#i'm on my period woe is me

[drabblesandimagines]

Warm Palms

Clive Rosfield x afab reader Fluffity fluff, slight spoilers, mentions of period

Clive has always been a light sleeper from a young age. From his training as a Shield of Rosaria and later a captured soldier of the Imperial Army he knew sleeping left you vulnerable. Any slight noise was a threat that needed to be assessed, then either dealt with or dismissed.

He would admit, however, that he had been sleeping somewhat easier since you’d started to join him in bed.

Too long had both of you ignored the feelings bubbling under the surface, only coming to a head after a pint too many of Molly’s brown. Molly had headed off to bed when the two of you were her only remaining patrons, and to avoid your voices echoing around the ale hall Clive had invited you up the stairs to his room to finish off your drinks. It was only when the two of you entered, he realized he didn’t have anywhere to sit - the chair at the desk being the only seat in his room. So, the two of you had sat on his bed, knees knocking, until a combination of the sweet smile on your face as you listened to him speak and a surge of confidence had resulted in his lips meeting yours before escalating into a passionate, frantic kiss.

You’d spent your nights in his bed ever since – whether he was there or not, he’d discovered, returning late one night from an excursion and finding you fast asleep in his sheets.

It takes him a minute to realize what’s woken him up. The waters of the blighted lake lapping upon the walls of the hideaway, the soft hoot of the stolas in his chambers, and then a soft grunt of pain coming from your side of the bed.

Your breathing is different, not the steady state of one asleep, but that of someone trying to tolerate discomfort. You shuffle ever so slightly, obviously trying not to disturb him and wince as you do so.

“Darling?” He whispers.

“Sorry,” you mutter back. “Go back to sleep.”

He leans up, slightly – you’re facing away from him. “What troubles you?”

“It’s nothing,” your voice hitches for a second. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, tilting you towards him so he can see your face, catching a wince.

“Love?”

You open your mouth but take a moment to say anything. “It’s my monthlies.”

“Ah.” He nods, as if he knows much of the subject. The truth was, you were the first woman he had been intimate with and though you had been together a fair few months now, he hadn’t heard you mention them previously, assuming they had happened in times of his absence. “Painful, I take?”

“Mm. It’ll pass.” An unconscious grimace crosses your features once more. “Please, go back to sleep. You never get enough – I feel guilty for disturbing it.”

“I can hardly sleep easy knowing my lady is in discomfort.” He sits up then, reaching for his discarded linen shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll go down to the infirmary, I am sure Tarja will have something…”

Your hand grasps his arm, stopping him before his feet touch the wooden floor. “No, Clive. Please don’t wake half the hideaway on my account. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He frowns – he doesn’t want to go against your wishes, but he can’t lie back down knowing you’re in any amount of pain. You’re so precious to him, every wince or soft noise of pain is like a dagger to his heart.

“Please.” You reiterate, and he concedes, dropping his shirt back.

“I must do something.”

“Just stay – that’s enough.”

But there must be something more he can do, he thinks, as he leans back against the wall slightly, taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to your forehead in what he hopes to bring momentary comfort.

A conversation overheard dredges up in his mind – a time in the infirmary, after Tarja insisted he sit still for ‘at least ten minutes’ after she had stitched up a gash on his arm and he’d complied to save her the stress. From the other side of the curtain, he heard her speaking to one of the young girls of the hideaway who’d started her monthlies, providing her with information, talk of painkilling draughts and herbs and also a mention of a warm compress upon her stomach to relieve the cramps.

He looks at his palm in the dim light. Since the reawakening of Ifrit all those years ago, he’d tamed the flames that ran underneath his skin more and more, able to change the intensity at will. He concentrates hard, just enough to bring an imperceptible layer of warmth to his palm and touches it experimentally to his face – he’d never wish to burn you. It feels soothing upon his skin.

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, love,” you mumble from your place on his chest.

“Roll onto your side a moment.”

You don’t question, doing as you’re told. Maybe if you hadn’t been tired and uncomfortable you would’ve questioned it more. Once you’re on your side, Clive readjusts himself onto his own side, his broad chest pressing onto your back and he slips his hand around your waist, dipping below the slip you wear to bed, up your thigh and eventually landing on your stomach. You’d gone to protest, unsure of what he was thinking, but when his palm pressed upon your skin it was comfortingly warm, soothing the rolling waves of pain in your stomach.

“Does that help?” He asks, tentatively, but he had already felt your tense muscles relax at his touch.

“Very much so.” You sigh into the pillow. “How…?”

“Thank Ifrit.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head, before rubbing soothing circles upon your stomach.

“Thank you.” You reply, softly. “It feels wonderful.”

“Anything for you, my darling.”

Clive continues to rub his palm on your stomach until he hears your breathing slip into the rhythm of sleep he knows so well. He nuzzles his face into your neck, feeling content. His palm remains in place all night, the warmth keeping the pain at bay and granting the two of you a restful sleep.

--

Ghostdog: I'm on my period and I can't find my hot water bottle, so Clive's imaginary palms will have to do.

Thank you so much for all the requests! I am working on a few at the moment <3 Wrote this more for me but I will have some requests up in the next few weeks. There's some other characters I'd be happy to write x reader fics for in FFXVI, so do let me know! x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[otherpens]

mmmmmm paints

[gothamite-rambler]

The batgirls on their periods (conclusion)

The batgirls on their period and how the boys handle them. My Aunt Flo is visiting this month and period woes should be told. All right, let’s do this thing!

Stephanie rested on the floor in the fetal position. She groaned from the intense cramps her period bestowed on her. Tim walked into the living room spotting her on the ground next to the couch.

Tim: Why are you on the floor?

Stephanie (uncomfortable): I attempted to readjust myself on the couch, and then I was on the ground. That's when the stomach cramps entered the mix and I am in too much cramp pain to want to get up. Why are these always so... intense?

Tim: You might have a medical condition related to the-

Stephanie (seething): I need you to stop doing what you usually do. I seriously don’t want to kick you in the crotch and mind you I’m at the level to do so.

Tim (not concerned): Sorry, it's hard turning it off. Um, do you... Do you need anything?

Stephanie (sardonic): For us to switch places and you go through this.

Tim shook his head with a frown.

Tim: Nah, I'm good.

Stephanie: It feels like an elephant is standing on top of my ovaries and… bouncing.

Tim: That is… oddly descriptive.

Stephanie chuckled raising her hand to talk with it.

Stephanie: Because it’s real, mon frère. At least I still have my humor.

She moaned in pain once more from the elephant bouncing pain.

Stephanie: I think this is it, Timothy. Leave me here to die. Tell my family I loved them and tell Kite-man not to attend my funeral. I’m serious, lock the doors if he tries to step foot at my burial service.

Tim rolled his eyes and helped his friend up.

Tim: At least lay on the couch.

Stephanie: Yes, I'll lay here and suffer.

Tim laid her on the couch and placed a pillow behind her head.

Tim: I can get you an ice or heating pack. That helped when I got kicked in the stomach.

Stephanie: Hmmm, bring me the warm one and Nutella and more carrots... And pain meds. The kind that will let me sleep like a baby.

Tim: Gotcha. Anything else?

Stephanie, raising her pointer finger spoke as if she was an old lady.

Stephanie (sounding like an old lady): Blanket, child. A fuzzy one.

Tim (sympathetic): You just rest. I will take care of you until your period ends. I'll also tell Bruce you're too... Sore is the word I want to use, yeah, too sore to go out tonight.

Stephanie: Thank you. You're the best.

Tim: I try to be.

---------------------------------------------

Dick Grayson got the angry side of the menstrual cycle. Something he dealt with since knowing Barbara and it was never a fun time. 

Barbara was not happy with her replacement cake. A vanilla and chocolate mixed cake that Dick bought at the grocery store.

Barbara: This isn't the same cake! It has vanilla in it! You bastard!

