#AND IF THEY TAKE IT OUT THAT I CAN STILL HAVE GLUTEN

[minicy]

i gotta say, a cool $5k in my bank account would be really cool right about now

[henpeckedho]

So I got wheated a couple weeks ago pretty badly (by accident!) and I have learned a very important lesson:

I'm now only moderately allergic to wheat.

The allergic reaction is still there don't get me wrong but I didn't suffer the near instant death symptoms I had before. And I did do the scientisty thing and waited about a week and tried wheat again (on purpose this time) and same thing. Moderate allergic reaction.

I will not be re-introducing wheat into my diet but it means that I can try to eat out again more than once a year, and maybe I can actually enjoy the meal instead of being terrified the next bite would send me into anaphylactic shock.

[killbaned]

ok im good now sorry for being a cunt there’s just a very specific condescending tone of voice mom takes that sets me off even when i’m not a walking snot factory that can barely talk bc of my throat hurting hhhhhhhhh

[ekingston]

A chef!AU, maybe? In any case, a story in which Kara and Lena meet through one of them preparing/serving/etc food for the other and build their relationship based on that.

(also on ao3.)

“I’m telling you, Alex. It’s her.”

At three pm on a Tuesday their restaurant is characteristically dead, save for the one lone customer Kara is spying on from behind the kitchen doors. The woman is perched, a little perilously, on a barstool at the counter. It’s the one that’s closest to their register, the one with the wobbly leg that Alex keeps telling Kara to fix. One of her red-soled heels is dangling from an impatiently bouncing left foot.

“This is the fourth time this week she’s come in here,” Kara says. “You don’t think that’s just a little bit suspicious?”

Alex shrugs, fully committed to her task of mincing onions. “Maybe she’s just a big fan of Italian food.”

“No way,” Kara says. “No woman who looks like that would put something in her mouth that wasn’t clearly marked gluten-free and vegan. Give me your phone.”

Alex rolls her eyes dramatically as she elbows it over. “Tell me again how you’re totally over Siobhan.”

“Oral sex isn’t a moral issue!” Kara takes a decisive breath while she unlocks her sister’s phone with practiced ease. “Whatever. Water under the bridge.”

“Uh-huh.”

“A love for pasta also doesn't explain why I heard this woman answer a call yesterday with a different name than the one that’s on her credit card,” Kara points out, before snapping a quick picture through the porthole window.

“Okay, now you’re being creepy,” Alex says.

“Shut up,” Kara tells her. “I’m texting Winn.”

Kara eyes the woman at the counter while she waits for his reply. The subject of her suspicion—Lena, she’d called herself on the phone; Tess Mercer, it had said on her mastercard—twists a soft-looking lock of dark hair around her finger as she studies their menu. The way the sunlight sets it ablaze almost makes Kara take a second picture, purely for its artistic merit.

Alex dabs at her onion-induced tears with the cuff of her sleeve. “Let it go, Kara,” she sighs.

“Let it go? Let it—” Kara whirls back to face her, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Do you want The Tower to end up like Winn and James’ steakhouse? Or are you fine with getting swindled by this—this… villain?”

“Of course not.” Alex looks at her like she’s stupid. “But even if this woman is your so-called ‘food influencer’, what do you suggest we do about it? It’s not as if we can bully her into giving us a fair review.”

Kara squares her jaw and sets her fists firmly on her hips. “No,” she declares, her tone grim. “But we can teach her a little about journalistic integrity.” She blows at a lock of hair that’s fallen in her face. “And also, possibly, credit card fraud.”

Alex narrows her eyes at her. “Kara,” she warns, putting down her knife. Her voice is low and cautious, as if she’s talking to the rowdy raccoon that moved into their dumpster three weeks ago instead of to her baby sister. “Let’s just take a breath and think about this for a m—”

Kara is already gone, the doors to the kitchen swinging closed behind her. Sliding into the cluttered space behind the counter, she crosses her arms and then drops her elbows on the bar, leaning what she belatedly realizes is probably a little too close to her adversary. She’s close enough to make out the individual downy hairs on her chin and the lines in her painted lips, which are still pursed thoughtfully in what Kara is sure would look like an attractive pout to someone who didn’t know any better.

But Kara knows so much better.

“Let me guess,” she remembers to get out, much less biting than originally intended. “Today you’ll be having the fifth entrée down the list.”

As soon as their eyes meet over the miniscule amount of space left between them, Kara knows leaning in was a fatal mistake. Her nemesis blinks up at her with wide, startled eyes that remind Kara of the glass pebbles she finds on the beach on her morning walks, not-quite-blue and not-quite-green, and for a moment Kara’s brain sputters out as if someone abruptly turned off the flames that kept it cooking.

But the woman recovers fast, like the scheming scoundrel that she is. She guiltily shutters her eyes behind thick, charcoal lashes, and Kara’s temper revives at the observation that her enemy isn’t as good of an actress as she thinks she is.

“I’ve actually been thinking of breaking my own rule,” she says, with a smile that lands somewhere between self-deprecating and apologetic. “I may give in and order the same thing you served me yesterday.” Kara goes hot all over with righteous indignation at the rich timbre of the woman’s voice, the almost flirtatious lilt it takes on when she adds, “I haven’t been able to stop dreaming about it.”

Kara pulls back a little in an effort to escape that curious gaze, the enticing scent of the woman’s perfume. It’s sweet enough to drown out even Alex’s mountain of onions. “I know what you’re doing,” she blusters.

The—frankly unfairly beautiful—soulless grifter stares at her, stricken. “I’m—I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” Kara says. “I know who you are.” And then, as if she’s putting down the last card in a game of Uno, “Lena.”

The woman goes very still for a moment, and then the corners of her lips tug down in a bitter semblance of a smile. “I see,” she says. She’s rigid, regal; she’s royalty perched on a wobbly wooden stool. “And am I to assume that’s enough for you to turn down my patronage?”

Kara’s resolve wobbles, too. She hadn’t expected her adversary—Lena, she now knows—to roll over so easily. “Well, yeah, obviously,” she flusters, her energy suddenly too large and lumbering in the face of Lena’s deference. “Winn and James are family.”

“Family.” There’s a flicker of wistfulness in Lena’s voice, before confusion colors her features. “So the cold shoulder,” she says. “It’s personal?”

Kara scoffs. The fraudster doesn’t even remember the names of her latest victims. Typical. “It was their steakhouse that you razed to the ground last month,” Kara reminds her.

Lena blinks at her. “The establishment just up the road?” She raises a critical eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they set themselves up for failure when they decided to name their restaurant Misteak.”

Kara huffs. Her air quotes are appropriately vicious when she says, “They were doing just fine before your slanderous ‘review’ went viral.”

Lena does a remarkably convincing impression of someone who is genuinely flabbergasted. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Liar.”

Lena’s shocked laughter is bright but brief. It’s the first time Kara has heard her laugh. It’s maddeningly attractive and deeply annoying.

“Okay,” Lena says. She folds her arms in front of her chest and leans back a little in her seat, unaware of its delicate disposition. A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. “Tell me,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Who do you think I am, exactly?”

Kara leans in close again, refusing to allow Lena to get the upper hand. She’d like to wipe that smirk from Lena’s face—manually, if need be—preferably, even, if it means she’d get to smudge that infuriatingly immaculate lipstick with her thumb—

“You,” Kara charges, in an effort to drown out that unhelpful thought, “are a fraud. You call yourself a ‘mystery food critic’ on TikTok, but really you’re blackmailing businesses into buying a favorable review.”

“Hey, um.” Alex has followed her out of the kitchen, holding her phone. “So. Winn texted back, and he says—”

But Lena laughs again, her guarded posture melting down to unmistakable relief. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice a high warble. “That sounds awful. And also extremely illegal. Have you reported this person to the authorities? I can get you in touch with an excellent lawyer, if you’d like.”

Kara doesn’t know if she feels more outraged or confused.

…Or possibly some secret third thing.

“So you’re telling me—” Kara barks out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying you’re not her.”

“This, ehm— Tic Tac person?” When Lena’s dark lashes flutter, something in Kara’s chest flutters too. “No.”

Impossible. “Then why have you been in here every day this week?” Kara interrogates, the full force of evidence she’s collected behind it. “When neither one of us has seen you here even once, since we opened?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t sure whether I’d seen her here before,” she points out. “Also, Winn says—”

“Oh please,” Kara scoffs, her eyes fixed on Lena, who has propped her elbows on the counter again, closer now than she’d been the last time their eyes met. “As if you could forget a woman as beautiful as—” Kara’s gaze drops to Lena’s mouth, unbidden, when Lena parts those rude, ruby lips. “...You.”

Alex stares.

Kara swallows.

Lena blinks; two times fast, and then again, after a beat, slow and sticky, her eyes darkening.

“So you may as well come out with it,” Kara croaks out what little remains of her anger. “There’s something you want more than our fettuccine.”

Lena’s cheeks have turned a treacherously charming shade of pink. “I suppose you’re right about that one, at least,” she admits after a beat.

In Kara’s peripheral vision, Alex frantically slides her hand across her throat. Kara frowns at her, telegraphing a wordless what is your problem but finding no satisfactory answer in the crimson shade her sister’s face has taken on.

“Yeah, well,” she says, almost disappointed, fumbling to fill the space left by Lena’s confession. “I’m telling you right now that it’s never going to happen.”

Alex clears her throat with startling force. “Winn wants to know,” she says, reading from her phone, “Who’s the hot chick?”

When Kara returns her gaze to the woman on the other side of the counter, she gulps. Lena is somehow even closer than she was before. She’s also fully propping herself up now on the laminate surface between them, granting Kara a glimpse of freckled cleavage that in no possible universe could be interpreted as unintentional.

“So,” Lena drawls. “What you’re saying is you’re not going to give me your number?”

Kara’s throat is suddenly very dry.

“Huh?” she manages, but only just barely.

“I was hoping,” Lena says slowly, that maddening smirk once again tugging up the corner of her mouth, “that you’d maybe like to—”

Lena shifts in her seat, crossing her legs in what is bound to become a devastatingly seductive pose, but the barstool decides in exactly that moment that's it’s finally had enough. Lena yelps as it gives out beneath her with a dramatic snap, one of its rickety limps flying across the floor as if celebrating its first taste of freedom, and Kara’s never considered herself to be very quick, but here she is anyway, on the other side of the counter in what feels like less than a second, one hand gripping Lena’s forearm, the other slipping smoothly around her waist.

“—fuck,” Lena gasps up at her. She feels good, in Kara’s hands, slight but pleasantly heavy, like the santoku knife Alex has forbidden Kara from touching ever again. “Well,” Lena says. “That’s. Perhaps not the way I would have phrased it, especially in front of your friend—”

They both glance over at Alex, but she’s disappeared, the swaying of the kitchen doors the only indication she was ever there.

“O-kay,” Kara says.

Lena grins. “Okay?”

