.”

Before Vessel can reply, another voice fills the room.

“Don’t try and make him feel better.”

All eyes suddenly turn to the doorway, where a now familiar figure is standing, messy hair pulled back in a knot and an enormous steaming mug in his hand. His robe hangs loose off his angular frame.

He just hovers there, eyeing the space between II and Vessel like at any moment the caffeine might kick in and he’ll jump for it; ready to tear the half-living singer a new one if given any reason. Vessel takes the warning and doesn’t so much as breathe too deeply.

Meanwhile, II sits down beside him without a fear in the world.

“Sorry you had to put up with III as a nurse.” He laughs, folding his hands in his lap. “One time I tripped on the step and sprained my damn ankle, and he had to carry me bridal-style back inside. Grumbled the whole way, then just fucking dumped me here too.” He gestures at the sofa and the man currently trying to shrink himself on it, a laugh still on his lips. He glanced back at III. “didn’t even make me soup.”

“I can’t fucking make soup.” The bassist says, gripping his mug with ring-decorated fingers- a few of the stones Vessel recognizes, some of the fatter rocks and symbols he doesn’t- and taking a long swig. “And if you didn’t get soup, there’s no way he is. We’ll probably have the cops beating down the door any fucking second looking for his busted ass.” He glares at Vessel, making eye contact sharp enough to cut new stripes into his skin. “Time to head out, bruv.”

A sudden flush of embarrassment climbs up Vessel’s chest, turning his bloodless cheeks pink as he blinks back. He feels practically naked right now; wearing his emotions on his face and a pair of baggy black sweatpants low on his hips. And the increasing certainly that he’s incapable of walking doesn’t exactly make him feel safe right now, either. Who are these people? Why are they held up in a cabin in the woods, and how much goddam witchcraft have they been doing up here? For all he knows, they could be in league with Venus. Is the voice in his head something they conjured up?

Silence!

The command rips through his brains like a bullet. He winces, scrunching his eyes as a gasp leaves his mouth. A gentle hand grabs his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright mate?” II asks, eyes searching his miserable face.

“He’s not going anywhere.” IV says, blinking down at the sight. He turns back to III, who himself even looks a little concerned at the way Vessel is shaking.

“He’s got no strength in him, man. I’m gonna make some fuckin breakfast, then we can talk.”

The guitarist walks past his friend in the doorway, sliding into what must be the kitchen.

“Fine.” III says, passing his mug between his two hands and tapping painted nails on the porcelain. “But if the cops show, one of you two is answering the fuckin door.”

And just like that he leaves, turning back down the hallway and closing himself up in the same bedroom he’d got the sweatpants from.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” II says, trying to look understanding as the trembles in Vessel’s shoulders settle and he gathers his breath, blinking his eyes back open to the world. “Whatever happened to you, you can tell us or not. ‘Matters is, you’re fine now, eh? IVy’s gonna cook something up, then you can just hang around long as you need. Make some music.”

The idea of singing feels like it hasn’t crossed his mind in millennia, much less doing it for them. But there’s a strange comfort in the way the drummer looks at him with those big, soft blue eyes.

He manages a grin, and nods.

Meanwhile pots are starting to clang in the next room, the smell of eggs wafting into the dusty parlor like a sign from god.

• • •

He remembers the feel of the carpet beneath his feet. The way his shoulder collapsed against the wall, rattling the picture frames smiling down at him.

“…m,mom?”

He remembers clutching his wrist, seeing double as something seeped dark and thick from between his fingers. He didn’t mean for there to be that much.

��M…mom!”

Her silhouette filled the end of the hallway, casting a shadow down to him. Her face went white as a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded, hurrying to him. She wrenched his arm off of his chest, a horrified gasp leaving her lips.

“Jesus Christ, how did that happen? Did you do this on purpose?!”

“It was an accident.”

“You’re fucking thirteen. You know not to play with knives, fucking hell…”

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed. His heart was gonna beat out of his chest. He was dying.

Her hands felt cold on him, prying at his fingers around the warm blood to get a better look.

“Get into the bathroom right now.” She ordered. She sounded like she might cry too, but not now- she always did her crying later.

“And stop crying.” She said, ushering him down the hallway. “You’re gonna wake up your sister.”

“I’ll do it.” II says, reaching an arm across Vessel. IV takes the salt shaker from his friend's hand and nods his thanks.

Vessel shakes from the daydream, shoving his arms underneath the table. The sleeves of II’s hoodie barely go past his wrists.

“Huh?”

“That bandage coming loose on your head?” III asks, picking at his steaming pile of eggs and toast. “IV was talking to ya.”

“Sorry.” He says, reaching for his own fork. The sleeve slides up his arm again and he tugs it back down with an age-old instinct, trying to politely search for a bite.

“What was that?”

“Just asking for the salt.” IV says, trying to smile at him. Though the thing comes out looking pretty full of pity. “Hey, how’re you feeling now, mate?”

Truthfully, he feels like he might throw up any minute. But at least the imminent threat of passing out seems gone.

“I could use a cup of tea.”

III’s face seems fixed in a permanent look of distaste, but he doesn’t say anything as II jumps up from the little round table and heads to the counter, filling the kettle from the tap. “Oh, fucking me too!” he says, bringing that same endearing enthusiasm into every word he says. Vessel’s heart flutters a bit at the man’s eagerness; when was the last time someone made him tea?

“Pick your poison, Vess.” He says, turning on the stove and reaching for a little decorated box beside the sink. “We’ve got Earl Grey, English Breakfast… and this funky Jasmine Rose one III got. Tastes a bit ass, honestly. Not good with milk and sugar.”

III shoves a forkful of eggs into his face and rolls his eyes. “Anyone who needs milk and sugar to enjoy tea doesn’t get a damn opinion.” He’s very blatantly avoiding Vessel’s face now, just glances at IV as II chuckles and pulls out two bags of English breakfast. “IV, you like it don’t you?”

The guitarist just smirks, taking a slow sip of his creamy coffee. His eyelashes flick down to Vessel, who’s currently fumbling with only his third bite of food. “No comment.”

“What?! I thought you liked it, I fully got another fucking box in my bag, man! You were slurping it down the other morning during practice.”

IV shrugs, seemingly content when a fourth bite passes Vessel’s lips. “Felt good on my throat… Still tastes shit.”

