#but i still got a lot done! not enough because it’s never enough but at least i folded the laundry. at least i ate dinner. at least i got

[radiance1]

"I need to find my darling husband!" Said Danny, dressed to the nines in a very elaborate royal dress with a lot of jewelry running through the ballroom after having been on the opposite end of a very worrying phone call.

"Seriously, what do you even see in that mortal!?" Screamed an observant and Danny stopped and leveled them with a glare cold enough to freeze over an active volcano and sharp enough to cut through obsidian.

"He makes me laugh."

Unlike those dead suitors went unsaid, but everyone at the ball (read: search for a bride/groom for the royal ghostling) practically heard it anyways.

Meanwhile over in the land of the living

Okay so Jason may have messed up. Now you see, he hasn't seen his platonic husband for tax benefits in a while, and he's been very careful to not let his identity as the Red Hood slip up before . Not even once in their relationship.

(He's not counting the time his in-laws sniffed him out as a Crime Lord, because Danny never believed them.)

Now, it wasn't exactly his fault he slipped up. You try to fight off an entire group after being pulled up on out of nowhere on the phone while trying to hide said noises of fighting.

Who was he calling? Danny of course since he said he was away for business. What business? Never specified and Jason wasn't going to pry.

So now here he was, bound 'helplessly' as Jason Todd along with a few other random civilians. Which, like, rude.

Wasn't he already good enough for this ancient ritual or whatever?

You know, he really should have walked with that "Anti-kidnapping device" he got that one time. Which honestly he feels like he should be surprised that such a thing exists but considering it was from Bruce. Well.

He's not surprised.

Oh, there's the Justice League now. Shame, he wanted to knock out a few guys himself- Oh, now he's being used to summon a ghost from the Infinite Realms of Royal Lineage.

Yea he probably should have walked with that "Anti-kidnapping device."

Wait a goddamn-

Is that-

"My darling husband!" Danny shouted, scooping him off the circle and away from the head cultist and swinging him around. "You had me worried sick!"

Now, he should ask the question anyone would in this situation when finding out your best friend and platonic husband for tax benefits was apparently a ghost of royal lineage.

"Why're you in a dress?"

"Okay, first of all I rock this thing." Danny huffed.

"That you do." Jason agreed rather easily.

"Second of all, blame those guys over there." He jerked his head in the direction of two very green floating eyeball people.

Not the weirdest he's seen, honestly.

The Observants were whispering to each other and leveling them-Jason in particular-a look.

"Now as you can see, I already have a spouse and I don't need another!" Danny hugged Jason closer for emphasis and he took the time to whisper in Danny's ear. "Did you really marry me to play the husband card?"

"Well, yes." Danny agreed. "But also because of taxes, because I love you and you're my best friend."

"So, we're still done for watching that movie right."

"Obviously."

A pained grunt came from below them and they both looked down to see Batman standing over a very unconscious cultist and looking up at them.

Hm.

He forgot they were there.

"So," Jason began, staring Bruce straight in the eyes. Batman's eyes narrowed. "Don't suppose we can push that forward to right now?"

"Yea, sure why not I'm not doing anything important." Danny leveled the Observants a look, and before either they, Batman, or the Justice League could do anything they both disappeared.

[railingsofsorrow]

don't walk out

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.”  pairing: s.reid x gn!reader  w.c: 1K warnings/content: implied abandoned issues; argument; silent treatment (brief); language; angst.  A/N: guess I'm on a roll today. I just love some angst. 

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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“is that supposed to make me feel better?”  

lights had barely been turned on when you spat out a response, breaking the tense silence. your apartment was tidy, nothing out of order, even the pillows where settled two on each edge of the couch like you always did before leaving for work.  

it was the expected. three days away on a case didn't exactly mean your house would turn upside down, would it? unanimated things didn't move on their own. but one thing that was turning upside down was your mood. not only did the journey home came with lots of turbulence, but Spencer had to make an unpleasant comment that made your blood boil. was it wrong that you just wanted to not look at him right now? you were even considering not sleeping beside him tonight. 

“for fucks sake.” you mumbled under your breath when he had stayed silent. he's ignoring you now. great. throwing your work bag on the couch, you didn't even take your shoes off as you moved back toward the door. you can't handle his passive aggressive act and you certainly won't handle his silence treatment.  