Barbara hurled the cake at Dick, hitting him squarely in the face with pinpoint accuracy. The cake quickly slid off, leaving behind a smattering of icing and crumbles clinging to his features. He inhaled sharply, his heavy breaths mingling with surprise.

Dick (mantra): Maintain peace. Maintain peace.

Barbara (crying): Why did you eat my cake? I needed it at this time!

Dick wiped cake out of his eyes, reminding himself he had to be calm when Barbara was going through PMDD during her time of the month.

Dick: Maybe you shouldn't have said I could eat the rest.

Barbara (shouting): You shouldn't have listened to me! I was naive back then!

Dick (losing his temper): It was… two days ago!

Barbara pouted then burst into more sobs, her makeup smearing and her glasses fogging from the tears.

Barbara (crying harder): You... YOU YELLED AT ME!

Dick (panicked): Don’t cry- How was I supposed to know your period was coming on?!

Barbara: You live with Bruce Wayne! The man tracks... everything! I thought you'd have the knowledge to do the same.

Dick (softly): I really don't. You seemed to fail at that too.

Barbara (angry): I was a few days off okay?! This is such shit! I’m tired and bloaty, and I can’t focus! I want to get to work, but my brain is foggy. Worst of all... you made me cry!

Barbara sobbed, her hands covering her face as her tears flowed. Dick let out a sigh and carefully approached her. He wrapped his arms around her, offering a comforting hug to reassure her that everything would be alright.

Dick: I know you're dealing with a tough week, and I really can't handle another sore foot. Why don't you take a break? Shut down this room for the night and give yourself some time to rest. I can swing by and pick up a big box of your favorite chocolates, along with a teddy bear you can use to vent your frustrations instead of taking it out on me. Just take some space until you’re ready to dive back into work and I'll try to do comms for the night.

Barbara (sniffling): That might actually help. I’m really sorry for yelling at you and running over your foot. The cake throwing was out of line too. I guess my PMDD makes me a bit harder to handle sometimes.

Dick (sarcastically): No really I couldn't tell.

Barbara: Can you not tell anyone I cried either?

Dick (smiling): I’d rather forget all of this happened, secrets safe with me.

---------------------------------------

Jason got lucky with the calmer side of the cycle, even though Cass is a bit shy about discussing it. Her birth father wasn’t really the type to take on the responsibility of raising a daughter properly. Bruce tried his best, but it was always a little awkward between them. At least Jason is a better person to take along to the local convenience store for menstrual supplies.

Cass walked over to Jason, carrying four different brand boxes of menstrual pads.

Cass: I couldn't figure out what to get so I picked each brand they had. I swear you think one brand will do its job and then… it doesn’t.

Jason shook his head, not wanting to dwell on what she meant. He closed his eyes, already regretting what he was about to say.

Jason: Never tell anyone this, but Artemis recommends the Playtex. Just get that so we can go.

Cass: Artemis suggested that? Okay, that’s the one to buy.

Cass handed Jason the Playtex box and then pushed the other brand boxes onto a store shelf.

Jason (blushing): All right, take this back please.

Cass giggled as she took the box back and tucked it under her arm.

Cass: I'm glad you took me to the store, you’re the best.

Cass tried to hug her brother, but he stepped aside.

Jason: Don't hug me in a convenience store as you're shopping for pads. I’m just as uncomfortable as you.

Cass (smiling): I'll give you that hug later. Oh if it's okay can you buy me a lot of caramel candies? I'm not a chocolate person honestly and these pads are expensive. 

Jason grabbed five bags without hesitation.

Jason: As long as I'm not paying for the...  Pads.

Cass: You so silly. You said Artemis has her own time of the month.

Jason (blushing): Yeah I don't- I don't help her out with that. Amazon women... not nice during that time. She screams at me if I talk to her during that pe- ti- situation. At least you're not as... Punchy as she is.

Cass: Yeah I'm pretty mellow during this time. Just bad cramps and feeling mushy.

Jason (sheepishly): That's... not mood swings. Good… for you. I think. This is my life right now.

Cass laughed, patting Jason on the arm.

Cass: Pretty much. I'm surprised you came in the store with me though.

Jason: I mean I wanted to help you out... because I care about you and I saw how nervous you were.

Cass sniffled with a smile.

Jason: Yeah I know I'm awesome. Let's check out. You go first.

Cass: I don't blame you.

---------------------------------------

Kate has been through her cycle enough times to be used to it. Her and Bruce were at Chili's (Not by Bruce's choice) and talk about menstrual cycles. Kate does all of the talking, Bruce is regretting ordering the burger.

Kate (chewing): I swear this one week is the bane of every woman who has to suffer through it. Blood coming out of that area, the aching and throbbing can be intense when my cramps start. It’s like someone is drilling a corkscrew into my uterus. The entire week is nothing but exhaustion, even walking is difficult. Then there’s the diarrhea and your breasts-

Bruce dropped his fork and slammed his fist on the table to silence his cousin. She let out a chuckle.

Bruce: Why are you telling me this while we're at a chain restaurant?

Kate laughed, taking another bite of her steak. 

Kate: You're my cousin and that gives me the right to gross you out. That and you have to know this by now. You have daughters.

Bruce: I'm starting to wish I had all boys.

Kate (mockingly): You boys are so sensitive about this stuff. How do you think we feel? 

Kate snatched a fry from Bruce's hand and popped it into her mouth. He had intended to eat that.

Bruce (monotone): You want the rest of my fries?

Kate: N- I’ll take a couple.

Kate grabbed a fist full of fries and plopped them on her plate.

Kate: Brucie, just support us like you do already and we won't cuss you out.

Bruce (doubtfully): Yes you will.

Kate: I’m lying you got me. You're doing a great job though, cuzzo.

Bruce (sweetly): I’m glad that I am.

Part 1

[six-of-ravens]

when I was in high school there were girls who would literally take like 4 advil in half an hour bc it didn't kick in fast enough and I was always like "geez, calm down, just give it time to digest, you're killing your liver" but. I have become that girl.

[petermorwood]

Recent article on NPR about the history of artificial light somewhat frustrated me -- they portrayed all of pre-kerosene history as dark and heinously expensive at all times. Thing is, the writers based their findings solely on tallow candles, & ignored oil lamps, beeswax candles, clever use of refraction & outdoor light including moon/starlight... Also seemed to ignore the ubiquity of hearths / cook fires. Was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about non-tallow light? This isn't to ignore that truly, artificial lighting WAS much more difficult & expensive for much of human history, but acting like tallow candles were the ONLY light source seems very silly! (Plus your other lovely post about bottles of water used to make those candles more efficient via refraction & focus)

I'm betting the article you mean is this one - which refers back to this one.

For matching reference, my own posts about period lighting are here, One and Two, including observations about painting walls white, how to light candles and lamps without matches, and several other matters.

*****

It didn't take too much listening before I got tetchy, because the first half of this podcast seems more about mocking how WEIRD and PRIMITIVE old-time people were, than passing on any useful information.

Despite the presence of Jane Brox (author of "Brilliant: The Evolution of Artificial Light") whale oil only gets touched on in passing, and olive oil isn't mentioned at all.

Instead she starts talking about using oily seabirds (stormy petrels) as "candles", despite this scholarly study concluding that it was something talked about far more than done, besides being so very, very localised that its relevance to the history of lighting is very, very small.

But hey, WEIRD and PRIMITIVE, right?

*****

By contrast, making candles was so commonplace that it was another of those jobs which created surnames. Fletcher once put feathers on arrows, Cooper made barrels, Fisher, Miller, Baker and Farmer are obvious, and Chandler used to make candles.

Lampier, of course, made lamps, which helped keep those naked candle-flames away from anywhere they shouldn't touch. The man on the left is making the lantern bodies, the one on the right is shaving sheets of horn as windows.