“You sing?” Vessel suddenly asks, surprised to hear his own voice. He sits up straighter, casting his eyes to the man beside him.

Suddenly II starts laughing behind III, clinking a lid down on a pretty brown teapot. “not like you, he doesn’t.” He says, eyes twinkling in the steam. “He screams. I swear to god, if we had neighbors they’d be scared shitless. At least the squirrels don’t seem to mind.” He pulls two mugs from the cupboard and sets them down. “I think they’ve made him their banshee leader.”

IV’s laugh is deep and soft, filling the little kitchen with even more warmth than the sunlight streaming in. “I can sing normal, too.” He swipes his hair out of his eyes, taking another sip of his drink. “ jus’ not as fun.”

“Aye, not so loud.” III says. And now his eyes dart to Vessel’s, gluing him down. “We’ve got a soft tenor in the room.”

Vessel’s eyes go a shade darker. He doesn’t peel them off of the bassist across from him.

“I can scream.” He says.

IV seems intrigued, though both he and II seemed fixed on the tension between the singer and bassist. “Oh? You like to fry?”

Vessel swallows. “Sometimes.” He says, breaking eye contact only long enough to take the mug II offers him. He mumbles a thank you.

“But I like it deeper, goes better with my songs.”

“You’ve gotta sing for us at some point, mate.” IV says. “That performance you gave at the bar was something else, but if you’re serious about it, you can’t hold out on us. We could harmonize.”

“Maybe.” Vessel’s eyes go a little wide as II tips a jug of milk into his tea, stirring a mound of white sugar into the mix like a true Englishman.

“Maybe later.” The tea scalds down his throat, but the taste is a comfort all the same. His tongue darts out across his lips and he rolls them awkwardly, uncertain how much longer he can take the eyes of the bassist on him. He forces a chuckle. “Not sure if III would uh, like that.”

“You kidding?” II says, smiling contentedly after a long sip of his nearly completely white tea. “III loved your singing, said it was the best voice he’d ever heard! Your pitch could go so well in a heavier mix, and he was about ready to play a riff for you right then and there when I found him before our show.” He doesn’t seem to notice how red III’s face is turning, instead smiling over at IV, who seems more than amused. “If shit hadn’t gone down on our set, I think III woulda hauled you up on the stage with him in a heartbeat.”

Vessel is speechless. There’s no way III actually liked his voice. Although, there was the healthy gap between his performance and the black eye he received for the man to have had second thoughts on the scrawny kid and his fucked up keyboard. Vessel’s wide eyes go straight to his lap, any and all words escaping him as III turns progressively redder across from him.

“Isn’t that right, III?” The drummer asks, now potentially aware of the effect his words have. He’s grinning too big. “Didn’t you say you wanted to hear him sing with some bass?”

“Bass can level up any performance.” III says, planting his elbows on the table. His hair falls into his face as he looks down to pick at his chipped nail polish. “But it’d be better with an actually good scream.”

“Don’t worry.” Vessel says, something brave stirring in his chest now that he’s got a sudden vantage on the man who’s been pushing him around like a trolly ever since they’ve met.

“I can scream loud enough, for you.”

The imminent silence is interrupted as II chokes violently on his tea.

[blue-bujo]

Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter Seven

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good

(2.4k words)

Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), periods, past medical trauma, injury, mentions of addiction, fluff

Summary: Roy considers the results of his disastrous night out. He tells Phoebe about them, with your support.

Due to the throbbing in his very-swollen knee, Roy hardly slept. He could have taken the prescription he’d been given in hospital, but he refused because he didn’t want to get addicted; he’d seen a few rivals fall to it during his career, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to him. Plus, a small, niggling part of him felt he didn’t deserve the relief, since he knew he had felt warning signs that his knee was going to give out on him but had ignored them and kept bowling. So he spent most of the night awake and in pain.

It hadn’t been a completely horrible night, though. He’d found the fucking courage to talk to Splits, he kept thinking smugly. They were official now. And she’d said that she didn’t think he was old, which was a sweet lie. Hopefully he didn’t fuck it up with her and would be able to keep her around for a while.

Roy did manage to sleep for a few hours, which was honestly more than he expected. He naturally woke up around 3:30, when he would have gotten ready for a run with Jamie, and texted the young superstar that he wasn’t feeling up to it this morning, and to go without him. After receiving an emoji in reply, Roy battled his way up and into the downstairs bathroom for a shower. Thankfully he’d kept the shower chair from last time he’d fucked his knee.

He hit a slight snag after the shower: he hadn’t thought to ask Splits to grab him fresh clothes for this morning, so he had to put his pajamas back on. He always tried not to wear them when Phoebe stayed with him, as he wasn’t sure how appropriate it was for an 11-year-old to see her uncle in boxers. Couldn’t be helped now, though.

He hadn’t thought to replenish his supply of contacts down here, either. Roy had started wearing dailies during the pundit gig at Sky Sports, when he’d realized that he couldn’t read the prompters, but it was something he kept hidden. Not even his family knew that his vision was shit now, but that would have to change today.

Later in the morning, Roy was in the kitchen. He’d dragged a barstool in front of the stove and stress baked a loaf of quick rise bread. While it had risen, he’d dug through his junk drawer, which was the hiding place for the pair of glasses he’d bought in case he’d hated the contacts. They were simple black plastic frames, and they’d never been worn before today.

Roy was sipping coffee and reading with his back to the house while the bread finished cooling when Phoebe came out of her room. He didn’t look up, or turn his stool, when he heard her enter.

“Morning, Phoebe,” he droned. “Sleep well?”

The man heard a thunk. He swiveled the barstool and saw his niece’s head on the counter. “So that’s a ‘no,’ then?” he asked.

When Phoebe spoke, it was in a growl that would have made Roy proud under different circumstances. “I feel like shit,” she said. “Being an adult sucks.”

Roy hadn’t forgotten about her new ailment. He had a mug of coffee, which he’d never allowed Phoebe before, that he plunked down on the counter in front of her. When she raised her head, she first double-taked at it, and then at her uncle’s face.

“Since when do you wear glasses, Uncle Roy?”