“where are you going?” he called out, shuffling out of the bedroom upon hearing the sound of keys dangling. no. no, you're not leaving, are you? “what—” 

“i'm gonna take a walk, spencer.” 

it didn't take a second for him to rush over and stop your exit by blocking the door. “what are the car keys for then?” desperation clouded his tone and you felt guilt building up in your chest, but it wasn't bigger than your frustration.  

“I'm gonna drive.” 

“at this time of the night? you hate driving at night.” 

“are you my father?” he almost flinched at your sharp tone. okay, he deserved that hostility. he's been nothing but rude to you the entire jet ride back home. it's not that you did anything — even if you had done something, it does not justify the way he was treating you —, the case had been hard. it involved kids. the team wasn't fast enough. he wasn't fast enough. you almost got hurt. it was a lot to absorb in a short amount of time.  

he never wanted this: you walking out while you were mad at each other. no. you had made a deal long ago. you both were laughing after your first stupid argument, something about forgetting to fold the laundry.  

“okay, but we can be like this, right?” you said, nudging him. “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.” 

his eyes soften and he almost turns to mush. he understood then that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. and yes. you would be mad and you would upset each other but leaving was off the table. he could do that. there was nothing he'd want more. 

but now he'd cross a line. didn't he? how dare he do that? how dare he cause you do want to walk out? 

“i'm sorry.” spencer is still at the doorway when you ask him to move. he won't move. he can't. “i really am. I shouldn't have said that. it was out of line.” 

“really?” you snap. he hears the edge in your voice and the crack. it breaks him. he just wants to hold you, he never meant—means to hurt you. “then why did you? why would you even think about something like that?”  

he holds back his breath of relief once you've put the keys back in the bowl. the lump in his throat diminishing slightly. 

“i was upset. angry— at the case. the whole situation, not you.“ he clarified. “sweetheart, i'm sorry. I didn't mean it.” you're searching his face for some indication of lie that you won't find. “i'm sorry.” 

“you're an idiot.” your anger is gone, there's just frustration now. maybe at yourself, because you can't really stay mad at him as he stares at you with those eyes.  

“i am,” he admits, no ounce of hesitation in his tone. he's fairly certain he is, in fact, an idiot. “i'm sorry.” he repeats and he will repeat over and over again until you forgive him. he will beg if he has to. “don't leave, please.” 

and that is not fair. it's not. he can't make you mad and say sorry and all will be forgiven. he can't look at you with those eyes and think things will be magically fixed. 

but then your armor cracks. suddenly, his behaviour makes sense. 

we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave. 

“i wasn't going to—” you're ashamed at this point. you were so blinded by anger that you'd do something you promised to never do. “you know I wouldn't leave, right?” then his desperation in reaching the door before you makes sense and you're taken back to the moment you promised not to walk out in a fight. that's exactly what you where about to do.  

“i'm sorry.” you say, staring at the keys in your hands. “i didn't think before acting.”  

spencer nods slowly, taking a step closer towarss your frame. “and I didn't think before speaking. I'm the one that should be sorry.” 

you caught a glimpse at his twitchy fingers and takes one of his hands into your own, letting the keys slip to the floor as you yank him to your arms. he only complies by squeezing you against him. and finally, both of you have what you've been craving since this case started: each other's comfort.  

and then, you repeat. “i wasn't going to leave, you know that, right?”  

“yeah.” he burries his face into your neck and his voice is muffled by your skin. “yeah, I know.” 

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; 

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: mentions of scarring, canon-typical violence, flashback (not graphic), minor body horror (again, not graphic, mostly just emotional feelings about scars)

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Everyone gave him weird looks when they walked in, quickly schooling their features when they noticed he was awake and watching them.

He didn’t know exactly what that was about.

They had him on a lot of good drugs.

But eventually he got weaned off them, and he noticed the pull of bandages on his side, and his arm, and his neck, and his face.

He was still unable to get out of bed. Still couldn’t even reach his arms above his chest for more than a few seconds.

But he damn sure reached up to feel the cloth and plastic surrounding his cheek. How had he not noticed for days? How had no one bothered him about it?

Maybe they had and he just didn’t notice. The morphine was one hell of a drug.

Wayne was soft, patient with him. Saw him touching it, saw the way his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been particularly vain, hadn’t cared much about what he looked like to others, but this felt bigger than that. This felt like he was changed in a way that everyone could see.