It's cheaper than glass, less easily broken yet is translucent enough, when shaved properly thin, to give quite adequate light.

*****

The podcast has a digression about measuring the light output of a reproduction Ancient Babylonian lamp. Here's an original and a repro.

Yet that too says nothing about what fuel the lamp is or should be burning - olive oil, traded all over the Mediterranean by ancient olive-growing cultures.

These are Roman oil-lamps, from simple and cheap to elaborate and costly.

As for beeswax, so far as the podcast is concerned might as well not exist, despite being a by-product of honey, which was THE principal pre-sugar sweetener for centuries when not being made into all that mead whose existence, production and quaffing nobody questions.

Oh yeah, and then there was the amazed discovery (2:40 / 1:25, depending on which you're listening to) that melted beef fat "...smells really nasty, like, ANIMAL nasty,"

Why is this guy surprised? It's part of an animal!

*****

It's the same sort of infotainment ignorance as displayed by this TikTok twit, right up to complaining about the effort involved in preparation of anything because not having powered appliances was so labour-intensive, oh woe. Yes, it was, welcome to any historical period before about 1920. That's where "the daily grind" originates.

However the implication (listen, it's there) that cattle were raised just to provide fat for candles is ludicrous. The fat was a by-product, not a main one, and was often a butcher's side-line, while members of the Chandlers' Guild only worked with superior beeswax.

I don't think you could make candles like these with tallow:

...and you definitely couldn't make one meant to be hand-held.

Picture evidence shows, by their clothing, the class of society who bought these, and tallow-greasy fingers would have been a no-no.

A Chandler didn't make individual candles. By the time that fresh batch is hung up, the first batch away down at the end is cool enough to be dipped again.

A chandler's shop in a medieval city would look very similar, and often had a horizontal wheel on which to hang each batch of candles, rotating them up and around to cool, then back to the dipping pot. Non-modern people may not have had modern tech or time-and-motion studies, but they weren't stupid.

*****

By contrast, the podcast's disparaging attitude of WEIRD and PRIMITIVE is emphasised by what seems a deliberate avoidance of anything which counters it (examples of that in my own posts) and finally at 11.24 / 9:50 came this:

"Even when you get all the way to the 1700s (...) most people are still subsistence farmers, living in some kind of hut, trying to grow enough food not to starve to death (...) and light? Light still comes from finding stuff that's lying around and just lighting it on fire."

Some kind of hut...

Stuff that's lying around...

After making such a declaration, I'm surprised - since they'd been implying it for half the podcast - someone didn't just go ahead and announce that "there's some lovely filth down here..."

That's when I stopped listening.

Enough is enough, and I'd had it.

*****

ETA:

cc: @asmuchasidliketo :->

Here's a photo of what purports to be a Petrel (not petrol, that's something else) Candle, held in the Pitt-Rivers Museum, Oxford. It's mentioned in that scholarly article I linked above.

Just as "one swallow doesn't make a summer", so one - and only one - known example of this, which may have been a fake-up to spoof the Southerners, doesn't prove it was a common or even rare practice.

There's another reason to take this with a big pinch of salt, so maybe Jane Brox was on a low-sodium diet when she wrote her book.

Creatures with a layer of fat or blubber for insulation all have it like any other form of insulation, on the outside, where it does some good. A wick passed through the inside couldn't draw on it for fuel since there's a layer of muscle and another of internal organs for the oil to get through first.

The cropped-off bottle just visible to the left is a far more likely way seabirds became lamp fuel: by rendering out their oil. This oil is from the Northern Fulmar, Fulmaris glaciaris (or glacialis, I've seen both. Same bird regardless).

Incidentally, the Wikipedia article on European Storm Petrel mentions a supernatural connection, that the petrels were the souls of drowned sailors, and killing them is unlucky.

Not just killing them but making them into candles sounds like A Bad Idea, and is yet another reason why, IMO, the candle thing may be a folktale, or a deliberate leg-pull, or...

Let's just say "improbable" and leave it there. :-P

[vivwritesfics]

And now on to my first request 🙈

The dream I had was very vague and context was nonexistent so this is me trying to piece it together and make it make sense for a fic

Arranged marriage with Danny ricc😍 I guess mafia would work best with this? But either way is fine. not too long after the marriage so they’re still pretty awkward and shy with each other. Perhaps they’ve got slight googly eyes for each other but not obvious and he’s a sweetheart not trying to force anything.

Randomly one day she realizes she almost out of pads and it’s the heaviest day of her period😳 if it’s mafia I guess she could have asked one of the workers to buy some but she felt awkward so asked him to pick up some on the way home and he’s super nice and gets a whole goody basket filled with a bunch of stuff😩 and then cuz her cramps are so bad they cuddle for the first time🙉🙉 maybe him rubbing her belly and back are too fast but idk I’m just in need of some hardcore fluff rn😭😭 (the way I got off my period a few days ago and yet still can’t get this out of my head) (I had another idea as a continuation of this but forgot 😭😭) (sorry if this makes no sense 💀)

-🤠

cowboy, my love, i'm so sorry this took me so damn long. I was gonna save it for a potential series but I can't commit to another series rn lmao

Warnings: Period

Daniel Ricciardo didn't love his wife. That was upsetting, wasn't it? He had a wife and he didn't love her.

It wasn't that he married a girl he once loved and then fell out of love with her. No, he was never in love with her. He didn't even have a chance to fall in love before he was placing that ring on her finger.

Things were awkward between the two of them. That was bound to happen, though. As much as they wanted to, it was so damn difficult. Daniel was a busy man, being Max Verstappen's lackey.

So, they tried to make life work. There were a few short conversations before he was rushing off to do whatever work Max needed him to do.

There was one night where he walked into the house they shared. Daniel expected her to be asleep in the room she had to herself. She didn't know that Daniel often checked on her when he came back late from work, taking comfort in the fact that she was still there, was still okay.

This time, though, she was asleep on the sofa. The television had turned off after a couple of hours of inactivity and she was holding a cushion close to her chest.

Daniel put his things down. He shrugged off his jacket and carefully walked closer to her. He brushed some hair away from her forehead and scooped her into his arms.

She stayed asleep, face pressed against his chest as Daniel carried her to bed. He laid her down and pulled the blankets up to her chin before he backed out of the room. Sparing one last glance at her, he left her there.

They never addressed this little moment. If she was even aware of it, Daniel wasn't sure.

But then her period came around. It wasn't her first period since they'd been married. But this time, she had nothing. No pads, no tampons, no painkillers. (No sweet treats to ease her hormonal woes.)

There were staff in the house that she could have asked, but they hadn't spoken two words to her since the wedding. Well, that wasn't true. Mrs Mulch had marched into her room on several occasions to shout at her while giving her dinner.

That left one person she could call. Holding her cramping abdomen, she held her phone up to her ear as it rang.

"Hey," said Daniel when he picked up. "Are you okay?" She hadn't called him before; he'd started to wonder if he'd even given her his number. This was actually quite a relief.

"Daniel," she whispered, voice pained.

Panic flooded him. "What's wrong, honey?" He asked quickly, voice hushed just in case she was in danger.

She let out another cry, and it was like being stabbed in the heart. "I... my period," she sobbed.

He released a breath. She wasn't in danger; she was just on her period. Fuck, that was such a damn relief.

"Talk to me, honey."

Honey, when had he started calling her that? And why did it make her insides feel all gooey? "Danny, I-I used all of my pads last month and I've got nothing in the house and I've got no painkillers and I'm really craving chocolate."

She said it all so quickly that Daniel had a hard time keeping up. But he had it, and he was going to do what he could for his wife.

Apologising to Max, he left work and jumped into his car. Daniel sped through traffic with little regard for the law (something he didn't have to worry about when they were in Max's pocket). Daniel parked himself outside of the store, climbed out of the car and grabbed a basket as he headed inside.