“Since I got old, Pheebs. It’s been a couple of years. Now drink up; Keeley always said caffeine helped when she was on her period. I’ve got all the fancy creamers and shi- crap in the fridge.”

Phoebe hopped down from her barstool, took the mug, and lumbered to the refrigerator. As she poured out an unholy amount of vanilla creamer, Roy said one more thing that made her give him a glare.

“Erase the tab. You used a bad word. That was our deal.”

Although she glared, Phoebe knew better than to argue with Uncle Roy about the tab. Their one rule about it was that, if she got caught swearing before the end of the month, that month’s debt was reset, and he didn’t have to pay her for any of his language before the reset point, only everything after.

That didn’t stop her from going to her room, bringing back her notebook, and making a great show of ripping out, crumpling, and throwing away the page where she’d been tallying his language. It was so exaggerated that Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you want some French toast? As a peace offering? I made the bread this morning.”

Phoebe nodded and tried her vanilla creamer. Roy reached for a pan in one of the cabinets, but it was just out of reach from his barstool, and he only managed to knock it onto the floor with a metallic clatter. He and Phoebe both flinched at the noise, Roy more so. He hoped he hadn’t woken up his girlfriend upstairs.

His girlfriend. Upstairs. Fuck, Phoebe didn’t know that he’d finally gotten the balls to ask Splits out officially, or that she had spent the night in his bed. Granted, he hadn’t also been in his bed, but still. He typically tried to set a good example for Phoebe.

The noise had woken her up, it turned out. Footsteps thumped across the ceiling, and he could hear the shower running. About 20 minutes later, Splits came downstairs. Her hair was wet, and when she sat down at the bar to say good morning, Roy could smell all of his soap, shampoo, and deodorant on her.

“I hope you don’t mind I used your shower,” she said. “And your product.”

He didn’t mind, although he was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned the shower. But seeing her there in his stolen tee shirt and joggers, smelling like him… it felt right. His house didn’t feel empty with her and Phoebe in it. For once, it had people in it; people he was making breakfast for, surprisingly feeling like he deserved this slice of a quiet existence. Like he could smile without trying to hide it.

Phoebe was watching him with her hand over her mouth, like she was hiding her own smile. He stared at her until she looked away, and then turned his attention back to the stove, and his girls’ breakfasts. French toast was easy to make, and he quickly had three plates ready for eating.

“Right, come take yours,” grunted Roy. “I can’t carry it for you.” He looked to the woman wearing his extra pajamas, and as soon as he was close enough, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, babe.”

“Good morning,” she returned with a peck on the forehead. “Nice glasses. Very studious.”

“Thanks, I fucking hate them. Can you grab my plate for me? I can’t manage it and the barstool and the crutches.”

She happily obliged, and even grabbed his coffee before he realized he’d need help with it. She was an angel. After Roy dragged his knee and his stool back to the bar, he sat down close enough that his arm was brushing hers. Phoebe was watching them both intently.

“You weren’t this touchy last night,” the girl observed, “and it looks like Miss Splits slept here.”

With a grunt, Roy said, “That’s because she did. It was too late for her to walk home, and I obviously couldn’t drive her.”

“Did she sleep in your room, Uncle Roy?”

Fuckin’ hell, this child. How was he going to explain this to Phoebe? Or, he realized, to his sister? He wasn’t just corrupting his niece; he was corrupting Sofia’s daughter. She would make his life a living hell if he didn’t get this right. Roy tried to think of what he could possibly say to explain this, but a gentle hand laid on his arm caused him to momentarily forget the English language.

“Yes Phoebe, I slept upstairs in your Uncle Roy’s room, but that’s only because he was a gentleman and slept downstairs on the couch,” explained Splits.

“And because I can’t drag my ass up those stairs,” Roy growled.

Phoebe marked the first tally on a new sheet in her notebook. “Okay, so she slept here. And borrowed pajamas.” Her subtext was clear; she was hinting that she knew something had happened between the two adults the previous night, but she didn’t know exactly what.

“We didn’t do anything naughty, Phoebe,” said Splits. She shot a side-eyed glance at Roy as if to ask are you going to tell her, or am I?

The man grunted to clear his throat, trying to find the words. “Okay,” he ground out, “last night, after you went to bed, I talked to Splits and asked her to be my girlfriend.”

Leaning forward eagerly, Phoebe asked, “And?”

Roy felt his face go all relaxed as the tension left it. He was aware that his smile was threatening to take over, but he didn’t seem to be able to fight it. “And we’re going out.” God, that sounded so dorky! He was definitely getting old.

Phoebe was thrilled. She hopped off of her seat and squeezed herself between the couple to hug them. “That’s wonderful! She’s amazing, Uncle Roy. She helped me a lot last night.”

“Thank goodness for that. I didn’t know what to do. Speaking of, there are napkins in the cabinet by the shower in your bathroom. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m okay. I don’t feel as nauseous today. I should get ready for school, though, so I’ll put some in my bookbag.”

Phoebe gave the couple one last squeeze and then left the room, leaving them alone. Splits linked her arm through Roy’s and sighed happily as she looked up at him.

“You have stuff here?”

“What?” he shrugged. “I have a little sister, and have been around women before. I may not look it, but I do have some sympathy in me.”

She laughed. “You don’t project it often. It makes you more human when you do.”

“Hmm. That, and my shit knee. Work is going to be interesting. A gaffer who can’t walk? The press are going to have a fucking field day.”

Roy was trying to make light of it, but he was worried about the logistics of the next few weeks. He couldn’t drive like this, or do hours of standing at training and matches. Some of the tension must have returned to his face, because his girlfriend started rubbing small circles on his arm.

“Do you need a driver?” she asked. “I’m not scheduled today, so I can help out if you need me.”

Yep, she was an angel. He wasn’t one to ask for help – it was uncomfortably vulnerable – so she’d asked for him.

“That would be fuckin’ great. Thanks, babe.”

They spent the next few minutes plotting out the day. Roy made a quick list of everything he’d need from upstairs for the day, which Splits was happy to fetch for him. He wasn’t ready for the team to know about her, so she’d drop him off late, after dropping Phoebe at school and stopping at her flat so she could change into clean clothes. Those delays would hopefully mean that the team would be in the weight room by the time he limped into Nelson Road, and nobody would know about Splits. He knew it was only a matter of time before they found out, but he’d protect her anonymity as long as he could.