Add it to the list of things people could bully him for.

He cried himself to sleep, Wayne’s hand in his, silently comforting in the way he’d always done.

When he woke up again the next morning, he was alone.

It was the first time he’d been alone since the boathouse.

He could swear he heard bats outside his door, screams coming from the attached bathroom, flashes of someone dying on the ceiling.

He felt the sharp sting of teeth puncturing his skin.

He felt hopelessness creep into his bones as he gave in.

Maybe this time they would finish the job.

“Eddie!”

Steve Harrington’s voice broke through the thoughts, panicked enough to bring Eddie back to his hospital bed within a second of hearing it.

“Shit, are you okay?” He continued, hand brushing against Eddie’s bandaged cheek.

Eddie nodded once, closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

He could blame it on any number of things if Steve felt weird about it. The morphine, the flashback, the loneliness.

“You’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie believed him.

He fell back asleep with Steve’s hand gently cupping the mangled side of his face.

If Steve could still touch him there, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Steve came by every day, sometimes in the early morning, before visiting hours officially started, sometimes well after Wayne had left to get some sleep. He always smiled when he walked in, a genuine one, not the one everyone else gave that was so fully of pity and pain he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. He sat down on the side of the bed, not the chair like everyone else, not scared to be close.

And every single day, without fail, he would run his finger along the edge of Eddie’s bandage on his face, watching his own movements and cataloging any changes.

Eddie sat quietly, still, scared to put words to anything happening. Scared to tell Steve what it meant to him to have someone acknowledge his pain in this way. Scared to think Steve could mean anything by it.

It was easy to pretend Steve was doing this because he cared.

Maybe he did care.

But he didn’t care the way Eddie wanted him to, needed him to.

So he stayed quiet, still.

He watched.

He fell asleep while Steve talked about his day, the kids, what Joyce made Hopper do around the house.

He woke up alone most days, but that was okay, because Steve would be there eventually.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

“You ready to get that thing off?” Wayne asked, gesturing to the bandage.

“Oh. Today?” Eddie suddenly didn’t want to ever be without the bandage. Removing it meant he’d see what was under it.

It meant seeing how much that place had ruined him.

The pull of the stitches hadn’t been as obvious with the pull of the bandage masking it.

But now it’s all he felt.

The nurse smiled at him as she put some antibiotic cream over the area, saying he would probably still have to keep it extra clean for the next week or so while the stitches did their job.

Wayne smiled at him in the way that meant he didn’t really want to smile at all, but knew Eddie needed him to.

Steve didn’t come.

Eddie didn’t sleep.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

He woke up with panic in his chest and a silent scream in his throat.

He woke up with Steve’s hand on his face.

Gentle, soft, but a strong comfort.

“Promise I washed them first. They said we have to be careful about germs,” Steve said quietly.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s…it’s gross. It’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not gross. Not ugly. Alive.”

“Steve-“

“You’re alive, Eddie. You could have your entire face held together by staples and you would still be a miracle. You’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, Steve’s charm wasn’t an exaggeration, was it?

He wasn’t even sure if the skin barely pulled together could blush anymore, or if the heat that should be on his cheek was burning on the outside the way it felt like it was on the inside.

“It’s gonna be awful when it heals. I saw it in the mirror.” Eddie could feel every stitch in his jaw, the few that spread across the corner of his mouth and bottom lip, the ones that were nearly up to his ear. “I’ll always have a crooked face. The scar will always be huge. It’s all anyone will see.”

“Then they aren’t looking.”

Eddie bit his lip, eyes searching Steve’s. “But you are.”

“No. I’m seeing. There’s a difference. I see you. I see what you’ve survived. I see the mark it left on you. I know it wasn’t just the scars that cover your skin.” Steve leaned his head down, touching Eddie’s forehead with his own. “We all have them. And we’re all still here. Your heart’s beating. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who knew you were so good with words?” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Robin says I’m just good at not having a filter.”

“She’s right as always.” Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, turning as slowly as he could to kiss his palm. “You’re not scared of it.”

“No. Are you?”

“I’m scared that you’ll change your mind when it’s always there as a reminder of what happened.”

Steve kissed his nose, making him smile for the first time in what felt like years.