Daniel bought enough pads to stock her up for a year (he thought, at least) and snacks. Chocolate and junk food, anything she could want while she was on her period.

But he forgot the damned painkillers.

Paying and rushing back to the car, Daniel made his way back to the house.

He walked towards her, laying on the leather couch as she put pressure on her abdomen. But it was doing so little to ease the pain. "Oh, honey," Daniel whispered as he walked over to her and dropped to his knees in front of her. He brushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead and brushed away the tears staining her cheeks.

He took her hand and helped her up. "Come on," He said gently, picking up the shopping bag and pulling her towards the bathroom.

Handing her the pads, Daniel left her in the bathroom. He put the snacks away in their respective cupboards and emptied a packet of chocolates into a bowl.

"Daniel," she began as she walked towards him. She seemed a lot more comfortable now that she wasn't... free flowing. "Did you get the painkillers?"

His face dropped. "Shit, honey, I'm so sorry," he said. "I completely forgot."

He went to move through the house, to get his keys and drive out to get some for her. But, before he could, she grabbed his arm. "Please stay," she squeaked.

Daniel gave a nod. He opened his arms and she fell against him. This was the closest they'd ever been, and Daniel loved it. He kissed the top of her head and walked her towards the couch.

He sat down and she sat with him. Taking one of his hands, she placed it on her abdomen and let out a sigh. They were big and warm and the way he moved his thumb over her skin was so damn soothing. "Thank you, Danny," she whispered and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He ran his free hand through her hair. "No problem, honey."

[rosewaterandivy]

petrichor

a continuation of sugar & mint

summary: a summer friday feat. long lie-ins, a doting husband, and something unexpected

pairing: dad!steve x mom!reader

W.C.: 2390 K

warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smoking, cursing, pregnancy mention, my usual brand of filth (unprotected p-i-v, oral - m & f receiving, come eating)

a/n: disclaimer, i'm not a mom (unless you count my two pets)!! i am but a simple god mom to some feral babies, whom i adore. if pregnancy or mom!reader is not your vibe, i completely get it - i just couldn't get the thought of these two out of my head 🥹

🎵🎵 Oh, woe-oh-woah is me, the first time that you touched me 🎵🎵

pet·ri·chor /ˈpetrīˌkôr/ (noun)

definition: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Waking to the sound of rain falling steadily on the roof, you blearily pry an eye open to check the time. The sheets beside you on the bed are cool, Steve having made good on his promise to let you sleep in. The clock informs you of the late hour, 1 PM, as your stomach begs for sustenance.

Scrubbing a hand across your face, you roll over and rummage around for a shirt to cover throw on before trotting downstairs. Bub is off with her aunts for one final summer weekend, and there’s a slight chill in the air. Enough to warrant slipping on your husband’s discarded gray sweatshirt.

Aside from the rain against the eaves and windows, the house is silent. Grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet, you busy yourself making a cup of coffee before you see the post-it stuck to the fridge.

Hope you got to sleep in, your majesty. Grabbing groceries in town, see you soon. xxx - Steve

Grabbing a cinnamon bagel and your coffee you settle in the window seat of the breakfast nook to watch the rain, free of distractions and responsibilities. It’s rare that you get a moment like this, no pressing deadlines, drop-off or pick-up lanes, hosting dinners for friends, or attending a birthday party.

Eyes following the drag of raindrops on the windowpane, your hand falls to the nearly imperceptible swell of your stomach. Early days yet, but you knew the signs: nausea, exhaustion, all the usual suspects. Finishing your coffee, you trekked upstairs in search of a rogue pregnancy test— would it have expired by now?

After checking the date and deeming it worthy, you took the test and checked the time. Deciding it best to go back downstairs to ease your anxiety, you settled back in the window seat with a second cup of coffee.

_

“Couldn’t find a shirt?”

He laughs, shaking off the water droplets like a dog in the foyer. “It wasn’t raining when I left,” Steve says, as if that’s explanation enough. Not that you’re necessarily complaining, his hair and skin damp, tank top doing fuck all being as soaked as it is. “And I couldn’t find my—”

Catching sight of his sweatshirt grazing the tops of your thighs he smiles. “Nevermind, looks better on you anyway.” He kicks the door closed, shoes squelching against the floor as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Baaaabe,” you whine, catching a whiff of tobacco on him, “Please tell me you didn’t smoke in my car.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, sunglasses resting against the visor of his ball cap as he sets the tote bags on the counter. “Trader Joe’s was insane,” he says setting the keys on the counter, “It was an emergency cigarette, I swear.”

A roll of your eyes as you begin to put away the groceries. “If you bothered to wake me, I could’ve told you Trader Joes on a Friday was a bad idea.”

Steve quirks a brow in interest, grabbing a few items to shove in the freezer.

“Flower delivery is Friday, brings all the Lululemon moms to the yard.”

“Huh,” he grunts, “Explains all the spandex and lycra then.” Damp fingers trail against your thigh before wrapping an arm around your hip to draw you close. “Besides,” he breathes against your neck, “If I remember correctly, you requested to be left to sleep in.”

Failing to stifle a yawn, you eek out, “Because I’m fuckin’ exhausted, Harrington.” Setting your mug in the sink, you turn in his grasp and drape an arm across his shoulders. “Raising your daughter and dealing with your sorry ass.”

“Oh,” he pulls you closer, hips flush against one another, “So she’s my daughter now?”

“When she’s having sleep regression, yes.”

“Poor thing.”

“Yes,” you huff, “Me, I’m the poor thing because she insisted on crawling into our bed and kept kicking me in the ribs all night.”

“Hmm,” he hums, resting his chin against your head, “Explains the post-it stuck to my face this morning. ‘Help me Steve Harrington, you’re my only hope! Can you get Bub off to Aunt Nancy & Robin’s and please (for the love of god) let me sleep in? xxx —the love of your life & bearer of your child.”

“Hey,” you grouse into his chest, “I am clever and cute and you love me.”

Steve pulls back to get a better look at you— sleep mused, hair askew, barely dressed in a sweatshirt that had seen better days, and bare feet. He reaches down to link his fingers through yours. It feels so good, and warm, and you sigh almost contentedly.

“Course I do.” He takes a breath, “How could I not?”

“Steve Harrington,” you whisper against his lips, “You sweet talkin’ me?”

And with that, you crash your lips over his, sliding your tongue—sweet and heavy with promise into the space of his mouth.

He tastes like a stolen cigarette and coffee, cinnamon dancing on his tongue from the Big Red he’d swiped from the car. Kisses you slow and deep, easing you back against the counter. Chest pressed flush to yours, you let out an involuntary hiss.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

A shake of your head as your pepper his cheeks with kisses, bristles of five o’clock shadow catching against your lips.

“My tits just really hurt.”

“Huh,” he tuts, leaning back to look you over. “That’s uh… new.”

Quirking your brow, you level him with a look. “And how would you know?”

Steve’s lips curl in a slow smile, “I notice things.”

Glancing to the green numbers illuminated on the microwave, you grab his hand and make for the staircase. “Sure you do, big guy,” you toss over your shoulder playfully.

Settling him on the bed, you trot back into the en suite and return with the white plastic test in your hand. Handing it to him without fanfare, you watch as his face turns from one of mild curiosity to that of astonishment. Shock.

There was a cautious longing in your eyes and your face was measured. The air was weighted in silence, desire crystallizing as he leaned towards you, a pull he allowed himself to fall toward, closing the space between, choosing not to think, blocking out any hesitation and he was kissing you.

You were trying not to rush this, trying to savor this, slowly, carefully, tormented with the scent of his skin, all warm and washed linen, comfort laced in a simmering heat that he kept tempered somewhere deep within his soul.

Your face was cradled in his hands, pulling you closer, skin hot against palms, lips hotter still against his own when he realised the rain had stopped.

You crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The sweatshirt comes off— thrown carelessly landing somewhere on the floor— Steve revels in the exposure your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Steve. Stevie. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

His kisses were deliberate towards one destination as his hands moved toward another, caressing you soft on the skin of your hips, slowly, sweetly up your sides and arching your back where you perched, a way to kiss you harder, reach you further to rediscover all his favorite parts of you.

The moan started low in your throat as he eased himself into you, sinking all the way to the hilt, delicious and easy, because he couldn’t wait and neither could you. You in all your love and splendor, always ready, always open for him, legs widening and gripping him as he began to move, slowly and agonizingly sweet.

Steve was trying to restrain himself, slow it down, revel in the feel of you, warm and wet and wonderful around him. He wanted to make it go slow, try not to lose himself through your soft sounds, the little breaths that told him the how, the when, the yes, please, right there, yes as you dissolved into moans that had him aching.

It was less deliberate now, more messy, a stuttered rhythm that had his legs feeling shaky, chasing his release, the push and pull of desire tightening, closer, hotter, tighter, and then an instant hardness that had him seeing stars, mouth tucked into the curve of your neck, your fingers threaded, gripping his locks, spilling feeling from his cock through your cunt.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the hectic morning, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat when he drew back to look at you, half-embarrassed, half a smile awash in his flushed face, hazel eyes full and wanting – utterly beautiful. Steve kissed your nose, your mouth, lingering sweetness on your lips, and you groaned as he picked you up, still buried inside you, his hands strong beneath your ass, fingers itching to trail the familiar paths of faded stretch marks. To praise the skin that grew to house you and your daughter, knew instinctively what to do, even if you were less than pleased with their sudden arrival.

Steve can’t help it - he loves your body for that, for keeping you and Bub safe. It’s something he won’t ever experience, but each time he happens to catch sight of you, pregnant or not, he can’t help but feel that he’s witnessing something sacred. Something holy.

The bed now, a comfort beneath your back, sheets scrambled beneath his palms as he balanced himself above you, then a stuttered breath as he slipped out, your muscles already missing the fullness of him. His pretty head moved lower now, your pretty hands still stroking through his pretty hair, sending pretty shivers through his spine.

The gasp was low in your throat when Steve pushed his fingers inside you, slow and agonizing, damp with you and him, all melded together and you almost winced when he dipped his mouth between your thighs, his tongue careful and deliberate, tasting you, tasting him, his mouth warm and licking you from core to clit.

This time, your legs were shaking, skin like fire and you were already too wound up, too high on just the feel on him, his hair brushing skin, beard soft on your thighs. Your fingers were fisted still through his hair, and god, he loved the way he knew how to drive you by the tension in your hands, the scrabbled grip through his locks as you got closer, more breathless, a groan and then an arch of toes before you were wrung out and writhing beneath him.

A clap of thunder sounded out as you collapsed, loose limbs and shivery skin as he came up to kiss you, shared joy and wonder, near awe that he could still bring you over the edge this way.

Steve's hair was something else now, wild and beautiful – definitely overdue for a trim and you were laughing now, face sparkling with glee.

“You look awful,” you told him, bringing your lips up to kiss him, all giggly with delight.

“Thank you,” he replied, nosing you close and drawing new breaths from your tongue as your hands drifted to the velvet skin beneath his thighs, working him slow and sweet.

“Oh, I will,” you answered, tempered smile in that face he adored so well, and shifted your body, drawing Steve onto his back as you dipped lower and he tried to hold the groan as you took him in your mouth.

He had to look away, some way to regather himself, the rushing blood through his skin, shooting straight to his cock, the warmth of your mouth on him, your tongue stroking him, the push and drag of your lips along that sensitive skin.

Steve focused on the feeling of you surrounding him, your warmth, your light, but even so, it was too much after a while and he had to change it, change the way you felt on him before he got too eager, too earnest. He lifted you, a giggle escaping your lips as you pulled off him with one last, deliberate drag of your mouth and this time, he couldn’t help the moan from his lips.

It was heaven, warm and sweet, when he pushed into you for the second time, your knees almost matched high at your chest, grazing your aching nipples as he found that special part of you that drew his most favorite sounds. You were keening, moving slowly together, trying not to lose control, trying to savor this for as long as you possibly could in this delicious bubble of time and space. _

Hours later and the pair of you had yet to leave the house. Rain pouring on and off throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

A tentative look at your belly, still smooth and firm. His hand finds the plane of it, fingers brushing the skin and over newly forming goosebumps. A surprising amount of excitement flutters in his own at the thought. It’d be good.

Steve insisted on throwing something together for dinner and made his way downstairs. He’s excited at the prospect of another baby, especially if they continued to take after you like Bub had. And she’d be adorable big sister, his heart swells at the thought.

He grabs the plates and heads back upstairs, the creak of the trick-step signalling his ascent. Nudging the door open with his hip, he pauses to take in the sight of you, and sets the plates on the nightstand.

Steve doesn’t know how someone can light up a room like you, just sitting there in his sweatshirt, doing nothing but smile. “Honey,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment but can’t help himself. He just wants to see you looking at him.

“Yeah?” You turn your head ever so slightly, peek up under flared lashes— sleepy eyes struggling to stay awake— still sparkling. “What is it?”

“Honey, I love you.” Is all he can manage. Everything else seems to fade away.

And then you smile, a slow curling of your soft lips, cupid’s bow catching a moonbeam. You smile so sweetly his heart stops in his chest. The world comes rushing back with your tired sigh and your hand linking itself with his. One beat, two beats, steadily, heavily, his blood pulses again when you kiss his cheek and murmur,

“I love you, too.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I'm really sick and Satan's sacrificial waterfall is here AT THE SAME TIME!

I don't know if you do blurbs or headcannons, but if so, would you be willing to write for the boys (either taskforce 141, or singular characters,) taking care of an afab reader who has never had anyone wanting to take care of them?

If not, sorry to bother!

I don't typically take requests but... since I'm in the same boat (sacrificial waterfall is probably going to come over the weekend for me), I'll 100% do it.

A while back I also posted this: "You're feeling ill" and it's also along the same vein, if you'd like an extra little pick me up.

Period woes.

Rating: G Words: 1K~ tags: afab!reader but you/your pronouns, SFW!, fluff, comfort, periods and associated symptoms.

A person’s period might be the most hypocritical moment of their routine. They’re expected to continue moving, working and living their live as normal, all with a smile on their face, while their uterus actively attempts to cut off its own circulation… as if for any other injury or sickness you wouldn’t be expected to lay down and STOP for a moment and allow yourself to heal up, or at least improve enough to not be miserable.

But no. You’re expected to deal with it alone, to not show a reaction, to not be irritable, or groaning and writhing in pain. Take a shower, stock up on painkillers and slap a smile on your face, you’ve gotta go out in the world and act as if you’re not actively dreading every waking moment you spend on your feet.

That’s why you’ve learned to hide it when you’re going through your monthly. Your family, partners… not even your girlfriends know when you’re having it. Ever since you were a young teen, just starting out, it was very much a conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know, sort of moment.

But it’s miserable. You’re always miserable. Everything hurts, the cramps, the headaches, the back pain, hip pain, your sore chest… Plus the blood, the lack of appetite (or increase in appetite), the nausea, the fact you want to cry one moment, or break dishes and scream the next, the way your colleagues annoy you beyond compare, how certain sounds grit your nerves just. enough. to make you feel like you’re losing it… And then you can’t sleep.

And of course… he notices it. How could he not?

Ghost is discreet about it. He doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make a big deal about it… But he’s VERY good at taking care of you without you noticing he’s doing it. His love language is acts of service… So he simply goes around giving you a hand on whatever you might need. Food? Made. Dishes? Done. Laundry? Washed, Dried, Folded and Put Away. He finds you trying to do something? No. Give it here, he’ll do it.