A few hours later, the plan had gone perfectly. Splits pulled up to the doors of the Earl Greyhound Training Facility, where there wasn’t another soul around to notice her behind the wheel of Roy’s monstrous vehicle, or see how he almost fell out of it as he tried to maneuver the crutches. After he caught himself, he just stood there looking at Splits.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just- Thank you for everything the past 12 hours. Couldn’t have done it without you handling all this girlfriend-level shit.”

“I’m glad to do it,” she smiled, and Roy almost felt guilty, like he didn’t deserve someone this great. She continued, “When do you need to be picked up?”

Tilting his head, Roy thought aloud. “You don’t have to pick me up. Jamie lives close, and he owes me for the extra training, so I can probably guilt the prick into driving.”

Splits wilted a bit, like she’d wanted to drive him. Now that he thought about it, he realized that she’d enjoyed getting to drive. And he knew she didn’t have wheels of her own.

“Do you want to borrow the car for a bit?” he blurted out.

His question surprised her. He’d surprised himself, to be honest. “Are you sure, Roy?”

“It’s not like I can fucking use it. You’d be doing me a favor, really; the battery’ll die if nobody drives it, and then I’ll have to call somebody to change it.”

“Roy, I can’t take your car. It’s…” Splits struggled to find an argument, which amused him. “I do like driving it,” she conceded.

“Then take it, babe. Use it to pick me up on the days you’re not working, and I’ll guilt Jamie into doing the rest.”

“I’ll have to meet Jamie properly, since we’ll be sharing custody of you.” Her eyes sparkled at her joke, but Roy could only roll his.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near each other,” he growled. “I’ll never have any peace.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be surrounded by people who care for you, which can’t be all bad.”

Hope blossomed in Roy’s chest as he thought about having people. He didn’t want to believe it, so he waved a dismissive hand at Splits.

“Hmm. You don’t know Tartt. Fucking annoying little prick. I should get in there, make sure he isn’t getting out of hand.”

Splits nodded, a fond smile on her face. “Okay, boyfriend. Have a good day, and let me know if you need anything.”

“You have a good day, too. Have fun driving the Beast.”

“I will!”

Roy closed the passenger door and gave a wave. She waved back and tapped the horn twice before driving away, leaving Roy to gather his courage, summon his sternest coach face, and hobble into training.

If anybody questioned the crutches, they were going to fucking get it.

Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh @onceuponaoneshot @chewymoustachio @my-neurodivergent-world

[letsberealgenz]

how to exit your lazy era — level up, stay motivated and make 2024 your best year🕯️

Firstly why do we even get stuck in our lazy era?

no motivation

you just faced a major failure

not seeing the results you want after working for so long

a way of procrastinating

an easy way to put away all your important task aside

“It’s easy to not do anything in life. It doesn’t even require any effort whatsoever.”

How to overcome this?

Plan your days earlier

Honestly we often hear people giving all sort of tips and tricks to be productive, but the thing is nothing works unless you have a vision for how your day is going to look like. Didn’t they say this?

“Visualization is the key to manifestation.”

2. Start your day with a boost of motivation

This is coming from a personal experience of mine. The only way I overcome my morning sickness was actually by quickly hitting the play button of my favorite motivational podcast as soon as I switch off my alarm. Now it feels like an autopilot mode. For real, try it out.

“Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.” — Jim Ryun

3. Do what you love first thing first

Game-changer. It is one of the prime reason why I LOVE (not like) but LOVE getting up early after discovering the main hack of morning routine which is to do something that truly excites you to your very core.

It could be painting, reading, dancing, journaling, writing, singing, working out, walking, sitting outside sipping your favorite coffee, walking your dog, or literally not even doing anything. Whatever that soothes you, calms your soul and rejuvenates your being. BOOM! That’s exactly what you need to do as soon as you’re up.

For me personally, I love meditating, reading while sipping my coffee and just spending time with nature. The serenity and tranquility can’t be put into words to be honest!

“Slow morning is the recipe to my productivity for real.”

4. Sweating it out

Have you ever been in a situation (I'm sure we all have been in this one) where your body feels sluggish after lunch probably in the late noon? YES! It feels so horrible like you can’t keep your eyes open without consuming doses of caffeine.

Plus working from home is becoming a norm after the pandemic, therefore being stagnant is becoming more of a common trait that binds all of us together. Sitting still in front of your PC, sending emails through your handphone, recording content and et cetera.

This constant stagnation is actually preventing the daily movement our body needs to rejuvenate. Therefore, when we don’t get it that’s when the laziness kicks in. We do know the root problem right now and the root solution would be to move your body as often as you can.

Working out doesn’t need to fit into this standard practice social media has eluded us all by the frame of being in the gym. Honestly there’s more than that.

Hike

Run

Jog

Stroll

Swim

Sauna

As long as you are sweating, you’re good my friend.

5. Vision board

Vision board is one of the easiest, accessible and FUN thing you can do to get yourself out of the rut. I don’t think so we need to go all around again to get the gist of vision board but it would be incomplete if I don’t share this secret with you.

Make a physical and a digital board. The physical one plays a role to be sitting in a space where you spend most of your time at. For instance, your office, work-studio, hostel and et cetera.

And the digital one is as important as the physical one because most of the time we are indulged or I would say obliged to our gadjets these days. Therefore, by setting your vision board as your lock screen wallpaper is definitely going to give you the sense of awakening your mind needs whenever you feel you’re slacking off.

PS: Pinterest is a great tool you can start off with.

6. Use your bank balance as a source of motivation

This is such a good way to actually get you moving. It’s a source of trigger that makes you question yourself like:

How am I supposed to achieve all of my goals on the vision board if I am not taking any sort of action from my side?

That million-dollar home, vacation and experience is not going to come alive if you’re just sitting and wishing for it.

7. Read self help books

I am sure everybody who’s legit on 

Medium

 platform is an avid-reader. I am not going to speak about the power of books because you know it all. The key is just to pick the right books according to your current life’s situation.

The main gist today is to help you exit your lazy era. So here are some book recommendations from my side.