“I’ll have the reminder that I got you out of there. That no matter what, the bats couldn’t finish the job. That you were stronger and you made it.” Steve let his hand drop, but quickly laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to trust me, but will you? For today?”

“Just today?”

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“And what? Every day after that?”

Steve smirked.

His eyes were glistening with tears, but Eddie could tell it wasn’t sadness or fear.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

They hadn’t even talked about feelings, not really. Nothing that made any sense to Eddie, nothing that they could define. A part of Eddie was still convinced he was in a coma and dreaming this entire conversation up.

But even the nurse had noticed the way Steve watched him, how he touched him, how he fought for him. She said he’d been a firecracker from the moment he carried him into the hospital, dripping blood on the tile, staining the halls with his demands for help.

Wayne said he barely left his side the first day, only doing so when the doctors had told him they would call the cops if he didn’t.

Erica even noticed how things had changed between them, stating that she refused to watch her babysitter and the only DM she had respect for make out.

But Steve held Eddie, made him feel like he could get out of the hospital bed and live a life that wouldn’t keep him running. Steve was there.

Steve might even love him. If not now, then some day.

And Eddie could trust him today.

He could probably trust him tomorrow.

“Kiss me?” Eddie probably shouldn’t. The stitches tugged when he talked, and another mouth anywhere near his wounds was just asking for an infection.

But Steve would be careful. He knew what Eddie could handle.

It was barely a kiss. A graze of the lips at most.

But it was the best kiss Eddie had ever had.

At least until tomorrow.

[brucewaynehater101]

I come again w/ another Tim Drake au!!

So there's this fanfic "If We Could Only Utter the Words Left Unsaid" by TaintedCure on AO3

And now I wanna share an idea

TW for suicide because of Timothy + death-fueled-time-travel

Basically, whenever somebody kills Tim, they go back in time, and there's no limit to how many times he can die. they go back far enough to prevent his death or not do an attempt on his life

He dies during Titans Tower? Back in time you go Jason!

Cut his line and he broke his neck and died? Damian is now back in time!

Some goon cracked his skull too well? Say hello to the past bucko!

Hell, even accidental murders still register so if you were to accidentally push him off too high a ledge you're getting the Time Travel Treatment

Hey maybe Tim still is aware of his time travel powers, but only when it comes to natural causes (like hypothermia) or suicides, so as a result he thinks he knows it all when he in fact doesn't

So yeah, unless somebody spills, Tim is clueless to the whole truth of his powers

I imagine only old age would do him in at this rate

It'd be like real interesting to see all the POVs, especially if they think they know all the loops

Like there's Tim who's regularly exploited his powers to get perfect results but is trying to convince himself he isn't being too frivolous with his life since he's saving lives or making them better

Then there's the people who did him in and may or may not even be aware that the time travel they experiences was because they killed the Third Robin or got him killed

Then there's the people who've done him in maybe one, twice or multiple times and have clocked into the fact that murdering Tim is an exercise in futility

TW: suicide (powers revolving traveling time by dying), violence/abuse (skip the angst if you don't want the second one), and death.

Now, this is a very interesting concept, and I'm probably gonna get lost in the setup for a bit.

The way that Tim's powers work would have to be defined really well. How far back can he go? In the fic you mentioned, he has a save point, basically. He can die an infinite amount of times, but he'll only return to his save point unless he reaches past the OG time he died. He can play around as much as he wants between the savepoint and his death, but a new savepoint gets set up after he passes his OG death time. It also indicated a decrease in time he went back (or his savepoint was established) so that he'll eventually die for good if he kept using his powers. That solves a lot of continuity issues.

However, the setup for Tim's powers could be like SSS-Class Suicide Hunter. For those who aren't familiar, the MC revives 24 hours in the past. He ends up killing himself thousands of times to end up at least a decade in the past. It's been a while since I've read it, but that's the basics of it.

If we're working off of those rules, anyone who kills Tim is only working with 24 hours in the past. You can add more or less time to fit your AU better.

I have some questions about the setup. You mentioned that the person who kills Tim would get sent back without his knowledge. Therefore, in Tim's mind, has he never been murdered? Or, is it a two for one ride into the past? Does the villain get sent back into the past, but Tim doesn't know the past has been changed? Or does Tim get sent back as well, but he doesn't know the villain is also sent back?