The inevitable day that a leak happens and you find yourself angry at yourself as you strip the bedsheets off the bed, trying to be discreet about it so he doesn’t see it, he silently grabs the sheets off your hands and murmurs a “Go take a shower and change. I’ve got this.” before turning to put the sheets in the washer, clean the mattress and remake the bed so you can lay down again by the time your shower is over. It makes you emotional, sometimes, that such a stoic man will gladly take on every other responsibility to allow you to heal.

Gaz, blessed be him, is an absolute sweetheart… But he’s also a silly boy. He notices and although he’s not going to make a big deal about it, he’s still very… Boyish about it. Uses all the silly names for your period (“The Communists are coming”, “Shark week”,  “Satan’s waterfall”, “Carrie”) and affectionately calls you “My little ketchup packet”. 

He’s all for ordering takeout and getting you whatever you want when and how you want it. He’ll rub your back and be very careful about where and how he touches you. He’s ginger with touches around your waist and lower stomach, looks at you with those big brown eyes of his, as if checking that he’s not hurting you or crossing a boundary. You find yourself getting emotional when he whispers about how strong you are to deal with this every month… Keeps asking gently if you need anything… It makes you feel so safe.

Price’s older. He’s been in many relationships before. He notices your period is coming before it even does… Notices how you’re acting. Jumpier, grumpier, sadder… Notices how you toss and turn the couple of nights leading up to it. And he’s silently prepared. He’s made a supply run to the grocery store to get what brand of period products you use and some painkillers and puts them where you can see them in the bathroom. 

Fills you up with warm herbal tea and food that he knows are easy to digest and help with your state. No fucking chocolate and sugar or potato chips, you’re being pumped full of soups and stews and veggies and cut up fruit. He’ll sit by your side with a paring knife and an apple and slowly peel, core and cut it, before slowly feeding you (and himself) the slices. When you try to resist it, at first, too used to doing things alone, he’ll grab your face with both hands, look into your eyes and tell you. “And why exactly would I let you do that, when you’ve got me here to help you? How does that make sense?”

Soap’s… Well… Soap’s got a bunch of sisters… Each of them dealing with their periods in wildly different ways... So one thing he knows for sure: He’s not about to assume anything. You do what you’ve got to, he’ll adjust to you. He needs to go to the bathroom but you’re in there? Copy that, he’ll go piss in the yard. You’re having a cry in the kitchen because nothing looks good but you’re hungry? Talk it out with him, what do you want to eat? Let’s figure it out together, bonnie. You need to lie down in a dark room because of a migraine or headache or just to catch on sleep you’ve missed? Johnny’s blacked out every window, gathered every stray pillow and blanket in the house and will make you a nest if he’s got to.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with a whine and a stretch because your back hurts and you’ve got cramps and cannot for the life of you get comfortable, Johnny’s hands are rubbing over you, pressing kisses to your temple and murmuring little “I ken, love… It’ll be over soon… I’m sorry you’re going through this…”

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: This was quite the special invitation. Let us celebrate this auspicious 100th year together.

Summon Line: Just as the rumors have said, this truly is a vast museum. I am elated that I have this opportunity to walk these halls.

Groooovy!!: Do take care not to act discourteously while paying your respects. That is, if you do not wish to incur any unwanted curses.

Home: My blessings on 100 years of history.

Home Idle 1: I hear the Asim household has enough paintings to rivals this museum. I do hope to receive an invitation someday.

Home Idle 2: It seems that Rosehearts has memorized a plethora of anecdotes so as to be able to respond to any question. How very enthusiastic of him.

Home Idle 3: It is said that the subordinates of the Thorn Fairy were unwaveringly loyal. Seems as though they all held her in high regard. We are quite similar in that regard.

Home Idle - Login: Allow me to show you around the museum. I have an affinity for art appreciation. You'll be in good hands.

Home Idle - Groovy: Spade seems to have a very straightforward personality. He spoke his mind without any hesitation... Fufu, that was quite the pleasant encounter.

Home Tap 1: That's some furrow in your brow. Each person will glean different impressions from the same painting. There's no need to figure out a correct interpretation.

Home Tap 2: The King of Beasts would turn to his chamberlain for a song to soothe his woes, I see. That chamberlain's singing must have been superb.

Home Tap 3: While I was gazing upon a painting of the Fairest Queen, Hunt began to recount her stories and his opinions on them in rapid-fire succession. His intensity was quite something...

Home Tap 4: The painting depicting the Thorn Fairy's castle is spectacular. It is quite a useful reference for the style of gargoyles of that time period.

Home Tap 5: I cannot say I'm accustomed to this silvery-white color, or your human formal attire, but... From what I gather of your reaction, it does not seem like it is ill-suited.

Home Tap - Groovy: Have you found a work of art you like? Your eyes are glittering just like a child's.

Duo: [MALLEUS]: Follow me, Spade. [DEUCE]: This will be a good experience, Draconia-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: So, you've come to wish me a happy birthday. You certainly know no fear, it seems. Most people are too frightened to even say one word to me... If the people of Briar Valley were to see this, they would be quite taken aback. Heh, I don't mean it as a rebuke in anyway. I only am reminded once again about what a strange human you are.

Requested by Anonymous.

[sirfrogsworth]

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

[mesetacadre]

Hello!

Firstly, Im USAmerican I’m not trying to be like “oh woe is me,” Im just trying my best to understand what would be the best option for everyone. I’ve heard so many varying things and this is my second time voting, so I just want wanted to know what other people think. This isn’t meant to be malicious or condescending in any way either! I know you can do multiple things at once it’s just that I worry that when I walk into that polling booth, that I’ll be putting more innocent people at stake.

I’ve seen people tell,call,email etc Kamala to say that she isn’t getting their vote unless she stops funding Israel and their assault on the Palestinian people. And I’ve seen some people say that there is literally no point in trying to reason/ransom with her and that she (like all other US presidents) is a monster no matter what.

I’ve seen some other people say that voting 3rd party or not voting at all is the only way to go. But I worry that a 3rd party candidate wouldn’t stand a chance so late in the game. And I also worry that not voting would be a waste of a privilege, especially since so many people don’t have the access to voting inside the US and out.

I’ve also seen people worrying about project 2025 being pushed into place and I’ve also seen other people say Americans are cowards for worrying about such a thing.

I know you don’t live in the US but I also know this election impacts people outside of the states so I just wanted to know your thoughts. I’ve asked this to another blog as well, so if any of your followers have thoughts Id like to hear them too! I just feel a little pulled in every direction and I figured asking around would be a good idea.

Thank you so much and have a nice day!

If I were in your position I would stop going back and forth about who to vote for and start organizing. Were social rights protected with Biden? Very clearly not, since people are already suffering from things that are in that think tank's document. Abortion is no longer protected, trans people are begin targeted across a good portion of the states, the border is going to keep getting bloodier regardless of who wins, etc. Sure, you might argue that these things are not in control of the president, like the Supreme Court or the individual states. So then, how are elections supposed to help? And this is just talking about domestic policy, but the imperialist cogs of the US hegemon will keep turning no matter who's in DC, and you really cannot fucking ignore the current genocide in Palestine, plus the US' entire history of foreign interventions and the suffering that has come from that. You all should really realize the scale of the situation and stop engaging with the US on its own terms. There are class interests to which every mechanism of liberal democracy are subordinated to.

It is extremely unique for you USAmericans to spend this much fucking time and energy on your elections, you can't overstate it. Practically every year is filled with election bullshit. Election periods in basically the rest of the world only last like a month at most, where I live it takes two weeks. Elections aren't even the only or most important way to participate in politics within the very basic framework of liberal democracy. But you're all constantly acting like it's a team sport, always with the election. Don't take this personally anon, I'm not annoyed at you specifically and I appreciate the effort in your ask, but it's so incredibly childish to every single time spend 2 years or more hueing and crying about the upcoming election. Do something about it then! stop hyperfocusing on a single day every 4 years! People were already talking about the 2020 election after Trump won in 2016, that's absurd!