Atomic Habit by James Clear

Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill

Man’s Search for Meaning Viktor E. Frankl

The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius

The Miracle Equation by Hal Elrod

Psycho-Cybernetics by Maxwell Maltz

The Concise 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

The 5 Second Rule by Mel Robbins

Think Like A Monk by Jay Shetty

The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle

Stillness is the key by Ryan Holiday

PS: What’s your favorite self-help book? Reply to this.

Stick till the very end because I am sharing with you the main HACK that nobody talks about.

8. Design your environment in a way that motivates you

We all have heard the phrase how your environment influences you. The least you could do is be conscious of how powerful your social circle is, the people whom you hangout with, the people whom you work with, the people you choose to have relationships with and the place you choose to live in.

It’s these little things that makes the most difference in your life at the end of the day.

9. Step out if that’s what you need

Honestly, a change of environment is what you need sometimes. Our body, out entire being recognizes when we are stuck in the same space for quite some time and this could be the #1 reason why you’ve been procrastinating. Probably you could do this:

Go to your favorite restaurant/café

Work from the library

Honestly choose a spot where you feel you could really maximize your potential and somewhere that actually motivates you to step up. Do better!

10. Allow yourself to be lazy at times

AHHHH! This is the magic pill I was speaking about. I realized nobody seems to tell you this but let’s be real. The only way to exit your lazy era is by giving yourself room to actually be lazy. You can’t expect yourself to transform overnight. You can’t expect to be productive 24/7. You can’t expect yourself to meet all the high standards you’ve set yourself up to.

And I want you to know this. It’s okay to be lazy sometimes. It’s okay to catch yourself not doing anything sometimes. But always remember this.

You shall only reward yourself to be lazy when you’ve absolutely fulfilled the promise you’ve made. The tasks you need to complete. The assignments you need to submit. The thesis you need to work on. The presentation you need to deliver.

Trust me if you implement all of the above habits, you would realize this:

“It’s the small changes in your daily life that you needed all along for your long-term success.”

[whichcouldmeannothing]

paper rings snippet!! (teachers!spiderdads)

my exams are hell!! but finally thank god i have a break

have something from me <3

chapter 2 snippet :D

not exactly a spiderdads clip but it has loser Miguel so

"You're really bad at this," Lyla says.  

She sits at his table, an iced something or whatever in her hands. Miguel wished she went with something more normal as a greeting, like hello, or good morning. Or. maybe just a nice shirt Miguel, is that stain from Gabriella's lunch you prepared this morning? Even that would be better.   

"What did I do?" He hasn't even done anything this morning. He walked in for a coffee five minutes ago, he literally has not been in school long enough to have things to be judged for. 

Early mornings are never wasted in Brooklyn Visions. Keeping up the reputation of a nerd school, students have already been here before Miguel showed up. Despite the fact that they have dorms here that allow them to stay in and sleep more, kids are in this campus as soon as the security guard turns on the lights.  

Today is no exception, and many students are already here. They're all poring over notes or rushing homework. Some people here may just be waiting for their friends, but there's an air of seriousness in this high school. It’s what Miguel likes so much about Visions, the fact that there’s not too much nonsense from the students.  

But God is cruel, and his nonsense comes from the white-cardiganed woman who flashes her pink glasses at him.  

“We haven’t seen you at lunch in a long time, Miguel. But you’re not even that good at being his friend.” He drinks his coffee, and somehow the jolt of caffeine doesn’t even hit him. He might not have had to make friends since he was in his twenties, but he isn’t horrible, alright? 

“Not ‘alright’, it’s pathetic. You just let him talk at you, and you respond every three minutes to him. You get him food, but you’re functionally a babysitter.”  

“If you want him to feel cared for, you have to know him. And he has to know you.” Peter knows enough about Miguel after a week of lunch. He knows Gabriella is in a soccer league, she goes swimming. She likes My Little Pony, and that the rainbow dash on Miguel’s table is from her.  

It registers in Miguel. Other than his divorce. He doesn’t know anything about Peter. He listens to stories about his students and the news that appears on his Facebook, but that’s all. Peter gets him coffee, and he asks about his life and his kid. He even knows that he has a brother. Only Lyla knows that (And sends embarrassing photos to him, God.)  

“If you actually want to make him less depressed about his life, you have to make the effort to care.” He is trying, you know? He looks down and watches his reflection on the plastic blue table. He keeps his head down when he asks, “So, what do I do?” 

“Learn something about him. Try a bit harder, alright.”

new chapter coming out tmr/saturday!! love u all :D thank u for all ur support guys <3

[greghatecrimes]

hi hello i very much enjoy your house + starbucks posts and with a few recent mentions of them i feel okay asking: what would you say about masters, park, and adams regarding hypothetical starbucks

ooh thank you!! i’m always excited when people enjoy my starbucks posts, I really enjoyed being a barista even though it paid horribly 🤣 And I love thinking of coffee orders for characters so thank you for requesting these three!! <33

Adams: caramel macchiatos for sure, almost always hot, but occasionally an iced one in the summer when it’s just too hot for hot coffee! in the fall I think she’d really enjoy the new seasonal apple crisp macchiato (she gets tired of PSLs). In the winter she’d love any of the gingerbread drinks for sure!

Park: Park gives me the vibes of a person who can and would drink almost anything at Starbucks and enjoy it. She just wants the caffeine and likes all the flavors, she’s not super picky and likes to mix it up and try new ones a lot! She strikes me as someone who likes to ask the barista what their favorite is and then order one of those. I think if she told me to make whatever fits I’d go with a dirty chai (a chai latte with espresso, two shots for her since she needs the caffeine) made with either oat milk or almond milk, and some cinnamon powder on top.