Kara mentally rewinds the conversation and feels her ears burn at the realization of what she just agreed to. “I mean,” she amends. “We could, maybe, grab something to eat first?”

Something devious sparks in Lena’s terrifyingly gorgeous face. She glances down at Kara’s arms before blinking back up at her again and smirking. “I thought you already had.”

And, goodness gracious.

Kara is about to be in so much trouble.

[macfrog]

checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine

hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins

word count: 8.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.

You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.

As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.

He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.

You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.

And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.

Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.

A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.

She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”

You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.

“You’re late.”

He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”

Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.

When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.

“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”

Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.

Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.

The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.

“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”

“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.

You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.

“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.

“Heard that,” he says.

“’s why I said it.”

Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”

Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.

“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”

“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”

A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.

You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.

Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.

You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.

It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.

Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.

You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.

And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”

“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”

“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”

If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?

The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.

Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.

“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”

“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.

Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”

“Language,” Joel clips.

You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.

The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.

Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.

“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.

“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.

“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”

“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”

“No? What is it, then?”

His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.

“Not a what. A who.”

You lead him inside.

A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.

“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.

Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.

You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.

“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.

The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.

“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.

Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”

“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”

“We know.”

“Dad, I–”

“Water, or nothin’.”

Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.

You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.

“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”

You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.

A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.

You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“No?” you ask, amused.

“Not my thing.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?”

You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…

Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.

It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.

When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.

You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.

A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.

He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.

“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.

Joel hums in agreement, nodding.

Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.

Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.

“You think I’m…brighter…here?”

He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”

“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”

Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.

Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”

Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”

“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.

Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”

You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?

You mock smile back and shake your head.

“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”

You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.

“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”

Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”

Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.

“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.

Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”

Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”

You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.

You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”

“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”

Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.

“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”

Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”

His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.

Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.

“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”

She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.

“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”

You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”

“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”

Nothing. You shake your head.

She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”

“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”

Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.

“That’s her.”

“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.

“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”

You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.

“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”

“Who has?”

Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”

“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”

“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”

“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.

Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?

“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”

Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.

He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.

You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.

But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.

You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.

Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.

There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.

You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.

“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”

“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”

“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.

“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”

Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”

“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”

His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.

Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.

You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.

“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”

Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?

Stick.

The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.

Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.

Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.

This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.

Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.

Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”

“’s nice, ain’t it?”

“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”

“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”

Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.

Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.

“It improve your mood any?”

“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”

“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”

It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.

“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.

Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.

“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”

His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”

You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”

He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.

“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”

You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.

You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.

Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.

“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.

“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.

“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”

The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”

You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.

The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.

You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.

What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.

But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.

Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.

Nothing I can’t do right back to him.

You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.

As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.

“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”

He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.

He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.

You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.

Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.

“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”

“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”

“So…what are we doing in here?”

Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.

“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”

Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”

Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.

“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”

You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”

Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.

“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”

His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.

His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.

“Whatever the fuck I want?”

“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”

Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.

Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”

“A bottle?”

“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”

“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”

You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.

You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”

“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Then…make me.”

Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.

You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –

In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.

“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”

The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.

He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.

And then you realize. You fucking like this.

“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.

Another sharp sting.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.

“F-fuck no.”

He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”

He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.

“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”

You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”

You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.

“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”

“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”

“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”

“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”

You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.

“Wanted you in my mouth.”

You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.

“That right, baby? In your mouth?”

You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.

“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.

Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”

Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.

“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.

Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.

He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”

You nod, eyes blown black with lust.

He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.

“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”

A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.

“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”

He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.

“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”

You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.

“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”

Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”

You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.

You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.

“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”

Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?

Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.

You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.

“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”

He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.

You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.

Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.

It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.

Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.

He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”

“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.

One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.

He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.

When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.

Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”

There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.

You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.

He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.

You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.

Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.

Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.

Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.

He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.

Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.

“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”

You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.

Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.

Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.

“You’re being weird.”

“Ain’t being weird.”

“Still not gonna let me cum?”

He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.

“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”

He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”

“Facetime you, if you want.”

His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.

“How much is it?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”

You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”

Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.

You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.

Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.

“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”

“Where did you two get to?”

Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.

Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”

“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”

“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.

Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.

“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”

Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.

You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.

The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.

“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”

----------

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[samwisethewitch]

How I Get the Most Out of Meat When Cooking

As someone who 1.) was 100% vegetarian for ethical/religious reasons until very recently, and 2.) recently had to reintroduce meat for vitamin deficiency reasons, limiting waste as much as possible when I cook with meat is really important to me. For one thing, I feel like I owe it to the animal that died to get as much use as possible out of its body as a way of honoring its death. For another, meat is expensive (ethically raised meat even more so) and I want to get my money's worth.

I recently bought a bunch of lamb for my family's holiday dinner, so I wanted to share my attempt to practice the Honorable Harvest in my meat consumption. This is new to me, but I wanted to document the attempt because it's been a fun learning process for me! If you want to actually learn about honorable consumption I encourage you to read the works of Robin Wall Kimmerer and other indigenous ecologists, since the Honorable Harvest is based on indigenous North American practices. (Though there are other cultural practices all over the world.)

Step One: Sourcing the Meat

I am very fortunate to have enough disposable income to buy ethically raised meat, which tends to be more expensive. This is a privilege. Other people are not able to spend this extra money on their meat, and that doesn't make me better than them. Feeding yourself is morally neutral, and a tight budget is not a moral failing. Most meat alternative products (Beyond Beef, Impossible, etc.) are also pretty expensive. If the factory-farmed meat at the supermarket is the only thing in your budget, use that.

If you DO have some extra funds, local farms are a great place to source meat. The reason we had lamb for the holidays is because a local farm recently culled their herd and had lamb on sale. In the past we've gotten beef from a relative who raises cattle. I encourage you to learn about farms in your area and what they have to offer. CSAs and farmers' markets are great places to start. You can also ask around at local restaurants about where they source their ingredients.

When I say "ethically raised meat," what I'm really talking about is pasture-raised animals. Cage-free animals may not live in cages, but they can still be kept in cramped, dirty, inhumane conditions and be sold as "cage free." Pasture-raised animals are able to graze and forage and generally wander around within a paddock. For some animals like chickens you can also look for "free range," which means the animals are unfenced and are able to wander freely. Since I don't cook meat often, I try to get free range or pasture-raised meat when I do buy it.

In some areas, you may also be able to find certified ethically slaughtered meat, which means the slaughtering process has been designed to cause as little suffering to the animal as possible. That kind of certification isn't really available where I live, but it might be for you!

And of course, hunting or fishing yourself is also an option. If you kill the animal yourself, you know exactly how it died and can take steps to limit suffering as much as possible. Hunting isn't a skillset I have, but if you do more power to you!

Step Two: Cooking the Meat

This is the easy part. Depending on the cut of meat you got and the dish you are cooking, you may need to remove bones or trim fat, but aside from that it's just following a recipe.

For our holiday lamb stew, I used this recipe. I have Celiac disease, so I subbed gluten-free flour and replaced the beer with red wine. I also added rosemary and garlic for a more Mediterranean flavor to compliment the wine.

Step Three: Organs and Bones

This is where the breakdown is for a lot of Americans. We don't cook with bones or organs very often, and we tend to throw away whatever parts of the animal we don't want. That is not honorable consumption. Part of the Honorable Harvest is using every part of the being that died to feed you.

Most organs make great stew meat. My favorite Nicaraguan beef stew is made with tongue, and my indigenous Hawaiian relatives make stew with pig feet. And while I don't like them, lots of my Southern family members love chitlins (pickled pig intestines). Lots of cultures eat organs, and you'll find plenty of delicious recipes if you look!

Bones are typically used to make stock, which can be used as a base for future soups and stews. There are lots of recipes for DIY stocks and broths, but I usually fry some onions and/or garlic, deglaze with wine, and then add the meat/bones and the water, plus salt, pepper, and herbs for flavor. Most animal bones can produce two batches of stock before they lose flavor. (For really flavorful stock, leave some meat on the bones.)

Once the stock is done, you'll still have bones to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, cooked bones are not safe for dogs to chew on. (But raw bones usually are!) Instead, I strip any remaining meat and gristle from the stock bones, give those scraps to my pups as a treat, and then use the stripped bones for something else. With a little extra processing, the bones can be used as a fertilizer in a garden, a calcium supplement for chickens, or a safe treat for dogs and/or cats.

This was my first time processing bones, but after boiling them for, like, 12 hours in water with salt and vinegar, they were soft enough to break apart with my hands. I'm going to grind them to make bone meal.

[lastoneout]

I don't really know exactly why I'm posting this, I guess I just want to share my joy, but y'all...the nerve block worked. My migraine went down a little over the night so I was only at like a 1.5-2 but I swear to god the second they were done EVERY SINGLE PART of my head stopped hurting. The only pain I'm feeling rn is at the injection site and a smidge in my jaw, but that's not a huge deal bcs I know the steroids take a long time to do their thing and I usually have pain around the injection site when they do this in my back, plus I did already suspect something like 10% of my migraines aren't entirely due to my neck, but like...it worked. It fucking worked.

I've been living with chronic migraines my entire life, and in the last five years, they've gotten so bad that I can't work and have to cancel streams and hangouts with friends all the time. I have migraines more days than I don't and I've never been able to find out what my trigger is aside from not sleeping well and eating lays potato chips(rip I miss them so much) or gluten or being on my period?? and on some days I'm in so much pain I can't even feed myself or shower. 8-10 is the norm, they don't go lower on their own, they NEVER go away on their own, no matter how much time I spend lying in bed in the dark with icepacks on my face. My migraine rescue meds don't always work, or they work for a day and then it comes back, and I seem to be fucking Immune(tm) to Excedrin and ibuprofen. All that together has legit been ruining my entire life.

And I am not even a little ashamed to admit that once they were done and asked how I felt I broke down sobbing in the exam room because it WORKED. Instantly. Years of pain and agony and no help from my doctors, of blaming a medical condition that treatment hasn't fixed, telling me to limit screen time and lose weight, forcing me to try 50 different medications none of which help, of spending long nights in the ER hoping they can fix me even though it's typically a 50/50 chance....and now it's over. I don't have to do that anymore. They fixed it. They fixed it.

I'm crying right now as I write this. I never thought this was possible. Like I believed that it was my neck and my doctors agreed, but I was so worried that this would all be for nothing, I didn't think it would work, I know most disabled people dream of finding the One Thing that's causing all their problems even though most of us never do, but I guess luck decided to smile on me this day, this is what's causing my problems and it's treatable. It's over. I found the path out of this hell and it was the right one. I don't even know what to do, what to say. I'm so happy I can't even be happy, all I can do is cry because the hardest part is over.

There's still work to be done, but the path is clear. And honestly @ any gods that are listening, please grant this to my fellow disabled people. They deserve to feel this, we all do.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Hello! I've never sent an ask to anyone before, so I don't know if I'm doing this correctly! But I seriously love your aus, so I just had to try <3

For your monster!au, do you think that there is a difference in the kinds of food they eat between monsters and humans? The kinds of food, seasoning, preparation, how it's cooked, even the degree to which something is cooked. Especially with how you mention in another post about how some species can't eat certain foods.