Imma get into the angst in a bit if Tim doesn't get sent back into the past when he gets murdered.

However, the issue with this is fucking with the timestream. If a goon kills Tim, ends up 24 hours in the past, and past Tim kills himself within those 24 hours, what the hell is the timeline? Does the goon still get sent back in time? Does Tim get sent back, and then, when the goon is supposed to, his consciousness gets sent back during that time? Does Tim killing himself wipe out the goon being able to travel back in time?

Continously, I assume if villains found out about the power, they would gun for Red Robin with prejudice because they know they'll get a cheat that way. They get a ticket to the past if they kill the bird. They get a redo.

Alright. Angst time!

~~

Bruce is the first one to find out about Tim's power. He's training with Tim when, as per usual, he takes it a bit too far. The man has a habit of not pulling his punches in a fucked up version of trying to push Tim away from being Robin. This time, when he punches Tim, the kid doesn't get up. It's a wonder he didn't hear the awful crack or notice Tim's neck wasn't quite right. Only not recieving an answer after berating Tim about not getting up causes Bruce to pause. He doesn't hear breathing.

Oh gods. He doesn't hear breathing. Is Tim dead? Did he kill Tim? Did he break his nec-

Bruce snaps to attention mid lecture to Robin. They are both in the cave (not on the training mats not on the mats not on the mats), and it seems the exact same as it was yesterday when he was yelling at Tim about proper batarang maintenance.

Tim, ever the observant Robin, leans forward as if to ask if Batman was okay. Bruce flinches back.

Tim's eyes widen in shock as he takes a step back. In the year or so he's worked with Bruce, he's never gotten that response to initating touch. Tim's eyes flicker down to his hand in recrimination and puzzlement.

Bruce takes a shaky breath in before dismissing Tim for the night. The child is hesitant to flee but follows the request.

Bruce doesn't know what happened and he's not sure he wants to find out.

This cues Bruce being kinder to Tim and less harsh. The detective figures out that Tim has a time traveling power upon death, but it appears as if Tim isn't aware of it (he doesn't know that Tim constantly kills himself for better results in field). Tim never finds out that Bruce's change in behavior to him was born of guilt. He never learns that his dad killed him.

~~

Next angst!

Two concepts with Jason.

One, Jason creates a fucked up timeloop with Titan's Tower where he kills Tim over and over again in fucked up ways until he satiates his desire for bloodlust. If Tim is still aware of the Tower incident, that's because Jason wanted him to be. Whether Jason becomes guilty about this timeloop he created or not could also be explored. There is a fic out there kind of similar to this concept (timeloop Titan's Tower, not the added element of Tim's powers).

Two, Bruce does end up killing Jason in the showdown with the Joker. He batarang slices Jason's neck, the building blows up, and Jason never emerges. There's a few ways to add on top of this angst. If Titan's Tower happened before this (and Tim was left beaten), that means Tim chose to kill himself to save Jason. Jason will never know. That, or Titan's Tower happens afterwards and Jason tortures Tim not knowing the teen saved him from a second death at the hands of his father (ironically Tim also doesn't know that he's been killed by Bruce).

~~

Last Angst!

Damian finds out about Tim's power and abuses it constantly. He's a kid that was raised to be an assassin and found someone he can kill that also gives him the benefit of getting away with anything. As long as the kill goes through, he's golden.

Eventually, Damian starts to slow down on this. He doesn't really want to see Drake choking on blood again.

He one day finds that he hasn't tried to kill Drake in months and he doesn't really want to try to.

Then he finds that list.

Then he cuts Drake's line.

Then he has to relive those 24 hours again knowing he killed someone he was starting to trust.

Bonus angst if Tim finds out, jokingly asks his family members how many times they have killed them, and finds out Dick is the only one who hasn't (Tim killed himself after the 16th birthday incident and he somewhat blames Alfred for that, though he'll never tell him).

[strniohoeee]

Labyrinth

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female reader

Synopsis: A numb and addicted y/n can’t seem to understand why her life suddenly feels different. She’s done nothing but move around in her adult years, so why is it now that she feels she can’t pack up and leave anytime soon?