Masters: This one was the hardest to nail down, and then it came to me like a vision of the holy grail. Masters is a medicine ball girl. The real name for it is “honey citrus mint tea” and that’s what she’d call it because she’s lovely and polite and she’d always double check that we had honey in the back to use before ordering one. The recipe for it that I always use is one bag of citron green tea, one bag of peppermint herbal tea, two packets of raw honey, half hot water, and half steamed lemonade. Usually it’s a hassle to make these but Masters is so lovely and would always be so nice to chat with that I’d make one for her anytime, no problem <3

[beangods]

how did weed put u in the hospital

last thursday (fourth of july) i spied some chocolate in the freezer (milk chocolate banana flavored) and had four squares with my breakfast (toast with spinach & sundried tomatos, assorted gluten-free cookies, 2 cups of strong black tea) and soon found myself extremely hyperactive (pacing in circles around the kitchen in a great state of agitation). thinking it was a caffeine overdose (from the tea) i had a banana and two cups of water, and decided to walk it off (like a man). i went outside (plagued by visions of my folly if this horrible feeling turned out to be nothing AND visions of my own death in the middle of the road if i turned out to be correct) and made it to the mailbox before calling 911. it took ages for them to get to me (i live on a farm) but as i was in my PJs it was very easy for the first responders to get all the stickies they needed to monitor my heart (extreme tachycardia).

so ya they took me to the hospital and i spent the rest of the day struggling to breathe normally. turned out those chocolates were edibles (i did not know this) (my mom's edibles) (we live in a legal state) (she usually goes for the bong) (the chocolates were not clearly labeled) (i just thought they were shitty novelty gimmick chocolates bc of the banana flavor) and i'm still certain i coulda died (the ambulance ride was. very bad for me). tbh i dont really want to go into detail about the whole experience as it was physically painful and mortally terrifying, and also the worst case of cotton mouth that has ever happened to anyone ever. but yeah that's my truth and story. i took the next 4 days off work and was glad i did bc my chest was sore as hell

[graff1980]

I am a casualty of my own creativity imagining horrible things brewing anxiety, and some OCD.

So, nervously I scratch at a back scab and drink some caffeine, my way coping, when I stop laughing and joking, when I’m all the way open just be reminded that my trauma is a burden when spoken and those who heard each terrible word will be broken or at least as traumatized as me.

So, I should stop. No one needs to see or feel the sting of my messed-up reality.

My secret isn’t deep dark visions of a troubled past.

The truth has become my cold clay mask trap that makes me feel better when, I’m angry or numb.

-2023

[beautifult999]

I’m just going to take adderall or smoke crack when I leave sober living. I’m so fucking torn from being doped up and sedated on my medications of antipsychotics and mood stabilizers (sedatives and tranquilizers.) I expressed this to my psychiatrist many visits I’ve had with him, even letting him know that I’m unable to shower, usually even for a week or more on end because I’m so sedated from the medications that he’s prescribing me. Yet, he refuses to make any adjustments. If I have to live like this, I’m going to do something crazy one day and get high on a stimulant drug again to counteract these hellish side effects. Fuck everybody. I kind of have to do it for myself. You just don’t understand. The blurred vision, the body feeling heavy and slow like you’re carrying weights, always in bed, always tired, always slow, slowed thought process, always sleeping, self medicating with excessive caffeine consumption, the depression and hatred for yourself from the weight gain of sedation, and it’s just so horrible.

[zhongrin]

--------

"I am happy that you are in good spirits and health again, dear."

"And that you have your partner by your side forevermore."

--------

Even if I haven't seen every part of the egb sadly because of work and exhaustion because of it, I was happy just reading the parts everyone send you haha (and the sabotage ehe) the afterparty was fun, even if i have to read a few pieces still.

But really Rin? Caffeine Withdrawal? 😂

The memory thing with the vision was a nice detail, not gonna lie.

Ps:// Albedo still clinging to the push ups in my phone on your profile picture...But it shouldn't be a problem anymore :)

ANTARES AAAAAAAAAA *pat pat* he's so majestic and pretty sobsob (cue dragon!zhongli in the background sulking)

oh dear i hope your work is calming down soon!!! and that you can take a rest this weekend!! your storyline was really interesting and it was too bad we couldn't explore it more, but still!! thank you for your support hehe <3 take your time reading, the posts won't go anywhere :D

queen. bestie i am not kidding when i say this. caffeine withdrawals are horrible. it makes you want to just. stay in bed and even then the pain is unbearable. i went through it once. never again. i'd... i'd rather fuel my coffee addiction shdlfjslkdfj

ah it's probably just the cache, it's okay, tumblr will resolve it soon (i hope) hsldfkjlsdfkj

[flowerbeddd]

A Vision Of The Future As Incremental Change Sparks A Conflageration

I didn’t know she would be there, the coffee shop by my office, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Chaos permeates her life, and I was her chaos for today. She had made peace with the flow long ago. Maybe I envied that.

“Hi Sola, it’s been a while.”

“Oh my god? Tiago? Is that you? Let me pay for you!”

She smiled that stupid smile that she did, where she was unable to control the way that her face contorted. I had spent so long increasing my Composure, making sure I could keep a poker face, but she still broke it. I smiled alongside her. By a whim, I went to Connecticut. By a whim, I met her. There was something I wanted to talk to her about, about the next chapter of my life. I had my advisor.

“Let’s walk!”

“There’s someone at work, an intern, I think he has it out for me. He always gives me these . . . looks every time I see him.”

I liked to kvetch about work, complain for no reason. But it was also warplanning, understanding my enemy, planning preemptive strikes. When he eventually betrayed me, I wanted to be ready. I couldn’t give him too much information. I should have made Jacques sign an NDA to not worry about the social repercussions of being with him. She didn’t give any feedback. She didn’t speak, just walked with a solemn, wistful expression. 

“So uh . . . I wanted advice. We needed a cool, young, semi-socialist face and rent was expensive and I think I want to run in New Haven. Maybe we can become roommates to cover the cost?”

She paused.

“Good luck, I hope you win. But no, I’m not going back to living with you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m out of college, out of the past, but you aren’t.”

I felt a pain in my gut, like dull knives pressing themselves into my abdomen. I could feel them pushing from behind my eyes, touching the different centers of my brain. Adrenaline, tears. She continued to speak. I blinked, my brain not quite understanding. I wasn’t sure if it was a controlled burn or a stray lightning bolt, but her words sounded like a forestfire. Those dulled knives became fists pushing their way through my body, I was crumpling from my weak points. A punch behind my eyes, a digging into my gut, a jab at my liver, fists like cymbals in my ears, breaking my already horribly crooked nose. I hated that nose. I hated how others looked at it.