Like, does Yuu (female pronouns please! Or gender neutral if you prefer) come to their world and have to figure out how to cook with ingredients she's never seen before, or does Yuu just start to cook things in ways the monster bois have never seen or thought of before? Would the boys enjoy it? Would it be safe for them?

Or do you think there wouldn't be much of a difference?

Also, out of curiosity, which species would you say has the most diverse diet?

I seriously love your page! Keep up the amazing work! Stay safe and stay healthy!💙💚😃

Thank you for sending in an ask! You did it correctly, don’t worry c: And thank you so much! I’m glad you love the AUs so much to send something in! ;;v;;

To a degree, the food being cooked in the Monster!AU would be different depending on the species. I know I’ve pretty much beaten the grape incident into grape juice already, but while some may be okay with eating it, other students can’t due to it being toxic (I looked it up, and cranberry wine is a thing. That means Crewel can still enjoy a glass of wine, and it’s possible that the monsters/ghost chefs would use it in cooking instead of grape-based wines!). The same could be said for certain herbs and spices that we take for granted being something that can make them sick or can be just as toxic as grapes, like onions or garlic. Chocolate can still be a thing for some species, but carob is the main alternative that’s available—which means Yuu will still have access to it at least!

There’s also an extra sensitivity to citrus based scents. Using citrus juice to cook something like ceviche for example would be difficult, as not many can even get past the smell even if the taste itself is amazing. Funny enough, there’s actually this one manga I came across called “His Majesty the Demon King’s Housekeeper” that actually touches up on this fact as citric acid is one of the few ways to clean certain stains off surfaces, but most of the cleaning staff in the mansion couldn’t stand the smell of the orange peels until it was turned into a powder form by the demon king. It’s such a cute manga, and has lots of helpful tips too, so it’s a win-win!

If you can’t tell by now, Slice-of-Life manga and stories are my jam. I love when they touch up on things that we don’t normally think about and put a spin on things! >v<

Anyway, as you can imagine, if (and that’s a major IF) we were strictly to focus on the ingredients we know in our world, recipes would have to be tailored to be suitable to each species to avoid causing issues while ensuring that each student has the right nutrients needed to sustain their bodies. This would have resulted in having to find alternatives that are safe for students to enjoy while still being able to ensure safety to avoid severe allergic or otherwise dangerous reactions to having something they shouldn’t.

That would be one helluva menu to try to cater to when you can’t use certain seasonings to flavor things. Good thing Crowley has those ghost chefs to work with the menu, because I certainly couldn’t fathom the mental gymnastics of creating that kind of menu! @.@

But to put it in perspective, it’s like trying to give chocolate to a cat or dog when we have alternatives such as carob as I mentioned earlier. Or how people who are lactose intolerant have almond or oat milk or even goat milk as an alternative, or how there are gluten-free alternatives for those who can’t have it due to celiac disease. Just to name a few examples anyway, since I know there are people out there who have restrictive diets due to health reasons.

Thankfully, these guys aren’t entirely missing out on flavor since in Twisted Wonderland—much like how they have unique flowers and plants such as mandrakes right around the corner—I’m sure there’s no limit to the types of ingredients that can be used to cook with! In fact, I’m reminded of this manga that I’ve stumbled across that I gotta start from the beginning known as “Delicious in Dungeon”. Basically, it’s where the characters are traveling in a dungeon and they not only find monsters and creatures to hunt and eat (not like there’s a grocery store or market inside a dungeon), but also demonstrate how to prepare and cook using the ingredients found in the dungeon as well as the creatures themselves. It just looks so delicious whenever they show the results and what you can do with the extra stuff you can’t eat!

But I digress. ^v^;

This means that Yuu will have lots of new ingredients to try and explore in various dishes, and this also means new opportunities to learn new recipes! Imagine what you’d be able to learn during the Master Chef event too!

So…what happens when you have a female human who has excellent taste buds and a love of cooking and also loves to cook for others? You’ve got a whirlwind of ingredients flying around and waves of delicious smells wafting through the air leading many drooling students investigating the source (and trying to sneak a bite).

Iron-stomach gourmet Grim is the one who gets to enjoy Yuu’s experimental cooking at first. After all, why shouldn’t he be able to enjoy the spoils of his hench-human cooking for him? He’ll try guiding her with his knowledge of flavors and what tastes good, and she learns which seasonings to use for each dish whenever she talks to Trey or Jamil or even Azul. His bragging of being the first to try true human cuisine wound up drawing in the first years, many curious to see her in action while others hoped to try and sneak in a free meal.

Imagine if she cooked two-three meals a day: mini waffles and giant pancakes that are several inches thick? She’s adding various fruits and berries and pairing it with the perfect syrup! Homemade chicken or beef soup? Simmering with noodles boiled to perfection! Roasted pork and beef stew? Veggie stir-fry? Baked fish? Burgers? Pizza??? Nothing is off the table when Yuu is in the kitchen! And don’t get started on the different desserts she could whip up with Trey!

Soon enough, word would have spread around the school about the human’s delicious cooking and it won’t be long before Yuu has visitors around every meal time.

/////

Yuu:*whisking eggs as the rice cooks* “Breakfast’s almost ready, Grim!”

Grim: “Hooray! Omurice cooked human-style~!”

Knock-knock-knock!

Yuu: “Come in!” *pouring the egg into two skillets before looking up* “Oh, hey guys!”

Ace: “Hey, Yuu! Whatcha making?”

Yuu: “I’m making omurice. I asked the chefs in the cafeteria how to make it and…wait…” *narrows eyes* “Did you guys come here just to get breakfast?”

Deuce: *sheepish* “Sorry, Yuu…we just really like the way you cook.”

Yuu: *sighs and smiles* “It’s okay. Next time, just let me know ahead of time so I can prepare more, okay?”

Grim: “Don’t even think of taking my portion!”

Ace: “Aww, is that any way to treat guests, Yuu?”

Yuu: “Grim, be nice.”

Grim: “What?! That’s not fair!”

Deuce: “I can wait my turn. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Yuu: “Could you chop up some more veggies and measure out the rice? Ace and Grim can have the first two, then we’ll have the next batch.”

Grim: “Stop encouraging them!”

Ace: “Oi! As if you don’t eat the food at the Unbirthday Parties!”

Grim: “Oh yeah?! Well I-mfh!?”

Ace: “Mfhg!?”

Yuu: *dusts hands after shoving two meat buns into their mouths* “There will be no fighting in my kitchen, you hear me?”

Ace and Grim: “Yeth m’m…”

/The Next Day/

Yuu: *standing in the doorway with a bowl of pancake batter* “…are you here to socialize or do you want to try some of my cooking?”

Silver: “Fa-I mean, Lilia…decided to cook breakfast today. He wanted to try and cook some old human recipes, but…”

Sebek: *looking mildly nauseous* “I did what I could to protect Lord Malleus, but…human food should not look like that.”

Yuu: “Ah, okay. Come on in. I’ll get another batch ready, so help yourself to the ones on the table! There’s fresh fruit and whipped cream there too.”

/////

I have a feeling that Yuu would be getting a lot of visitors from Diasomnia on days that Lilia does the cooking, and I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to feed them too! 😌

As for the “food bribes”…well, it’s kinda hard to argue with the results. Especially when they can be very valid trades. Yuu wants a specific utensil to make that special treat or meal? You’ll get first dibs on the finished dish!

Oh no, Yuu needs help with this potionology assignment and made too many cupcakes to eat by herself! If only someone could come and help with both…

As you said, there are many possibilities of how Chef!Yuu could take advantage of their knowledge and skill around the kitchen! And before I forget, if I had to choose which species would have the most diverse diet…I would have to say it’s a tossup between the basilisks and the faun and satyr species. Basilisk can essentially eat nearly anything without much issue as their stomach acid is strong enough to even digest rocks and crystals, whereas faun and satyr can eat most any plant and fruit or vegetable imaginable and can tolerate some forms of meat without issue. Though if you really want to enhance the dietary variety possibilities, Epel and Trey would have this in the bag as these two are hybrids of two different species, making them truly omnivorous like humans!

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under the Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Domestic violence mentions, hints at child abuse, child abuse mentions violence, phantom pains

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Again, none of this is beta read. We die like the younglings Anakin snuffed in the Jedi Temple

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @bad4amficideas

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Chapter 3:

The Victims

You sighed, checking the little egg timer in your apron pocket to see how long until the scones you were baking had left in the oven. Fifteen minutes. Ugh.

It had been a few days since Steven had come in and purchased his pillar of books. The two of you would make small talk, him thumbing through books and rambling about a subject on ancient Egypt that he knew. The moment you brought up your own obscure facts you have memorized from the things your father would read to you as a little girl, Steven’s eyes lit up and he got the biggest grin on his face, and launched himself headlong into info-dump mode. It was kinda cute, really, how excitable he got. You could tell the poor guy probably didn’t have many friends, aside from his brothers, whom he’d told you about, and a friend named Layla. You also found it endearing how his messy, bed-raggled curls would flop over his face, or how animated he’d seem when he would interrupt himself to bring up another fun fact…

But, it had been a day or two since he’d come in last. And to be honest, you kinda miss the guy. He was probably the nicest most engaging customer you had. He even admitted that he didn’t come in just for the books. He told you he liked your teas and treats, and he loved the comfortable atmosphere of your shop over a crowded cafe. But one day, he just had to ask:

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” He started, looking at the muffin in his hand.

“Hm?” You hummed as you stocked shelves.

“Are these… vegan?” He seemed hesitant to touch the muffine now, as if it were poisoned.

You giggle softly. “Yes, actually. I try to use recipes that everyone can enjoy. Vegan, gluten-free…”

“Oh! Wonderful!” He scarfed the muffin down rather quickly after that, his nose buried in the textbook on archaeology he had in his hands.

You set your phone down as you sipped your spiced tea. It was a rather cold and gloomy day today, not uncommon this late in the year, but still, it sucked. It reminded you of where you grew up in Maine, off the coast. Storms blew in all the time, you’d remember as a little girl getting up in the morning, wanting to run outside and play, just to be met with a dark and angry sky, blistering winds, and pelting rain.

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Your poor little six-year-old heart was crushed one day when a particularly bad squall blew into town, and you were trapped within the confines of your house, arms crossed, feet firmly planted as you glared out the window, lip wobbling.

How dare the weather ruin your plans for the day? You were going to play in your treehouse! Now the stupid wind was gonna blow it away! And if it did, your father would have to build another one, and that would take forever!

“Hey, there, Lil’ Bit.” Your dad said, kneeling behind you, as you stubbornly looked out the window in a seething rage. So, so angry for a little girl. You inherited your temper from your mother, surely. Though you personally never saw her mad, of course. Ever. But then again, she worked so much…

Your mom was what your dad told you was a “breadwinner”, which was a term you found dumb. You mom never entered contests and she certainly never won bread as a prize. It was so dumb! Why did adults have to use such dumb words for things?