Warnings⚠️: I haven’t written in over a month, so I’m super rusty this might be shitty! Cigarette smoking and mentions, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol. I don’t condone smoking or drinking (underage).🖤

Song for imagine: Cigarettes and Coffee- Otis Redding

Its early in the morning

About a quarter ‘til three

I’m sittin here talking with my baby

Over cigarettes and coffee

I was never one to deal with stress easily which led me to deal with it in the worst ways possible. Drinking, smoking, quitting jobs on the spot and even packing up and leaving places…..I know stupid and risky, but I never had that anchor in my life to tell me everything was going to be okay.

If I felt stressed and useless my things were packed and I was on the road to a new state. I think I was on state number 7 in about a year and a half. Who the fuck in their right mind handles stress this way? That was the million dollar question, and I had the answer…. I wasn’t in my right mind…not in the past, not in the present and undoubtedly not in the future.

After my last breakdown I landed in California precisely in Los Angeles, the city of angels. Where all your dreams and aspirations could come true. It just felt like lost paradise to me, but it’s the longest state I’ve ever stood in. For some reason I couldn’t find the power in me to leave when I got stressed. It was as if I had some unforeseen future here….a future of happiness and hope?

But the stress still gnawed at me. Will I ever have a career, will I ever be truly happy, will my parents be proud of me?How am I going to pay for next month's rent?How am I going to pay for next week's groceries?

It was a constant battle and I never severely suffered because I always found a way, but once all that was taken care of the immediate panic started again about how will I be able to do it all in the following weeks.

I started smoking constantly and it was weird because I wasn’t a smoker but I knew I should drink a little less. I only lit a cigarette when the stress was so bad I refused to drink anymore. Not like smoking was any better ruining my lungs rather than my liver….

But the problem was it went from one to two a day to five and on really bad days even up to eight. It was a bad crutch I simply couldn’t pull away from. They were my training wheels and I was so scared that once I let go I’d crash and burn.

I had an addiction and I had no one around me to slap me out of it. Of course I still spoke to my parents, but I just lied about it. I mean there’s truly no one to blame but myself, however all that regret left my mind once a lighter was in my hand and I took a long drag while the cool night breeze brushed against my skin.

I was lucky enough to have found a job almost instantly. It was a cute little coffee shop that had a small selection of books. It was a peaceful and slow paced job. We only really needed two to three people working. So I’d open at 8am and waited for the next girl to clock in at about 11am.

It was a fun job that paid the bills and my horrendous cigarette addiction. I had found a decent studio apartment nearby. But I was always convinced that this would be snatched from under my feet and I should never get comfortable. As you can expect this led to my extreme stress and anxiety.

I didn’t necessarily have friends here, I mean yes I was cool with my coworkers and boss; but we weren’t friends. It was more of a hi, bye situation. It didn’t bother me much. I was always a loner. I never really found people who got me, so I stayed with the only person who did…me.

On my days off I spent a lot of time walking around flea markets, heading into other cafes and even writing. I’d always hoped that one day I’d be a writer. My mind was always running and I figured someone out there might actually relate to and enjoy the words I’d write on a piece of paper.

Today I was actually working a small shift from 8am to 1pm. I was staring blankly at my reflection in the bathroom. Scruffing my hands and gargling mouthwash. It was 11am and I was coming back from my break.

Spitting the mouthwash into the sink I closed the cap and stuffed the travel size bottle into my purse. Inhaling deeply I looked at myself once again.

“You have got to stop smoking” I replied in a mumble

Slipping my hand blindly into my purse I pulled out my perfume; spritzing myself before shutting the light and heading into the break room to place my purse back.

Slipping my apron on my coworker walked in, clocking in the back as she offered me a smile

“Good morning Y/N” she said as she walked towards me to place her things down

“Good morning K” I stated as I offered a smile back and began to make my way to clock back in

I wasn’t sure why her name was K, it was all over her employee paperwork. She was here before me, so I felt I had no right to ask her for her real name. But it was interesting for someone to just drop the rest of their name and solely go by a singular letter.

After punching back in I walked to the front, not a surprise it was dead. The only people lingering around were the 8am-9am crew. Sighing deeply I decided to clean up a bit.

It was about 12pm now and I was watching the clock anxiously waiting to clock out and run free. Usually I worked 8-4 and sometimes even 8-6. I had a whole day ahead of me and two days off might I add. I felt pretty invincible

Drinking from my water cup the door chimed signaling a customer. Placing the cup down I began to turn around.