Read Lenin and read decolonial theory, organize yourself and the working class, build political-revolutionary consciousness amongst your class, do whatever you can to strike at the stability of the empire which you live under without getting arrested or killed, and stop legitimizing this pantomime by making it the exclusive vehicle of your political thought. Voting is just a single day, and the run-up (not 3 years!) should be spent campaigning for your own interests, denouncing this bullshit system you all keep saying you also don't "like". "Surviving", which is what some left liberals keep saying they're trying to do (I know you did not say that, anon), looks like organizing yourself and everybody you can to stop relying on the scraps the managers of capitalism and imperialism sometimes throw at you.

Voting as an action and voting as a strategy are two different things. What you're worried about, as I understand it, is the action of going to a booth and putting your choice of ballot in the box. Voting as a strategy, is the decoration and structure so many people build around it. I can't recall exactly who I saw doing this, but a USAmerican mutual of mine who's also a communist got an ask about who they're voting for. This mutual laid out the options in their state, went over their policies, and explained why they'll vote for the candidate they disliked less (I think it was an independent but don't quote me on that). You know why none of us "election interfering foreign agents" jumped at them for this? because they understand the very limited potential for voting, spent a little bit of their time researching each candidate avaliable to them, and then spend the entire rest of their political energy focusing on other things outside electoralism.

Yeah, shit's fucked for social rights, so is basically anywhere else in the world right now. I also don't have good choices in my elections, half the parliament is talking about the islamization of Spain and plans to gut any public service, and the other actively anesthesizes and absorbs any social movement that could combat reactionarism. So I stop worrying too much about who I'm casting my ballot for and I dedicate all my political energy to militancy in my communist party, slowly creating class consciousness and setting up ways to eventually protect our own class from the inevitable strike. All of this while being the 12th economy in the world, and consequently, an integral part of the imperialist NATO and EU, facts that no sector of our liberal democracy even questions. And do you think our siblings in the countries victim of the imperialist doctrine of NATO have it any better? When entire elections and governments have been interfered with not by "social media bots", but by actual bloodshed and terror? They don't spend years yelling at each other about who to vote for, they also organize themselves and attempt to emancipate their own class

[squarebracketsmileyface]

The gender exploration fic officially has a name now :D

It's gonna be "My Girl, My Girl, My Girl (You Will Be)" because Tim's Girl, Jay Will/could Be (eventually, they're working towards it slowly 💀) or just MGx3 (cos MG times 3 lol) for short because that's a bit of a long name and I really can't be bothered to write it out a bunch of times all the time but yay :D

I'm planning out the plot outline and chapters at the moment, which is going vaguely well, tho I'm trying to keep some kinda storyline behind it as well as it just showing what Tim and Jay get up to in their free time through August to December (cough cough their sex life through that time period). Figuring out how to keep the MH side of the story rolling is a bit tricky, because looking at the actual, irl entries, not a lot actually happens in those four months 💀

Like, Tim and Jay fight over that tape and stop working together. Jay tries to attack Tim in his home and gets ziptied. Tim goes to Benedict hall and hoody helps Jay escape. Jay goes to Benedict hall. And then it's entry 80 and Jay's dying.

Like. So little happens across all the entries uploaded, but I don't want to give them much less time and just have it that the entries were uploaded really spaced apart after the events in them happened all at once, because I wanna write a whole bunch of smut for them lol. I gotta give Jam an excuse to not just go straight to Benedict hall pretty much immediately, because like, currently? What's stopping them? Literally nothing. They could go there halfway through August and still be as well prepared for it as they were in actual MH.

They probably did go earlier than the entries were posted in irl MH didn't they lol. But I need them to have those four months to be all happy couple together, I need itttttttttttt. I also need them to have those four months so Tim can learn a bit about IIAB and knock some sense into Jay's dumb little "woe is me I am nothing but the victim" brain and set him on the road to realising that what he did was very not okay even if he genuinely thought he was in the right/doing that Alex wanted him to do even at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

COS THAT'S A THING TOO, so much of Jay's pushiness and all that in IIAB came from a place of him genuinely thinking he was doing something for Alex rather than subjecting him to it.

It feels like such a fine balance to make sure Jay isn't irredeemable. He's not malicious with anything, he's just scared of losing people by not giving them what they want, and scared of not knowing what to do to not lose someone new.

Was it stupid for him to try the choking thing with Tim when the first time he tried it caused the breakdown of his and Alex's fwb relationship? Yes. It was so fucking stupid. But Jay was scared and hey either it was going to be fine, or it'd drive Tim away rather than letting him be the one to leave and Jay was still rather in the mindset of thinking Tim would leave him at some point and he couldn't stand the thought of that. It'd be much less painful if he drove Tim away.

He still kinda thinks that honestly.

Doing that kinda thing to get what he wanted from Alex had worked and been 'fine' every time up until Jay actually put himself in harms way with it. So like, he didn't exactly put two and two together while he was freaking out a bit with Tim.

Also with how it went with Alex that last time, Jay was still vehemently ignoring that he was even somewhat at fault for that fwb relationship ending. Sure he knew he'd done something wrong, but he refused to figure out exactly what and actually think about what that meant for himself. Alex never told him what he did so it was a lot easier to blame Alex and hate him rather than actually look at himself and his actions. It was also easier to think of it more as Amy taking Alex away from him, or poisoning Alex against him than to think that he was actually the reason for Alex finally telling him to fuck off.

No one wants to think they've done that. No one wants to think maybe they pushed for something someone doesn't want to do a little too hard, and really really hurt that person who they care about deeply.

Then there's the whole thing that a lot of what Jay did in uni, he also wasn't super comfy with? He was just so completely convinced it was what Alex wanted because of all their previous interactions. Then he got it so in his head that when Alex said he *didn't* Jay just couldn't wrap his head around it and assumed Alex was making *himself* uncomfy in order to try and cater to Jay's crush on him, and Jay much preferred being uncomfortable himself than making Alex uncomfortable.

And that's what he saw it as. He saw it as him sacrificing his own comfort for Alex's a lot of the time. Like, yes. He enjoyed the rougher sex and all that and they had a lot of times that I haven't actually specifically written where they just had fun with it and enjoyed it a hell of a lot. Most of their uni relationship wasn't bad. Most of their uni relationship was just kinda fine. Not great, neither of them were completely happy with it, but it wasn't the level of toxic that it could be all the time.

[pmpmyread]

*birdman hand rub*

🥐, 🪐, 🥤

Dearest Courtney, hi! I hope you're having a great day 🩵 Apologies for only getting to this now 😬. Answers from the girl who is late to everything lol: 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 

I don't know why I'm suddenly blanking on this lol. I do quote Nene Leakes a lot lmfaoo: what is *this*, honey, chile the gHettoOooo, I SAID what I SAID. I've never even watched RHOA but I think she would definitely be my favorite just off of her zingers.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

Roof over my head, my loved ones and I have our health, and I'm mentally in a good place.

I'm in an uncertain period right now, but the fact that I woke up to these three things being certain is something I do not take for granted! 🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ouuu ok. Since you're a Nanami girlie like me I'll aim to recommend some works centering around his character and hopefully, you haven't read these yet!