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad sang, leaning forward from where he was crouched to put his chin on your tiny shoulder.

“No, daddy, ‘m angy.” You mumbled, trying to shrug him off as lightning flashed in the distance.

He chuckled, his voice warm, much like your favorite pair of fuzzy socks after they were just taken out of the dryer. “Come on, princess. It’ll pass. They always do.”

“But why did it have t’ do it today!” You whined, not budging.

“Dunno, kid. The sky just felt like dumping buckets, I guess.” He said, humoring you.

“Daddy...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Clouds don’t use buckets!”

“Sure they do!” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you. “You just never see em!”

“You’re silly.” You scoff.

“You’re silly!” Your dad laughed, scooping you up and spinning you around, finally getting a smile out of you as you shriek in laughter.

He tucked you against his chest and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you some sna–”

His eyes went wide and he gasped when you writhed, crying out and wincing like you’d just been struck.

“Babygirl, what’s wrong?” He asked, hurriedly sitting you on the couch as you curled in on yourself. He could see the welts start to peek out from beneath the sleeves of your little pink shirt.

It was happening again.

The pain in his heart gripped him like ice, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain his daughter was feeling. His poor, poor baby girl, whose soulmate was constantly being inflicted with whatever horrors they faced with.

He would curse it, sometimes. Your mark. Your bond. You were already enduring abuse that wasn’t directed at you. Or maybe it was in a way… Given that it was happening to your other half. Who you would one day meet. Maybe things will be better, when you had. Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, he hated whomever was inflicting those injuries on your soulmate more. Not only were they hurting your soulmate, they were hurting you. He’d imagined that you were close in age. If so, who the hell would abuse a child in such a way? The concept was completely foreign to him.

He rubbed your back, murmuring sweet and loving things to you.

He noticed something odd about your mark about a few years ago, right when the welts and bruises started to show and you would recoil in phantom pain... There was a new addition to your mark. At first it was one crescent moon. But then one became two, and two became three.

Right now, the bottom right moon was full.

He wasn’t sure what it meant… But he noticed your crying slow to soft little hiccups and sniffles as you sit up, rubbing your eyes.

He rested his forehead against yours. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

“I jus’ wanna know why it hurts so much, daddy.” You sniffle.

“Trust me, I know. Me and your mom are similar. I remember when we were kids, before we met… She fell from a tree and broke her leg. Man, it hurt so bad…”

You looked up at him, your big beautiful eyes glistened with tears. Your mother’s eyes. Little gems of hers that you would always have.

“Really?” You peeped.

“Really.” He stood and walked over to the bookshelf above the living room fireplace, and plucked a book off of it. He turned back to you and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap and kissing the top of your head.

“This book came from your great auntie over in London. You remember her, yeah?” He hummed.

Your fingers grazed the cover, old and worn, obviously well-read and well-loved. It had a picture of a woman with wings and a pretty dress on it. You couldn’t read the other words on it just yet, you were still learning how to read the bigger ones.

“Want me to read you some of the stories in it?” He inquired.

“Uh-huh.” You nod.

Your father flipped the pages open, and hummed again, softer.

“Now, let’s start with the tale of Isis and the Seven Scorpions…”

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You jumped, almost dropping the egg timer you had in your hand when your shop’s door dinged and swung open. A frantic young woman rushed inside, her sunken and baggy eyes looking at you, wide with fright.

You skipped the usual welcome and regarded her with a confused expression.

“I… Can I help you–”

“Please, I just need to–to hide!” She said, rushing over to you and gripping your hand, pulling you behind her and further into the winding shelves that made up your bookstore.

“Hey, Hey.” You say, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My–my boyfriend. He… He’s… I messed up and burned lunch and…” She looked to the side trying to check if he somehow didn’t materialize out of thin air over her shoulder when she wasn’t looking; and when she did… you saw them.

The already darkening bruises on her delicate throat.

Immediately you went into protector mode. You gently urge her towards the door leading to the stairwell that went up to your flat above.

“You hide up there, and call 999, okay?” You say to her. “You can stay here until the police arrive. If it makes you feel safer, there’s a deadbolt to the door up there. If your boyfriend comes in I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

You rush to the oven when you hear the timer go off, and pull out the scones (after slipping on your mitts), when the bell to your store dings.

You curse under your breath and say to the girl quietly. “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll be up when the police get here.”

You carefully slip the tasty treats onto a plastic tray and toss the pan into the sink with a clang; instantly regretting it when the young woman flinched and curled into herself, her arms instinctively reaching to cover her head.

You muttered and apology and balanced the pan on your hand as you hastily make your way down the stairs, to see whomever was incessantly dinging your “ring me!” button at the register.

When you finally break free of the labyrinthine bookshelves, you spot a rather large and angry looking man.

This had to be the boyfriend.

“Hello, one moment, please.” You say tersely, sliding the scones into the small display case showcasing the fresh treats of the day.

“Oi, you seen somebody come in here?” He demanded gruffly.

You take another visual sweep of his appearance. Rather big build, probably abuses the gym too much. He looks like he exclusively dines on protein shakes more than food… He could be trouble, if he got violent. The only upside is that you knew the layout of your little shop by heart, he didn’t. You really wished you had a gun under the counter, right about now.

You made a mental note to sign up for the courses and get the certificate from the police..

“Other than you, no, you’d be my first customer of the day.” You force the cheer into your tone as you bring a box of books and begin to half-assedly place them, hoping to look normal.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ customer.” He growled. “Don’ want no books.”

“Well, I also offer a variety of coffees, teas, and snacks–”

“I ain’t no fuckin’ customer!” He barked, getting in your face.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains the slurred speech.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you please back away, you’re a little too close…” You say, your hands up in a submissive gesture, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Does it look like I giv' a fuck? Ya fuckin' muppet?" He hissed at you, his eyes dilated and glassy.

"Look, I don't want to cause trouble, but–"

He seized your arm and gripped it painfully tight, you could feel the crunch of your radiocarpal joint being squeezed under his rough and indelicate fingers. "Did ya hear me, ya fuckin' cunt? I'm lookin' for my girl, I know she came in here! Don't lie t' me!"

"Sir, people come into my store all the time, and it's not really my business why unless they buy a book or a muffin. Let me go!" You retort, trying to pry his fingers from around you with your free hand.

"Shut th' fuck up!" He snarled, pushing you back against the bookshelf so hard the back of your head cracked on one of the shelves. Great, another pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An unmistakably American accent called from the door of your shop.

How had you missed the bell? How did you not notice the sound of the door opening?

The drunken man holding you turned, still gripping you. "Great, another fuckin' yank? Can't you fucks stick to ya own country?"

You felt your pulse quicken, and your eyes widened at the man who stood in the door; dark, honey-tinted eyes aflame with anger. But the man the eyes belonged to?

Dead ringer for Steven. But he carried himself entirely differently, he even had his hair styled back in a different way. He wore a white hoodie, faded blue jeans, and some steel-toe boots.

"None o' ya fuckin' busniess, you dick." The man sneered, looking back down at you.

"It is if you're hurting the lady." He said gruffly.

"Oi, you got a listening problem?"

The man turned again, but he was met with the knuckles of the American man who just came to your aid; straight to his jaw, knocking him back against a cart you had full of discount books, sending them to the floor with a clatter.

The man cracked his knuckles, before gently grabbing you by the shoulder and moving you behind him for cover.

At this distance you could just barely catch a whiff of sandalwood and some kind of spice. A hint of aftershave wafted into your senses in accompany.

"You fuckin' dick!" The man grunted, shaking his head in an attempt to reorient his brain.

"You need a better repertoire of insults, buddy. Or stop hitting the sauce." The other man sneered. "Probably both."

The drunk lunged at him, and this guy was one step ahead, intercepting him by grabbing his wrists.

The crunch of bone was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, and when you dared to peek again, the drunk was clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Your savior on the other hand?

Barely broke a sweat. He headbutted him with the hardest part of his head, crunching bone and cartilage.

"Stay down, asshole." He growled. You spun on your heels to look at the door when two clothed officers came in, hands on their pepper spray.

"Everybody just calm down!" One of them shouted.

Ugh. Now you had a headache…

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By the time the officers, the battered girl, and her boyfriend all left, it was just you and your knight in shining hoodie. Who looked way too much like Steven.

You sat him down at one of the reading nooks and shakily wring your hands out to calm down. "Uh… Yeah, so…" You try.

"My name's Marc. Marc Spector." He said. "You, uh… met my brother, already. Steven."

You gasp. "The heathen!"

He choked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"Oh! Uhhhhhh…" You clear your throat awkwardly trying to change the subject. "You and Steven have different last names!"

Marc huffed through his nose. "It's uh… a long story."

"What, were you guys separated at birth or something? He speaks with a typical Londoner accent, you're full-blown American." You smile.

"Or something." Marc murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

"God, and Steven and I joked about my life being a setup for a book." You giggle softly. "You guys sound like you're straight out of a Dickens novel!"

Marc kind of squirmed in his seat. "Yeah…"

"So, uh… what brings you here today? From what Steven told me, you don't exactly pick up books all the time like he does." You say to him, tilting his head.

Marc wiped at his face with a groan, "Ugh. Don't get me started on Steven's books! He has too goddamn many–"

"Ah!" You say, flicking a stray curl. You weren't sure why your brain told you that was okay to do. It just felt right. The look he gave you afterwards sent your heart leaping into your throat.

Raw confusion, maybe some surprise?

"Uh… No talking like that is allowed in my store, there, pal…" You stammer out. "So… why are you here?"

"Steven said you had coffee. Didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people today." He kind of mumbled.

"Oh, I get that." You sighed softly in sympathy. Already, Marc struck you as the kinda guy who didn't like dealing with people unless he had to.

And honestly, you kinda felt for the guy. Something about him made your heart twinge in a funny little way.

"Tell you what, as a thanks for helping take care of that asshat, coffee is on the house, and I'll even give you a cup of my personal blend instead of the stuff on the menu."

"Uh, you don't have to–"

"Ah!" You say, wagging a finger at him as you walk away. "None of that in my store!"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You sat and talked for a while. Hours, really. Whereas Steven loved to babble about things he knew, and was rather energetic about it, Marc was… reserved. Shy, almost. He was content to let you lead the conversations, piping in here or there on a subject.

He told you some about his time in the Marines, and how something happened to him mentally that got him discharged early. He was vague about what he did after that, but he mentioned moving to London after he and his wife ran into problems.

At first you almost asked a rather impertinent question, "Why did you guys split up?" But decided that was far too rude of a thing to ask. Even if you wondered why he married outside of a soulmate bond. Even if a marriage like that wasn't entirely uncommon…

"I'm sorry." You say softly, sitting across from him, your coffee long finished, the mug cold. "You've been through… a lot..."

"Yeah, you can certainly say that." Marc sighed, turning his mug in his hands for probably the hundredth time.