I didn’t want to hear, I already knew what she was going to say. Resentment, how she has hated me since we met, how she loved art like I couldn’t, how she loved Chappel and I didn’t, how my love of Lana was self-deprecating. I could skip it and still get the message. She spoke for too long, sun-blotting smoke rising from that mouth. Then, there was silence, surprise that she was even able to do that. Her mouth was agape, hands twitching to cover it. We didn’t know what to do. I shook, caffeine and anger. My body took over. I threw my coffee at her. She gasped, her scarf and jacket drenched. A flash, a memory of when we did this for fun back in 2024. I knew I yelled something at her.

“Ground yourself. Describe the scene. Start with what you can see, especially motion in the environment, what you can hear, what you can feel, especially emotionally, what you can smell, what you can taste.”

I was sitting on the ground right behind the corner, right out of her sight. There were cars moving in front of me, people in their own little worlds. Buzzing along, different music blaring from each one. Different cultures, lots of different people, each looking directly at me. They hated me. I stuck out like a sore thumb. He Who Is Transplanted Does Not Sustain. I knew everyone hated me. It smelled like drugs and disease. It tasted like failure and death.

I didn’t expect her to be like that.

I had been here before, multiple times with multiple people. Delayed title card, Blue State, frayed relationship. I didn’t know that he had been. I remember the summer after the first semester, where I was waiting to see him again. I was watching so many different videos on board games, Shut Up And Sit Down. I wanted to play them with him, but when we came back, he didn’t want to play them with me. The Road To El Dorado and Pandemic sat on the shelf, right next to the machine we played his Red Dead Redemption on.

“Hey, Tiago. It’s been a while”

We smiled at each other and caught up. He talked about an intern who ‘had it out for him’. I didn’t have anything to say. Nights at the apartment, hearing him go on and on about how Solomon, or the 15-year old who shouldn’t really be here, or Arborial were all trying to destroy his life. It’s all self defense, until you’re building a weapon. I’de rather be betrayed than play the betrayer. Who cares if I get tricked now and then?

“I want to run in New Haven, maybe we can become roommates to cover the cost.”

I saw two paths: One where I told him how I have felt for the past 5 years, where I read him Culmination, where I told him why I had been drifting away from him after college. That would hurt him, it would hurt him a lot. But it would let him understand why, understand why I’m saying no, understanding why I’m picking Hartwell over him. It would let us move forward instead of dwelling on this moment. The other, where this goes unsaid. He never understands. Cold comfort and regret.

“Good luck, I hope you win. But no, I’m not going back to living with you.”

He blinked, not understanding. We were driving back and I was mad, yelling in the car. Hartwell told me that I would have to cut him off eventually.

“I’m out of college, out of the past, you’re not.”

Calm before the storm. Leaves falling in the air, cars rumbling by slowly, children in the nearby theater laughing. I was once them, they will eventually be me. I could feel the warmth of my drink in my hand and running down my throat. It smelled like fall, wet nature, pumpkins, cigarettes, and coffee. I thought about my tongue and throat, the meek, oft-forgotten sensors there, trying to hone in on what they were telling me. My tongue did not speak to me, for it was priming cannons, readying itself for the onslaught of words. Then the moment passed. There is no one-liner to say before we begin. This is not cool, this is cathartic violence. Rage towards a barren world.

“Here's the difference between us: I can imagine a world where we aren’t friends, you can’t. You take me for granted, that I’m always going to be there for you, be there to understand your emotions. It’s time for me to cut you off and for you to grow up. Therapy is about improving oneself. I can’t do that for you. I can lead you kicking and screaming to water, but you yourself must drink. You know what us living together would be like? Remember the first semester when we met, how stressed you were? I told you how to get better, I drilled it into your head. That’s what I do for my job.

“When I come home from work, I don’t want to keep working; I want to walk to talk about what I’m writing, I want to talk about Hanan [there’s no better name for her], I want to go to Elm City and play a game, go to Rock Spot and climb, go to Blue Orchid and converse and party and Esprit De Corps. Hartwell can provide that, he is the type of person who wants to do those things with me, to spend time with me, to engage with my interests even if he doesn’t understand. You’re not that type of person. I know it doesn’t seem like it to you, but every day you will wake up and strain me a little bit. I know it seems like this is me lashing out, like it came out of nowhere, but it hasn’t. This is consequence, a piece of Culmination. I stuck it into your head, tried to drill through that thick skull that you should care for others. How long ago was that? Five, six years ago? Look at yourself, look at how much pain living like this causes you. We’re supposed to change. Take a red pen to the self. That’s what we do, that’s what life is about: Understanding and improving. Life takes time because it takes time to do this. How long has it been? I don’t think it’s been just 6 years, I think it started before then. All that time and you’re still the same, still lashing out because of internal conflict you don’t want to deal with. You will never change.

“I thought . . . I thought we were healthy rivals. Two people fighting to best the other because they wanted to prove that they themselves were strong. It’s not about besting the other, it’s about showing them your strength and learning from theirs. But no, I’m not your rival, I’m your enemy. When I say something, it’s not an advisor speaking to you, it’s an enemy breaking down your feeble resolve. Everyone is your enemy. You hyperanalyze what our friends say to prove that they are trying to get you, and then you hyperanalyze how you interact with others and whine and complain about how they’re going to obliterate you because you were so awkward. It’s a cold war, a classroom where no one speaks. You’re cutting down your relationships, cutting the world apart just so you don’t have to look in the mirror! You don’t care about anything but yourself. You’re a perfect politician: Apathetic, and without a soul.”

I was shocked. It was over. It hurt. It hurt everywhere. I wanted to run away, but he deserved to say something back. Maybe I went too hard, maybe I hurt him too much. His hands were shaking, caffeine and adrenaline taking over his wire-knit body. He yelled “WELL YOU’RE A VIRGIN BITCH”, threw his coffee at me, then darted away behind a corner. I thought something, but the words stumbled out of my mouth.

“Ground yourself. Describe the scene. Start with what you can see, especially motion in the environment, then what you can hear, then what you can feel, especially emotionally, then what you can smell, then what you can taste.”

It was autumn. Leaves falling off of the trees. I wasn’t the right person to console him. It was my job and I just quit. I was by a street I didn’t know the name of, but one that I’ve been to a thousand times before. I did a play here as a kid, I came here every Thanksgiving to help drive food to those who needed it. He would exile them. It sounded like his sobs. I felt uncomfortable. I took off my scarf and jacket; they were warm and wet. I could feel the chill of the air on my arms, a reminder of winter when I was younger. The smallest fingers of The City pulled me down to the ground, out of the different ways it should have gone, about other things I would say. The residue on my clothes drowned the smells around me. My mouth hurt, but I didn’t want to put more drink in it. I threw out his cup on the ground, then the one in my hand.