Strangers in Love by @ayyy-pee

A second-chance Nanami x Reader long fic, one of the first I'd read back in the Old Country aka AO3. Beautifully written, a unique take on marriage/separation woes and how they could manifest with someone as complex as Nanami. I was so glad to rediscover the completed story years later here on Tumblr, along with its wonderful author, Lexi! 🩵

ai kaisen by KaneiChieko on AO3

Another long fic, this one dealing with a love triangle situation between Gojo, Nanami and Reader. I went into it looking for some #mess and came out as the mess myself. It is a beautifully written, emotional story that is real, raw, and poignant, I speedran all 30+ chapters in like a day and a half. The writer also left some great author's notes that made it feel like I was reading a "director's cut" edition.

nanami kento is graying by the lovely @yasu-1234

A shorter oneshot, this one about growing old with Nanami. One of the most memorable ones I've read in recent memory. It's one of those fics that you revisit periodically and that still hits you just as impactfully as the first time you read it. Thank you for the asks, my friend! 🩵

Link to the Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro, I'm on my period rn. Tell me why the only thing I can think about is having a beefy pedro boy to cuddle. One who would rub my lower tummy with big warm hands to help with the cramps, and his belly would press into my lower back and we could just watch rom coms and Star Wars movies. It's giving Frankie vibes, but I also can't stop thinking about retired agent Jack Daniels and that southern drawl.

Oh Redy! I’m too riding the crimson tide…

Who would be the best chubby!P-boy for this job?

Let's find out...

We're-all-in-this-together regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

Chubby!Frankie - 9/10

Of course, our resident military snugglepuss would be ready to take orders. Need supplies? Text him a picture of what tampon/pad combo you want. Don’t feel like cooking? He already knows he’s in for a few days of take out and he’s not complaining. Want comfort? Already has plans to cuddle on the couch and his big body is JUST RIGHT for warm snuggles. Frankie is ready to take on your period and has a strategy for every variable and Is the ideal candidate for the job.

Chubby!Dieter - 7/10

While he may lack in empathy, he has the drugs you need to quell your pain. Uppers, downers, side-to-siders - he's got the gambit and he'll partake what ever you choose. He's also got every take out restaurant on speed dial and a private chef. It's not for everyone and some of his remedies might be questionable, but his heart is in the right place... that and he's a human heating pad.

Chubby!Joel - 7/10

He's done this before - had multiple female partners, had the teenage daughter. Periods are just a part of life and Joel has seen his fair share of blood before (periods or not). Unphased, he's be your matter-of-fact pillar to lean on and offer advise (unsolicited and otherwise). While you love the support, the know-it-all attitude he carries might get on your nerves, but he's quick to apologize and remain supportive in any way he can... while also telling you what to do as he gives you one hell of a backrub.

Chubby!Peña - 6/10

Probably the most uncomfortable with any talk about your 'monthly', he would be supportive albeit a bit clueless. He'd probably get either Connie or one of the other girls in the office to pick up supplies and he'd nervously look at you like a beaten puppy as you sit doubled over on the couch in pain. He'd eventually find a system to help, but it would take a lot of guidance. Perk? You'd get to watch him stress eat over the whole situation.

Chubby!Dave - 3/10

100% out of his wheel house. This is a woman's issue and Dave is not a woman, therefore it's not his issue. Tell him what you need, but don't expect support beyond a pat on the head and a kiss. He might give you a good pain killer if he's feeling sympathetic. You're better to keep your period stuff to yourself, according to Dave. He does get a mark deducted for being terrible at sharing his snack hoard with you.

Dark!Frankie - 0/10

As much as he'd like to think he's great at everything, this is an area that requires empathy. Unfortunately for you, unless the solution to your monthly woes is fucking him or cooking for him, BigFish is out of ideas. He doesn't want to see you in pain though, and he'll tell you that... less to offer comfort and more like an order for you to get in line... The only way it could be worse is if you had to deal with PORP.

Honorable Mentions:

Benny Miller: We'd all be so lucky to have a Benny. We see how he is with Honey (when his good intentions come out wrong.) Chubby!Jack Daniels: Not yet part of the Bistro, but maybe soon? I think you're right, Redy - this old, fat cowboy would be heaven sent. Chubby!Javi G: If he was a Cannon P-Boy, he'd clock a 58/10 on the scale. Homeboy's love language is MADE for dealing withy your period.

[icycoldninja]

okay I have a cute hurt comfert idea: MGS2 Raiden comferting and Cuddling and sweet talking his Pregnant wife (reader)

Ohh yes, coming right up. 💜

Cramps (MGS2! Raiden x Fem!Pregnant!Reader)

Recently, you'd been suffering from stomach cramps that were very similar to period cramps. This was normal; something that happened during the early stages of pregnancy.

Despite the fact that it was a common, expected occurrence, it was still very uncomfortable. You often found yourself curled up in your bed, clutching your stomach, trying--in vain--to sleep the cramps off. Eventually, you gave up, and simply lay there, staring at the ceiling in agony.

"Y/N...something wrong?" Raiden trooped into the room in naught but a tank top and short shorts. "Yeah, my stomach," You groaned, rolling over and burying your face in the pillows. "What's wrong?" Raiden asked, hurrying over to you in case there was a problem. "Nothing serious, just cramps. But God, are they painful." You grumbled, rubbing your stomach to emphasize your woes. Raiden's lips curved into a small smirk as he crossed over to the other side of the bed and sitting on it. "Wanna snuggle?" You nodded, gratefully sliding into his outstretched arms and resting your head on your husband's warm chest. "How's that?" He asked, planting a kiss on your forehead. You nodded, letting out a small, content sigh.

"You're gonna be an amazing mama," Raiden whispered, running his fingers through your hair. "I just know it. You're gonna give birth to a beautiful baby and we'll be a happy family." You sniggered, feeling your heart surge with warmth at the thought of raising a child with Raiden. "I bet we will," You agreed, toying with the hem of your husband's shirt. "I--OW!" The cramps suddenly intensified, then immediately calmed down. "You alright?" Raiden asked, rubbing your back worriedly. "Yeah, I'm fine," You sighed, snaking your arms around Raiden's waist in an effort to be closer to him. "Just cramps."

"Try not to think about it," Raiden offered, kissing your forehead again. "Just focus on me. Or focus on yourself, and how beautiful you are...and how sweet you are, and how perfect you are," He leaned forwards, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "And how much I love you."

A visible blush formed on your face, one Raiden quickly caught sight of. "You're blushing. Is that a side effect of the cramps?" You shook your head, giggling softly. "No, it's not because of that..." The realization appeared to click into Raiden's head as he began kissing you furiously, eventually flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him. "I just thought of a way to take your mind off your cramps," He said, grinning. "A very effective way."

You could only lay there helplessly, knowing of your fate, yet unable to do anything about it.

[kipunat]

Hey I just saw your post and had to immediately run here just to tell you how much I love your fics 🖤 They are my no.1 favorite fics in this fandom, and it makes me sad to know you feel lonely right now. I have read all your Käsh fics so many times, they are absolutely amazing! "Something sinister" especially! It is such a masterpiece, and I'm heartbroken by the fact that it ended so soon 😭💔

Have a picture of happy Käsh moment to cheer you up 💚

Oh thank you so much for the dose of happy Käsh and for the sweet words 🥺💚🖤 They cheered up my day and I'll cherish them for a long time 💕

This fandom has given me so much that periodically I go through this fear of everything going away. I came here the day after CCC came out and travelled between different platforms a lot, never really finding my home, and I missed many opportunities to connect with people. I often feel out of place. This spring I made a bigger effort to connect with people by finally starting to write and it has worked, everybody has been really lovely and it makes me so happy to see people engage with what I share and I also love to engage with other people's fanworks. But then also at the same time seeing fewer people engage with fanfiction in general (not just mine) makes me so scared of it all going away because it's just starting to get nice for me here, and idk, maybe this is just another end-of-the-summer winter-is-coming oh-woe-is-me whiny thought and it will be normal and cool tomorrow again 🥲

Go away already, August, and please be kind to us, long September break. I'm very hopeful about October and the Eurotour 2.0 shenanigans. Kinktober is also approaching and has me thinking extremely Käsh thoughts, maybe some of them flavoured with something sinister! 👀