"So… Thanks again. For y'know. Helping me." You smile.

"No problem, easy enough to deal with a drunk." He shrugged. "And he looked like he was about to hurt you, so I had to do... something."

"Well I'm glad you did that something." You chuckle.

Marc cleared his throat and smiled back, a soft thing on his face, really. But it was nice to see.

He moved to stand, "I should, ah… go. Thanks for the coffee." He reached out to hand you a few notes from his wallet, and you declined, gathering the mugs to go wash them.

"Nope, I already said it was on the house." You tell him.

"But–"

"No buts!" You called out as you vanished into the expanse of bookshelves.

When you came back, you noticed that, stacked neatly on the counter, was a bundle of notes, your egg timer sitting neatly atop it, with a post-it note simply saying:

"Tell me your life story next time. Thanks. -Marc."

Chapter 4: Link

[kwanisms]

Kinkuary 21 Mingi — window/balcony sex // exhibitionism

➥ big d!ck!Mingi × smaller!Reader (not tiny, just smaller than Mingi) summary: Mingi & Y/N have always shared an exhibitionism kink so when they move into their new apartment, they decide to take the balcony for a spin. wc: 3.1k warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, established relationship, mention of alcohol consumption but not by the reader or Mingi, sexual content (minors dni!): oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering, monster cock Mingi (cause why not), unprotected sex (be responsible), balcony sex (Mingi bends the reader over the railing), exhibitionism (they both get off on the idea that one of their neighbors could be watching), use of pet names (baby, babe, etc), dirty talk, and I think that's everything. Let me know if I missed something! Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon Kinkuary full taglist: @baldi-2 @wonderfulshinee @lacie220900 @sup-dallyboy @drunk-on-dk @violagoth @mixling-blog @kosmoreads @yourfavoritefreakyhan Ateez taglist: @2hodefender @babyhailey819 @foxylilbitch @rdiamond2727 @indigo35 @sanjoongie @moonlightsora @hwarmony @kangfication @beomgyusbabygirl Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WLL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. join the taglist!

a/n: Mingi is a big strong man and uses that to his advantage to pin the reader against whatever surfaces he can during sex or in this case, over the railing. Thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

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"And that's the last one!" Yunho said loudly as he walked into the apartment carrying the final box. You turned to look at him, checking the label of the box and crossing it off your list.

"Perfect!" You beamed. "We got all the boxes!"

You set your phone on the kitchen island and looked over at your boyfriend who was currently busying himself with his phone.

"Where do you want this, boss?" Yunho asked, drawing your attention away from Mingi, the box still in his hands. "Put it in the den," you answered, turning away as Yunho nodded and moved to enter the den to deposit the box.

"Y/N," San called from the floor, making you peer over the kitchen island at him. He was holding a screwdriver in each hand. "Does this mean we get pizza now?" he asked excitedly.

A smile spread across your face as you nodded. "Yes, I'll order it now," you answered, grabbing the pad of paper and a pen from your purse which sat next to your phone on the counter.

"What does everyone want?"

"Pepperoni!" "Extra cheese!" "I want veggies and meat!" "Ooh, can we get some cheese sticks?" "What about the beer?" "Don't forget the extra cheese!" "Just meat please. I don't want veggies."

As 8 voices fought to tell you what they wanted, you worked to compromise and finally worked out an order of four large pizzas, two orders of cheese sticks, four 2-liters of soda, lots of plates, napkins, cups, and other utensils and finally, a small gluten free pizza for yourself. 

The guys then played rock-paper-scissors to determine who would go get the beer and unfortunately Mingi and Yunho lost. Yunho grabbed his car keys as Mingi came over to press a quick kiss to your forehead, muttering he'd be right back.

After calling and placing the order, you started to help unpack the boxes Seonghwa had brought to the kitchen. He opened and unwrapped while you put things away, having already agreed with Mingi where things would go and even making small labels to go inside the cabinets and drawers.

When Mingi first announced to the group he was moving out of the dorms and into an apartment with you, they immediately jumped at the chance to help him move not only his stuff, but yours as well. You'd made sure to pack everything up nicely, labeling all the boxes and making a list so nothing was forgotten.

They moved better than any moving company and even better, they only asked to be paid in food and beer which you were only happy to do. It was every day you had 8 strong guys to help you move. You were eternally grateful for Jongho, San, and Yeosang especially.

You chatted with Seonghwa as you worked, emptying the boxes as you went and filling your cabinets and drawers with your flatware, cookware, and other kitchen gadgets.

San and Wooyoung groaned in exhaustion, having finally finished putting the coffee table together after three separate attempts to do so. "I'm never putting furniture together with you again," San whined as he pushed himself up, gathering the tools and putting them back in the toolbox.

"Me? What did I do?" Wooyoung squeaked, still lying on the floor on hid back. "You put the legs on upside down, twice!" San quipped back. You shook your head, amused by their bickering as you resumed working. Hongjoong exited the bedroom to let you know he and Yeosang had finished putting your new bed together.

"Jongho's finishing the dressers now," he added, leaning on the counter as he rested. You opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, handing it to him. Hongjoong thanked you, opening the bottle and taking a sip. "Give these to Yeo and Bear," you said, handing him two more bottles. San dashed over to the counter as Hongjoong headed back into the bedroom.

You grabbed two more bottles of water from the refrigerator and turned back to San, handing him both. He thanked you with a grin and turned to toss the bottle (more like throwing with full force) to Wooyoung, hitting him in the chest.

Wooyoung started to whine but the front door opened, Yunho and Mingi returning with not only beer but several bottles of soju as well.

Seonghwa broke down the now empty boxes as you moved to take a few bags from your boyfriend. "Do you plan on getting everyone drunk?" you asked jokingly. "Some of this is for the apartment," he admitted, kicking his shoes off and following you into the kitchen.

Yunho set the two cases of beer on the counter and was whining about his shoulders when the doorbell rang. Mingi moved to answer it to find the delivery guy had arrived. Yunho stopped complaining immediately and rushed to his best friend's side to take the pizzas.

"Oh, I'm here," you called out, rushing to the door to pay but Mingi beat you to it, taking the soda from the delivery guy and handing over his card. You pouted up at your boyfriend who merely smiled and handed you the 2-liters.

Mingi signed the slip and thanked the delivery guy as he put his card back in his wallet and shut the door. You opened the bag with all the plates and napkins, pulling everything out and setting it up nicely while Yunho placed the boxes of pizza side by side.

"Alright, you heathens," Mingi yelled, calling mostly to the bedroom where Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Jongho were.

"Pizza's here!"

After sitting and standing around the kitchen island, eating pizza and cheese sticks, downing most of the soda and beer while absolutely obliterating the pizza, Mingi finally kicked the guys out.

It was almost midnight and you still needed to sleep before work in the morning. Of course, working from home had its perks but you still had to get up at a reasonable time.

Mingi shut the door behind San and Wooyoung as they exited after waving everyone off. With a heavy sigh, he turned to look at you, standing in the kitchen and cleaning up the mess left behind, mess being the stacked used paper plates, napkins, and cups.

You tossed everything away and started to consolidate any leftover pizza into one box as Mingi moved to stand behind you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Alone at last," he whispered.

You should have known he had an ulterior motive for kicking the guys out as he waited patiently for you to finish what you were doing, although his hands roamed, first from your shoulders, down to your hips, pulling you roughly against him as his lips left kisses along your neck.

You managed to put away the leftover pizza, soda, and beer despite your 180 centimeter tall boyfriend clinging to you like a baby koala clinging to its mother. "Are you done?" he asked, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You hummed in response, nodding.

Mingi used his body to push yours against the counter, grinding his now obvious hard cock into your ass. "Good, cause I can't wait anymore," he growled.

You let out a groan, your body responding to him as he continued to grind against you, hands grabbing every bit of your body he could reach. One hand snuck under the hem of your shirt, moving up to grab your tit over your bralette while the other wrapped around your throat as his lips attacked your neck once more.

"This place is ours," you heard him mutter, lips ghosting over your skin. "No one else lives here. We can do whatever we want," he continued, nipping at your skin as he spoke. You felt him press his erection against your ass again, making you moan loudly.

"We can fuck whenever we want," he grunted, rutting against you again. "Wherever we want." You whined as his hips continued to move, rocking against your ass. "Mingi," you gasped, your hands moving to grab onto his forearm as he held your throat firmly.

"Yes, baby?" he whispered, rolling his hips slowly, making you feel all of him. "What is it?"

"Please," you whimpered, hands tightening around his forearm, feeling the hand under your shirt slide down, sneaking past your pants and panties, moving dangerously close to your center.

"Please what?" Mingi asked, his hand pressing against your groin. "Use your words baby, tell me what you want." You felt his lip brush against your ear. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to fuck me, Mingi."

Your boyfriend let out an animalistic growl, pulling away just enough to spin you around and take your lips in a fierce kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was messy, wet, and loud but you couldn't be bothered to care when Mingi was kissing you like he'd never get to do so again.

You let out a cry of shock as his hands grabbed under your thighs and lifted you, depositing you onto the kitchen island. He was quick to undo and remove your pants, taking your panties along with your jeans where he left them on the kitchen floor with your shirt that came off next. You ripped off your bralette and suddenly were completely bare before your boyfriend.

He leaned in, kissing you passionately as one hand moved back to your tit, squeezing and kneading it slowly. Mingis lips left yours, trailing down your neck to your chest where he peppered kisses between your breasts. You giggled but it was short lived as his tongue dragged over your pert nipple, taking it into his mouth.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you used your free hand to brace yourself on the cold granite countertop. You'd have to remember to thoroughly disinfect the counter tomorrow.

You felt Mingi's teeth gently graze the sensitive skin of your areola, making you whimper, hips rolling to find some sort of friction but you were met with only air.

Mingi pulled away and gently blew on your nipple, making you whine and the skin around it to pebble before giving the same treatment to the other one, teasing it with his tongue and blowing cool air over the wet bud.

Your chest heaved with your labored breathing as Mingi's lips left a trail of wet kisses down your chest, past your stomach as he slowly pushed you onto the counter, the cool granite meeting your hot skin.

Mingi scooted your body back and leaned over, kissing down your stomach again until his lips met your sex, giving the slick skin a single lick and groaning in response. "Fuck you taste so good," he grunted, pushing your legs further apart and diving in.

His tongue licked up your slit, finding your clit and swirling around the nub. Your back arched off the counter as your boyfriend ate you out like he didn't just stuff his stomach with pizza and beer an hour ago. The lewd sounds of his tongue against your wet pussy sent heat to your cheeks.

Moans and whimpers of his name left your lips as he kissed, licked, and suckled your clit, stimulating it as you felt two fingers toy with your entrance. "Mingi," you gasped as he dipped his fingers into your wet cunt, gliding past both knuckles.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that," he murmured, lips and chin covered in your essence but he couldn't be bothered to care as he set a steady pace, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks against your clit with his tongue.