And I walked away.

[raileurta]

Storytime on how I was in my y/n era, and became a furry super villain with the Joker.

--By anonymous

So recently I just finished making my new partial fursuit it took me very long to do so, over two years to be exact. While fursuit making is a lengthy process and I'm always pretty busy with college and you know Gotham ect. It didn't't compare to the horrible task of needing to ship stuff. You know how hard it is to import stuff to Gotham?! Let me tell you how. Most people won't even touch our city with a ten foot poll, even disregarding that there was a 99.9% chance of it being stolen, or destroyed in an attack. The amount of shit I had to order repeatedly was SO STU I- I'm getting off track but I really needed to get that off my chest.

I was obviously really excited so I had the "brilliant" idea to go out fursuiting to "show off my new suit."

God I was such an idiot.

My fursona is fairly colorful with them canonically mostly wearing suits/vests. You see in Gotham if you even wear remotely colorful clothes you're going to be mistaken as a outsider or a rogue ; especially if you're wearing suits.

I'm a depressed college student that was running on 3 hours of sleep at the time, cut me some slack.

It probably didn't help that my fursona also was a skully. But my dumb ass self for whatever reason completely forgot about this. So here I was walking around with a pink vest covered in different animal skulls, a white undershirt, with lime green pants, brown dress shoes and white gloves.

I went to my favorite coffee shop because all Gothamites have a caffeine addiction we need to adhere to. Unknown to me at the time Joker was actually robbing a bank that was literally two streets over. The coffee shop workers were kinda wary of me but I didn't notice because people in Gotham acted weird all the time. So when I see the god damn JOKER about to drive down our street with tons of cash in his admittedly cool car I pull out the gun I was carrying. (It's Gotham if you're not carrying some level of self-defense you're an idiot) Apparently though everyone thought I was robbing the place and the employees started trying to in common routine give me the money in the cash register. Before I can explain that I'm not actually trying to rob them Joker sees me and I guess he thought I looked interesting. He then turns the car towards the shop and then proceeds to drive into the fucking coffee shop.

His car easily smashed through the glass windows and the wood furniture in the car's way along with two poor people who were on a coffee date.

I am just standing there staring at the Joker getting out of his car not sure what to do, scared out of my mind. So my brain filled purely with adrenaline thinks it's the best idea to try and shoot the Joker. With the gun in my hand I hastily raised the gun and tried shooting him. Keyword tried.

I would consider myself pretty decent with a gun. I have been hunting and frequently go to shooting ranges for five years. Unfortunately I got pretty lazy with keeping up my skills so I hadn't shot a gun in like 4 months. This means I was pretty out of practice. I also was you know sure I was going to die a horrible death, while in a fursuit that was obscuring my vision. That doesn't give people a stable level of mind/sight to successfully shoot something. Unless you are one of our useless cops without glasses.

So when I pulled the trigger I ended up missing the Joker and hitting a cop that was previously across the street coming up behind him and trying to shoot Joker himself . I only hit him in the shoulder and didn't kill him thankfully. Joker complimented my "sharp shooting" thinking I was trying to save him and with him liking my ✨ aesthetic ✨ he invited me to join him.

Me pretty deep in shock just agreed as I didn't want to be killed. After getting into the car with him he started to drive to his safe house I think. Before we could reach it though the other cops finally showed up, I was now in a high speed police care chase with the Joker. He handed me this bazooka looking thing and said to shoot the cops. Idfk what I was doing at this point and I was scared I was going to go to Arkham so I thought what the hell. I tried shooting the thing at the cop at the very front of the chase and you know what? I missed, again and the thing hit this truck holding some type of gas and exploded; killing all the cops in one go.

(My therapist is going to need a therapist)

Joker complimented my shooting again saying something like I was "putting the angsty bat kid to shame." I don't know what the hell he was talking about cause I was processing that I just became a mass murderer.

When we finally reached his safe house I was met with the Riddler, Penguin, and Scarecrow. They were all sitting at this large table that was covered in paper and various weapons.

Riddler was in the far left bent over a paper writing down something. Mumbling about different riddles he had to try out on the Batman.

Penguin who was on the right side of the Riddler seemed annoyed at his ramblings. He didn't look like he had any plans in front of him on the messy table.

Scarecrow was-

I honestly didn't give a fuck cause you know I was still thinking about how I'm a mass murderer now. Joker started talking about how I saved his bacon and wanted to introduce me. When he realized he didn't actually know my name he just looked at me expectantly. With all the rogues' eyes on my now I was feeling pretty pressured. (Social anxiety is a bitch) I said the first thing that came to mind at that moment. So with all the courage I could muster I proclaimed in the most crazed sounding voice I could do that my name is-

"The Skull Collecter."

Like what kinda drugs was I on?! What edge lord's type shit name is "Skull Collector." Though I guess it's slightly accurate since I do collect different animal skulls. Satisfied with my shitty name they asked what my deal was with the Joker and what I wanted with them. So too deep into this shitty situation I started to weave a tale about my backstory.

I said that I was once a regular average Joe with an interest in collecting skeletons. I became more obsessed overtime with my hobby until I eventually I "realized" how better animal and human skulls were when harvested by my own means. (Once again it was half true since I do like collecting then cleaning the skeletons myself.) So I started killing people in secret and taking their heads. Scarecrow told me he actually heard of me awhile back. I don't know if a god took pity on me for the sheer lunacy of my situation but apparently there was conveniently a maniac going around killing and stealing people's heads. Later through my own research I learned that the same guy died accidentally when trying to escape the police in Washington. Fell off a building apparently and died before the ambulance could reach the hospital.

I really really didn't want to get absolutely bodied by Batman and sent to Arkham if he followed the Joker's and my trail. So I made up some excuse about how I needed to go do something important at my "lair" and I had to go. Thankfully after a little more convincing I was free to leave. After I was a decent distance away I immediately took off my fursuit head; I then proceeded to have a complete utter mental breakdown.

Well that's chapter one! I want to do this fic in third person in the future if I complete it.