You felt him curl his fingers inside you, pressing against your g-spot with ease thanks to his large hands and long fingers. The combined effort sent your body reeling towards your climax, cumming with a whine as your thighs closed around your boyfriend's head.

His tongue and fingers didn't stop, coaxing you through your high and dragging another one quickly out of you, leaving you a panting and twitching mess. You moaned out, feeling him scissor his fingers inside you. "Mingi," you whispered hoarsely.

"Yes baby?" he answered, continuing to stretch your entrance so you'd be ready to take his entire length. "Balcony," you replied, licking your lips. "Fuck me on the balcony."

Mingi moaned at your suggestion, leaning over to kiss you as his fingers continued their movements inside you. "You want the neighbors to see us? Want them to know that I'm the one fucking this tight little pussy?" he growled.

You nodded, whimpering pathetically as your boyfriend's fingers pistoned in and out of you, fucking your cunt but not as well as his cock always did. "Please. Let them see."

You cried out as he pulled his fingers from your core quickly and stripped himself of his shirt, pulling you off the counter and leading you over to the sliding glass door, opening it with ease and pushing you out onto the balcony.

The view from your apartment was incredible, the city lights sparkling like stars, headlights from the street below looking like tiny pin pricks of light. You turned to your boyfriend, pulling him into a desperate kiss as you both fumbled with his jeans.

Finally getting the button and zipper undone, you pushed the material down along with his underwear as you lowered yourself to your knees, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock.

"Fuck, babe, you don't have to- ngh!" Mingi moaned as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip and sucking before taking more of him past your lips.

"Shit," he cursed, one hand grabbing the railing, the other gripping your hair as your head bobbed, taking as much of his cock as you could. "Just like that, baby. Fuck you're so good," Mingi rasped, his grip on your hair tightening as he started to guide your movements.

"Fuck, yeah. Just like that baby. Keep doing that."

You hummed, the sound vibrating around his cock and he bucked his hips, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a lewd wet noise. You didn't let that stop you, keeping a firm hold on the base of his cock with one hand, you reached up with the other to cup his balls, something you knew he loved.

"Shit, Y/N," he gasped. "You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that." You moaned, bobbing your head as you sucked him off, ignoring the saliva that ran down your chin. You knew your face was probably a mess but you couldn't be bothered to care.

"Holy shit, come here," Mingi groaned, pulling your head back and then to your feet, he wiped your chin and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss before turning you to face the railing and bending you over it.

"God I'm gonna fucking ruin you," he growled, taking his cock coated in your spit and pushing the tip past your folds, sliding into your cunt easily. You let out a loud, long moan as he slid in, bottoming out with his hips pressed flush against your ass.

"Gonna fucking wreck this pussy."

"Mingi," you whimpered, drawing out the last syllable of his name. "Please fuck me."

He didn't need to be told twice, taking your hips in his hands and pulling back almost fully before snapping his hips forward, burying his cock in your throbbing hole. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, no doubt a small bulge forming.

"Ohhhh fuuuuck!" You cried out as he set a fast, unrelenting pace, his hips slapping against your ass as he thrust into you.

Mingi marveled at the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock reaching deep into your body as he pounded you against the railing. "Fuck. Feels so good!" he groaned, one hand grabbing your shoulder as his hips continued their assault.

"Ahh! Mingi! Feels s-so deep. Inside m-me!" you moaned. "You like it when I fuck you like this?" Mingi growled, slamming into you, his grip on your hip and shoulder tightening as your walls clenched around his cock. "Like it when I fuck you where everyone can see?"

You nodded, whimpering with each drag of his cock against your insides. "Fuck me. Harder," you moaned, ignoring the small bead of saliva rolling down your chin. It wasn't the first time he'd fucked you so hard you'd drooled and it wouldn't be the last.

"Make me scream, Mingi."

Mingi's hips stuttered for a moment but he was back on top of it a second later, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, enjoying the whiny moans you let out with each thrust. He loved hearing you unrestricted. He loved how loud you got and knowing it was all because of him made his heart swell with pride.

The neighbors hearing how good he gave it to you was a bonus.

"You're gonna wake everyone up, babe," Mingi hissed but made no effort to cover your mouth or muffle your moans. He wanted his neighbors to know he fucked his girl so good. He wanted everyone to know how only he could make you scream.

As if that was his goal, he grabbed your waist, increasing speed and strength as he railed you (no pun intended). Your whiny moans turned into loud cries as he drove his length into you. The loud sounds of his skin hitting yours and the wet sounds of his cock entering your cunt over and over were drowned out by your screams, walls squeezing him as you finally came.

Mingi plowed into you, thrusting once, twice, thrice more before he finally came explosively, his hot load painting your walls and spilling out of your pussy around his shaft, rolling down the inside of your thighs and dropping onto the balcony.

You always joked that Mingi had horse sized loads and this time, it really felt like it. "Shit," he cursed, glancing down to see his cum spilling onto the balcony and rolling down your skin. "I didn't think I'd cum this much," he murmured. "You okay, baby?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

You nodded in response. "'M okay," you answered weakly, thighs threatening to give out any second. "I'll clean this up tomorrow," Mingi said, wincing as he pulled out of you and watching more of his load falling to the floor. "God there's so much of it," he whispered. "I don't think I've ever cum this much before."

You stood up shakily, smiling as you felt Mingi support your body with his hands. "You know what they say," you replied, chuckling as your boyfriend shook his head. "No, what do they say?"

"Horse sized load for a horse sized cock."

[xiaq]

How is Denver so far compared to Austin?

I quite prefer Denver, but I'm biased for a few reasons.

Austin makes me sad. Austin now is not the Austin I grew up in/the Austin I loved. And nostalgia for a place that no longer exists while still technically existing leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Did you know that the greenbelt and all its trails and climbing walls used to feature a creek that never dried up? The level might fluctuate, but it ran all year round, fed by springs from the aquifer. You could climb until you got overheated and then go sit in the water for a bit to recover. Now, after years of extreme heat, persistent droughts, and people pumping water out of the aquifer, it's just miles of dry rock with small trees growing in it, that occasionally floods when it rains. I can't climb there without feeling...I don't even know how to describe it. Like I'm walking over the corpse of an old friend.

Denver gives us a community. In Denver, we live in a walkable/bikable community within 2 miles (or much less) of our grocery store, restaurants, a gluten-free bakery, coffee shops, our climbing gym, and several friends. I've seen more people in person in the last three weeks here than I did in the previous 3 months in Austin. One of my friends jogs by every afternoon. Others live at the park I walk Deacon to in the mornings. People just...drop in to see us/how house renovations are going spur-of-the-moment because they were literally walking by/on their way home. Community is so important to me and I have that here in a way I didn't in Austin.

Terrain. Texas is so damn flat. I get a thrill driving to Home Depot here because I can see mountains in the distance. Our rooftop deck looks at the mountains. I can be in the mountains after a less than 30-minute drive. I had to drive for hours to get to a hill in Austin. Here, mountains are just...present in a comforting way.

The seasons. Austin doesn't have seasons. Here, we have gorgeous sunny weather most of the time but the trees change color in the fall and we currently have snow! Deacon LOVES snow. Probably even more than me. There is something so delightful about taking a walk while it's snowing. When the whole world is quiet and white and still. Even after living in one of the snowiest places in the US for a year, snow is still so novel to me. Big fan.

Travel. I can walk to the train station from our house, which will take me to the airport in 25 minutes. And Denver is a hub for Southwest which means tons of direct flights at low costs (to places like Austin!). I also have a companion pass for Southwest, which means I can take B (or anyone else I please) with me for free on any Southwest flight. Which is very handy. B's mom has already visited us twice (coming again this weekend) because there are quick direct flights from Phoenix she can take advantage of. The negatives are the cost of living and the fact that the homeless population is large and the city doesn't seem to have the appropriate resources (or perhaps willingness) to address it. But those are both issues that plague Austin as well. The only thing I miss about Austin is the ability to see my parents whenever I want. My mom is coming to visit in two weeks and we're hoping to coax my dad out when it warms up a bit (and we have the guest rooms ready), but I definitely miss them.

[telomeke]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @lamonnaie at this post here. Thanks for tagging me! 😍 It was such fun to read your responses; now here are mine. 🥰

do you make your bed?

Never ever. I'm pretty messy, and if I don't watch my hoarding tendencies I will morph into the worst pack rat. But I like a bit of clutter around me; I think it helps my creative side since my output (whether at work, or writing on Tumblr) is always tidy and tidied up to a fault, which can stifle creativity (at least that's what I tell myself! 🤣).

what's your favourite number?

Don't have one. However (even though I like to think I'm not superstitious) if I can I'll try to avoid the number 13 and anything with 4 in it...

what is your job?

Not gonna get too specific, but my work involves design, project management and construction.

if you could go back to school, would you?

I was too stressed out at school to want to repeat the experience. But I wouldn't mind a bit of time travel back to advise my younger self not to take things so seriously! 🤣

can you parallel park?

Yes. Not well, but the car will be fully in the lot eventually. 👍

a job you had that would surprise people?

Some minor modeling jobs when I was younger. Hush! I don't like to talk about it. 🤫 You wouldn't think it to look at me now (me 🤝 Ricky Gervais 😂).

do you think aliens are real?

There are too many planets out there for our little blue marble to be the only habitable one, so yes I do think there are aliens out there. I just don't think we've been visited by them yet though! (Aylin doesn't count. 🤩)

can you drive a manual car?

Yes. Mom taught me how to drive in one... until the day I jammed on the accelerator when she said "Step on it" and I almost up-ended us into a ditch. Then I was sent to driving school instead. 🤣

what's your guilty pleasure?

Ooh. It's this bad boy here:

Sadly I've been over-indulging, so chocolate is now banned from the house for the foreseeable future. I'm still lusting after it though. Other guilty pleasures: I do like a good nightcap, so any (gluten grain-free) alcohol makes me light up – cognac, cabernet, sherry, sake, port... (But I don't always know my limits, so this is now banned too.) And a steamin', stonkin', trashy BL every now and then (bonus if there's a nice muscley actor for me to get all googly-eyed over – shoutout Gap Jakarin!). 😁🥰

tattoos?

I like art and have fanboyed over beautiful tattoos before – but I'm put off by the permanence of them, so I have none myself. Don't like the idea of not being able to change them much once they're inked in, because I will always be wanting to change things up if I were to get one. And no, even for looking at I prefer an uninked bod over an inked one. It takes a lot of work to get a body in shape, and I can't understand someone wanting to cover up the results of their hard work at the gym. 🤷‍♂️

favorite color?

A deep, rich blue most of the time. But when the mood hits, I like a bright, bold red too.

favorite type of music?

My tastes are a bit eclectic, leaning lighter and not challenging. Anything with a strong melodic line will get me hooked. Bonus points if the lyrics can come together with the melody to tell a story, and elevate it even more. So – pop mostly, but I also like R&B, soul, light jazz and the odd heartfelt country ballad or foot-stomper (go Queen Bey! 😍). Also like things with a nostalgic bent (I melt at Karen Carpenter, Seals & Croft, and England Dan & John Ford Coley). And then throw in a couple of show tunes in there for good measure! My YouTube playlist is all over the place – Sheila Majid, New Country, Renaissance, Nunew, Miley Cyrus, Streisand, Li'l Nas X, Ayumu Imazu, The Carpenters, Clean Bandit, so many others, all side-by-side.

do you like puzzles?

I love them, especially word and logic puzzles. I'm always shouting over Pat and Vanna. 🤣

any phobias?

Oddly, not the usual suspects, but I'm a bit phobic about birds. They're just creepy up close, even though I find them fascinating and beautiful with a bit of distance. While the bog-standard creepy-crawlies don't bother me one bit – I'm the one always getting called in to whack the roaches and chase away rodents. I dream of getting a cobalt blue tarantula as a pet (but that's not going to happen for various reasons, alas).

favorite childhood sport?

I wasn't that sporty growing up (classic bookworm) but I did enjoy a bit of soccer when I got to play. But I guess my favorite was probably swimming, though I didn't compete.

do you talk to yourself?

All the time. There's a nonstop monologue going on in my head and I've been known to startle people by accidentally voicing that conversation out loud. So I've learnt not to do it around others. 🤣 And no I'm not hearing disembodied voices; it's just me keeping myself company (plus I find it helps me focus my thoughts).

what movies do you adore?

My all-time favorite: Cinema Paradiso; it really pulls unabashedly at the heartstrings, but then again I'm a sentimental fool and love it all the more for that. That's also why I like Love Actually, especially the scene where the repressed Jamie (Colin Firth) travels to Portugal in order to confess his feelings to Aurélia (Lúcia Moniz), having realized he loves her despite the language barrier, and doggedly learnt Portuguese just to make his declaration – and then he finds out that she, lovelorn and bereft, learnt English just in case ("just in cases") he came back. 💖 And my second favorite is from the other end of the spectrum, actually quite a bit before my time as well: Hello Dolly! 😆 Don't judge... A couple of songs in there are really amazing – Love is Only Love and Just Leave Everything to Me especially (which are not in the stage version) are mindblowingly good. The former is almost pithy in its bare-boned purity, all about looking at love without sentimentality while reprising themes heard earlier on in the musical; the latter has the among the cleverest lyrics set to music I've ever heard:

Streisand is in fine fettle portraying a campier, more youthful incarnation of Dolly. Such a shame it was not better received. The costumes are spectacular too.

coffee or tea?

Coffee (or rather the caffeine it contains) is my drug of choice, and I drink buckets of it. But I like a good cuppa when I'm feeling nostalgic and/or sentimental, because tea is what I drank a lot of growing up – at my gran's there would be a perpetually-replenished, giant kettle of dark, bitterish Oolong on the sideboard for whenever you felt like some (which was often), while at home there was always a big pot of tea on the table in the morning, that would then be set to chill in the refrigerator after breakfast. I would always have an ice-cold milk tea with the papers when I got home from school, and it was my favorite daily ritual.

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

A paleontologist – like a lot of kids I loved dinosaurs, and I can still rattle off the names of the more well-known ones (including every one in Jurassic Park 👀). But that got pushed aside for more practical considerations later. Still wish I'd explored my second childhood ambition more though, which was to be a writer/journalist. Maybe that's why I like posting so much on Tumblr! 😍

Onward tagging (too many people as usual, but no pressure to play if you don't want to or can't 🥰): @hughungrybear, @relativelydimensional, @neuroticbookworm, @wen-kexing-apologist, @waitmyturtles, @airenyah, @twig-tea, @solitaryandwandering, @recentadultburnout, @lurkingshan, @grapejuicegay,@bengiyo, @urikawa-miyuki, @pickletrip, @suni-san, @kattahj, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @7nessasaryevils, @imminentinertia, @befuddledcinnamonroll, @pandasmagorica, @nihilisticcondensedmilk,@shortpplfedup, @rokklagio, @thegalwhorants, @brazilian-whalien52, @callipigio, @respectthepetty, @corettaroosa, @colourme-feral, @virtualtadpole, @aroceu, @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas, @delesaria-blog, @dribs-and-drabbles, @inventedfangirling, @jiirotu, @visualtaehyun @happypotato48,@akawrites000, @kleopatras-cat, @dc-alves, @toschistation, @lovelyghostv

I've been tagged by others in various tag games over the past few weeks but have been too busy with work to be able to play. 😭 Not gonna post half-assed replies if I can help it, but then I'm always beset by dread thinking people might assume I'm ignoring them for whatever silly reason. But I just haven't had the time until now.

If you've tagged me and I've not responded, please know that I really wanted to but I just kept getting sidetracked by urgent deadlines. (In fact, my drafts folder is full of half-written tag game responses that are too far beyond their use-by date to ever see the light of day. 😮) So to any and all who see this, please accept my apology for not replying to your tags and invites, and if you'd like to play along with this one even if I haven't tagged you directly (and you have the time for it) – please do so! I'd love to read your responses! 😍

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:💀 PERSEPHONE: QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD, GODDESS OF SPRING, THE DEAD, THE UNDERWORLD, GRAIN, AND NATURE 💐 (PART 2)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is PART 2 of the Persephone Demigod Headcanons. Due to the size limit of Tumblr, I had to split the entire work into two. [LINK TO PART 1 HERE] Hi everyone! It took me a bit to figure it out but here's what everyone has been waiting for! Persephone is just 1 out of the 4 works I have planned and written for, and these works will be categorized as the MISCELLANEOUS GODS due to not the fact these gods are minor or anything, but because I did mention this in an ask before and it's easier to think about due to the canon PJO worldbuilding. These works will be a bit more loose since I'm taking a shot in the wild so hopefully you guys like it. Thanks for reading!!

You can summon the dead as much as the children of Hades, but there’s a keypoint where you can reanimate, revive the dead under some certain circumstances: like bringing back life to dead flowers by imparting your own power, but they're still destined to die because that is the cycle of nature after all. With living beings, it’s much more different the more complex and messier it gets. Animals are sort of allowed, but human beings? That’s a big no-no. It is the quickest and most instantaneous way to make Hades incinerate you on the spot, or make the earth swallow you beneath your feet. He already did that to Aslepius, who was so good at medicine he could revive the dead. You may be Persephone’s child and Hades’ may be lenient with you, but you’re still bound to the sacred mortal laws like everything.  Even if you can’t revive (human) life, don’t even think of trying. 

Don’t be surprised if you are more in tune and affected by seasonal changes. Given how Persephone is connected with the changing of seasons, you have Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer aspects. What each season means to you will depend on from when you were born and furthering back from it. The children of Hecate are a good support group for this and normalise it. 

You can’t be gluten free or allergic to pollen. If you were, you aren’t now once you’re claimed. Not under Persephone’s (and Demeter’s) watch. It’ll literally go against everything that is them. You’ll also have a great love of mint, particularly munching on mint leaves. You don’t know why until you learn about the story of Minthe; a nymph that Hades pursued before Persephone faced her wrath. 

Between Demeter and Persephone,, you’re going to eat so much grains; particularly whole wheat. Even if you’re not a big fan of it, you’re conditioned to eat it and tolerate it. If you don’t eat whole wheat or whole grains every so often, you’ll feel something is missing from your diet and you’ll be craving it bitterly. 

I think being a child of Persephone makes you an exception to seeing your godly parent due to some loophole. You’re kind of obligated to go visit Persephone for the Winter and Spring equinox; in Winter, you’ll also have to meet Hades. On the plus side, the Winter visits allows you and Hades to get to know one another and minimizes any animosity the Lord of the Underworld may have towards you. You’ll also get to know Nico, Hazel, and possibly any other children of Hades/Pluto along the way with the Winter Equinox visits. 

Surprisingly, Mr. D gives some sympathy and help coming to terms with the whole unusual birth thing. Anytime you have a panic or existential crisis, Mr. D is there waiting with a can of diet coke waiting for you. Chiron may also be there for those sessions if so required. 

Cabin wise at Camp Half-Blood will have to erect a Persephone cabin/temple now you’re here. In the early beginning, you’re going between the Demeter cabin or the Hades cabin until they build a cabin. The reason it’s taking so long because with Persephone, it is also prompting a possible Amphitrite cabin also along the way just to be fair because Hera has her already, then there’s Persephone, and then that also leaves the last of the Big Three’s Wives: Amphitrite. It’s less on the building part that is the problem, but the future ramifications that everyone is debating and preparing for; a storm that has yet to come.

If there’s a Child of Hera when you’ve arrived and been claimed or during your time at camp, you’re both automatically sticking with each other in solidarity based on the whole impossible child scenario, and children of Queens. You’re also both talking with each other and being discussed with is there going to be a chance of a demigod child of Amphitrite in the future. (though very unlikely at the moment due to the fact she is Nereids, and there hasn’t been any evidence that she has any interest in mortal men*) 

You’re guided to Camp Halfblood and chaperoned by your step sibling and son of Hades, Nico di Angelo. You have had 3 to 6 months to get to know him, and him knowing, coming to terms, and being quickly forced to acclimate to your existence. With a favour from Hades and a gently enforced command by Persephone, he was to accompany you to Camp Halfblood. It was less because of the threat of monsters, with the company you’re keeping, but more so as “emotional and physical support”. Seeing as you couldn’t be accompanied by the Lampades, the nymphs of the Underworld, Nico was the best next option (read: Nico is being told to accompany you in a political move to solidify your position and enforce your presence). 

When you get claimed, you come on the cusp of Winter and Spring. The bare naked trees that are covered with snow disappear as yellow-green bright leaves begin to take over the branches with flower buds blossoming. The snow melts away into water, seeping into the earth below you, with fuzzy grass peeking out. It carpets underneath you with flowers sprouting underneath you, the first flowers of spring of Crocus, Snowdrops, Daffodils, with the appearance of butterflies and robins fluttering around you. 

Two birds drop down to put a crown of thorns, twisting around to resemble a deer’s horns, setting upon your head, menacing as the winter light casts a menacing shadow, before the claim of Persephone of the Pomegranate appears, glowing brightly. The crown begins to sprout flowers along with the bare trees and plantations into your favourite flowers.

Everyone looks at you in changing confusion, fear, awe, and then disbelief and realisation. You see some people’s eyes, their auras distinct as they look at Nico for answers who sighs before steps forward and clear his throat, his scratchy throat sounding like bare branches rubbing against each other yet loud like a tree falling in a quiet forest.  “I, Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades, present the child of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, Goddess of the Dead, Grains, Spring, and Nature. Hail (F/n) (L/n), their eminence of the seasons.”

Silence takes over like the winter wind before everyone screams with uproar, with minor voices yelling “NOT AGAIN”.

[PART 1 TO PERSEPHONE DEMIGOD HEADCANONS HERE]

[thewritingofspencerrose]

general masterlist

Max Verstappen x Single!Mom OC

can you tell i'm finishing up/ cleaning out my drafts? this is based on max's padel match with other drivers a few races back that kelly & p attended

"If it isn't my favorite little muppet!" Lando's voice is the first to reach us as we enter the facility, Claire's entire face lighting up at the sight of Max's friend. Although it's not just Max and Lando, there's Daniel, and a few other drivers that we have been acquainted with, most that I recognize from the track but cannot for the life of me remember the name of.

"Mijn liefje," Max whispers into my hair, kissing the top of my head before hauling Claire into his arms, peppering kisses all over her face and pulling giggles from her little lips.

Five years old and you'd never know there was a time she was a colicky baby for months on end. You'd never know when she's around Max.

"Sorry we're late, someone decided to spray her juice box all over all over the front of my dress," I muse, partly amused by her and also still bothered that the once-white dress is now stained.

Max just chuckles, shaking his head at our girl before he pulls me to his since once more, kissing the side of my head. "You look gorgeous regardless. Thank you for coming."

His eyes are shining, nearly brighter than all of the lights in this court.

"Of course, Love, you know we appreciate any extra time we get with you," and I truly mean it. "Plus, this gives Claire a perfect place to run around so we're not cooped up with a crazy lady tonight in the hotel," I joke, said little girl giggling brightly.

"She enjoys the chaos she brings," Max's comment makes her laugh more, ever clearer that she has certainly been raised in part by him. For the last two years that we've been together he's been her second parent, her father figure, and it's obvious day in and day out that she's taking after him.

"Max, mate, don't hog my favorite members of your household!"

Lando's voice reminds me of the other driver's presence. His arms reach out, stealing Claire and throwing her onto his shoulders, wandering away without even a greeting.

"Be careful with her!" Max is quick to remind, taking my hand into his and pulling me along, closer to his work friends.

"Are you going to introduce us?" One I know to be Yuki asks, approaching us all from the other side of the court, lunchbag in hand.

He doesn't wait for an answer though, turning to me with a smile. "Can I share a snack with her?"

"Oh," my hand comes to my heart, "She has a couple allergies, so it depends on what the snack is?" Max's hand slips from mine to my waist, looking down at the Japanese driver.

"She's allergic to peanuts and gluten," He offers, offering a small smile.

Yuki nods, going over to Lando's shoulders and beginning a broken conversation with Claire, handing her what looks to be an apple slice.

"Schatz, these are my fellow drivers, Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso, Yuki Tsunoda, and then you know Lando," Max introduces, pointing to each man as he names. He turns to me now, smiling down on me as he speaks words meant for his friends. "This is my girlfriend Jean," He begins, turning to where Claire is still perched on Lando, "and our daughter Claire."

Our daughter.

I can't help how large my smile gets, looking up at Max like he's the sun. Because to me he is.

"You have a child?" Alonso is the one to ask, chuckling to himself, elbowing Carlos. "Man beats me on the tracks and to having a child, que sigue (what's next)?"

Typically I would join the boys in there laughter, but I'm too focused on the near tears in Claire's eyes as she stares at a laughing Max.

"You called me your daughter?"

That sends a pause over everyone.

"Wait, she is not his child?" Carlos questions, meant to be a quiet comment to his teammate.

"You're my daughter in the ways that matter," Max answers, pulling away from me and to take our tearful girl from Lando, hugging her tight to the space between us.

"Max and I got together when Claire was two, she's five now," I explain, offering a small smile to Max's friends.

"He's my dad," Claire smiles, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you both," Charles is the one to greet. "It is nice to meet those who are Max's family."

"And it is nice to meet the famous inchedent man- i mean, his track family."

Everyone laughs once more, Max kissing my head. "You're a menace. No wonder Claire is chaos."

Claire just giggles, "You love us."

Max just smiles, shaking his head.

"I do."

[that-disabled-princess]

What is EDS?

Hello! Since it's EDS/HSD awareness month, I figured I'd take some time to talk about the severe disorder that plagues me every waking hour of my life.

Disclaimer: I do not speak for the entire EDS community and my experiences are not universal.

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is a connective tissue disorder. It's genetic, incurable, and degenerative. It can cause a lot of problems, including frequent dislocations, POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), heart problems, chronic headaches and migraines, dietary issues, and chronic pain. There are a lot of different subtypes, including hypermobile EDS, vascular EDS, and classical EDS.

It is incredibly painful. I honestly cannot remember the last time I wasn't in pain. It affects everything from my diet, to my mobility, to my hygiene, to my hobbies, to my sleep. I sit down to shower and brush my teeth, I've cut a lot of gluten from my diet, I sleep with several different pillows, I have to accommodate all my hobbies and arts. My mobility aids include forearm crutches, canes, braces, KT tape, and more. Other disability aids include medications, my emotional support water bottle, ice and heat packs, and prescription sunglasses.

I have hypermobile EDS. But the least severe form of a severe disorder is still a severe disorder.

And I am in constant pain.

Everything is a chore, everything is an energy-draining task. Showering takes planning and involves gathering a small army of aids.

Leaving the house takes meticulous planning--which mobility aid will be most helpful today? What braces and supports do I need? Have I eaten enough salt? Will I need my gatorade? Have I refilled my emergency meds lately? Is the place I'm going accessible? And so on.

Engaging in my hobbies takes thoughtful accommodations. I have to be conscious of how my fingers bend when I crochet. I should be aware of how my hands and fingers and wrists are feeling while typing (like typing this post). I have to put all my braces on and bring my stool into the kitchen when I bake. I have to pack my backpack full of disability aids if I want to take a walk. I can't play viola anymore because it isn't safe right now.

I'm so tired. Every day I wake up and I am so so exhausted. Some mornings, while I'm lying in bed and letting my body adjust to being awake, I wonder how the hell I'm going to do this for the rest of my life. Waking up to stiff joints, vertigo spells when I finally crawl out of bed, recovering from an eating disorder while not being able to eat half the food in the house, struggling to leave the house, almost passing out in the shower, going to bed with headaches.

It's hard. It's so fucking hard. I'm not going to sugarcoat this in toxic positivity. Trudging from one day to the next sometimes feels impossible. Some days, it's digging your nails in and refusing to let the depressive thoughts take over. Others, the depression does take over, and there's nothing to do but ride the waves of your grief for a couple days.

Fellow EDS zebras and HSD folks, I wish you all a safe and peaceful month 💖💖

To non-EDS/HSD folks, go learn about EDS and HSD this month!

[red-pill-to-swallow]

How to skin

Hey babes,

today I want to talk about skin. Our skin – especially the skin in our face – is one of the first things that we recognize in another person.

This is the reason why it is so important to have clean and vibrant looking skin. Your skin color doesn’t matter as long as it is healthy looking and free of pimples.

Clear skin is a universal sign for good health and it can elevate the look of a person completely.

Us humans tend to find other people more attractive if they have good skin – it’s something in our genes.

Personally, I’m blessed with good skin – I never had acne as a teenager, only some lonely pimples right before my period would start.

However, when my gynecologist put me on the pill when I was around 19 years old I suddenly developed acne and it was horrible. That’s when I started to take my skincare very serious and made a ton of research that I want to share with you.

Disclaimer: I am not a dermatologist. Those are simply my experiences and what I’ve learned over the years.

Why do we even get pimples?

A very short summary: we get pimples, because sebum is clogging our pores and bacteria starts to grow in the pore which makes it inflamed.

Is it my fault that I get pimples? Am I not clean enough?

Yes and no.

Yes – there might be people who are experiencing acne just because they don’t cleanse their face good enough. However that’s something that happens very rarely.

Most people with acne wash and clean their face more often and more thoroughly than the average person.

If you experience heavy acne, don’t try to treat it at home. Instead, seek out a dermatologist to see if the acne is fungal.

I would also recommend getting blood-work done to see if the acne is hormonal.

If you never had acne and suddenly get pimples all over your face it could also be because of your birth control, especially if your birth control is hormonal.

Like I said before, I suddenly developed acne after my gynecologist put me on the pill. The reason for that was that the pill had gestagen in it which is similar to progesterone.

Progesterone is basically stimulating the skin to produce more oils and sebum – pores get clogged more easily and pimples form.

Diet also plays a big part in acne. Personally, I don’t see a difference if I leave out dairy or gluten but some people almost see an immediate effect.

I wouldn’t recommend just stopping consuming gluten and dairy one day, please speak to your doctor beforehand.

Instead, try to limit your sugar and fat intake first before you start to take drastic actions.

My acne is neither hormonal nor fungal, what can I do?

Having a healthy skin-barrier is the key to having clean and vibrant looking skin!

Most of us fell victim to Clearasil and other harsh drugstore products in our youth. I remember slathering my face with a 3 in 1 face wash, face mask and peeling once and my skin was red for days. At that time I didn’t know that the products were simply way to harsh for the skin on my face and wondered why it didn’t work as good as in the commercials.

If you’re just starting out with your skincare journey, here are a few tips that you should consider when you pick out products and a routine:

- a healthy skin-barrier should be your first priority. Everything else can be addressed later on.

- all the products for your face should be fragrance free or contain very little fragrance.

- stick to your routine for at least one month before changing it

- introduce new products one after one and take your time to do so

How does a good basic skincare routine look like?

You don’t need thousands of products in the beginning, keep it simple and gentle.

A good routine could look like this:

am

Step 1: use a gentle cleanser to wash your face in the morning. Nothing too heavy. I like to use a foam cleanser for this.

Step 2: use a hydrating toner and apply it with your hands, so you get the most out of your product.

Step 3: while your face is still damp with the toner, apply a hyaluronic acid serum. Never put hyaluronic acid on dry skin, it won’t do anything.

Step 4: wait for the hyaluronic acid to sink into your skin and apply a hydrating face cream all over your face. Do this even if your skin is oily – it still needs moisture.

Step 5: apply sunscreen all over your face and neck. Sunscreen is essential, especially if you use exfoliants.

pm

Step 1: use a cleansing oil or cleansing balm in the evening. This is to remove your makeup and sunscreen from your face.

Step 2: use a gel cleanser and massage your skin for at least one minute. It’s important that you cleanse every small part of your face. Especially tricky is the skin around your nostrils and on your chin.

Step 3: again, use a hydrating toner and apply it with your hands.

Step 4: apply a thick face cream all over your face, best is something with panthenol.

What are the things that I should avoid?

- touching your face with dirty hands. Always wash your hands before you cleanse in the morning and in the evening. Avoid touching your face with your hands during the day.

- stop picking at pimples. I know – it’s frustrating, but the more you pick on your spots, the more inflamed they get. There also is a danger of you spreading around all that bacteria with your hands and possibly getting scars.

- Never ever use physical exfoliators in the face. They damage your skin with micro cuts that you can’t see with your eyes and damage more than they help. Always look for chemical exfoliators!

See you soon!