“Hi welcome to Mugs” I stated as I turned around

Immediately I was intrigued. I have never seen someone as interesting before. I mean it is LA, so I have seen some interesting stuff; but no he looked different…. And for some reason I couldn’t really look away

Placing his vision glasses on top of his head he squinted his eyes to read the menu. My eyebrow raising.

“You know glasses are meant for you to see things” I said logging into the register as I looked up at him

“I’m sorry?” He said looking at me

“You um…. You put your glasses on your head and then squinted to read” I said pointing above me at the board

“Oh… well these are just blue light glasses. I genuinely can’t really see” he said in an awkward way

“Ohhh well uhh want me to read the menu to you?” I asked laughing a bit

“Oh no it’s fine, I’m not really a coffee drinker” he stated looking at our pastry display

“You do realize you’re in a Coffee shop?” I said jokingly

His both opened a bit and then he squinted his eyes

“I am now seeing how ridiculous I look” he said chuckling and shaking his head

“No judgment here” I said sticking my hands up in defense

“I won’t waste your time any more! Can I have a chocolate chip cookie and that bottle of Pepsi” he said pointing behind me at the small fridge

“One Pepsi and one cookie, coming right up” I said checking him out on the screen

Grabbing the cookie and bottle of soda I placed it on the counter and slid it towards him.

“You can tap or insert your card whenever you’re ready” I stated clicking some buttons on my screen

“I’m uhh actually paying cash” he said fishing in his wallet

“Woahhh cash in this century?” I said giggling and fixing the system

“Yeahh I carry a little bit of cash and little bit of card” he said shrugging his shoulders

“A little bit of card….hmm…that’s funny” I said giggling a bit at him

“Well you know what I mean” he says playfully rolling his eyes

“I’m just messing with you” I said shaking my head

Smiling he handed the cash over and grabbed his items

“Keep the change” he said waving with his hand and nodding his head

Walking out the door I couldn’t seem to understand why I had a stupid smile on my face. Putting the cash in the till and placing the change in our tip jar.

Turning around I was met with my two coworkers staring at me with a smirk on their face. I’d never been the spotlight of attention and I’ve never gotten anything other than a good morning from either of them. So my face dropped and I got self conscious

“What?” I said a bit scared as I straightened my posture

“He was totally into you” K stated as she placed the rack of cookies down

“Was not! We were just making friendly conversations” I said opening the pastry shelf and putting some cookies in

“No no I agree with K we’ve had a lot of guys come in here, but this is the first time I’ve seen a guy like utter more than two words to you and he was totally geeking out” Delilah stated

“Totally! That kid was blushing like crazyyy” K stated as she grabbed the now empty tray and began to walk back towards the kitchen

“Guys come on! It was just friendly banter” I said shutting the pastry door

“Delilah knows her shit too, that’s how Danny and I got together” K stated from the kitchen

“Shut up! No way” I said rolling my eyes

“Sure did! As soon as we had an interaction K told me he’d be back for my number, and that was three years ago” K replied

“You just got lucky this was nothing but mere coincidence” I replied back to them

“You’ll see girl” Delilah stated as she began to make herself a coffee

Playfully rolling my eyes I checked the clock, I had about 10 minutes till my shift was over. I decided to make myself a drink.

As I made my iced latte I began to wonder. I didn’t really have many interactions with guys, but I think I’d know if someone was flirting with me.

It just felt like a friendly banter with an awkwardly shy….nerdy guy. Laughing to myself I finished making my drink.

“Alright girls I’m going to clock out now” I stated as I walked to the back

Punching out and grabbing my things I slid my apron off and grabbed my drink. Heading towards the front of the cafe

I waved bye to the girls as I took a sip.

“Have a good day girls” I said as I walked out

I had the whole day ahead of me and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do. My job was near a pier where I could always sit down and watch people.

Before heading to the pier I decided to stop for some food. Heading into a small restaurant I sat down. Taking my book out of my purse I began to write. I hadn’t written in two weeks and it felt wrong.

Ghosting my hand over the paper, my mind just kept going blank. I couldn’t form a proper sentence and my mind began to race again. Thinking back on that boy I began to think about my love life.

Honestly I didn’t really have one, I was more of a hopeless romantic. Often watching rom coms and rolling my eyes at how unrealistic that love was. I’m sure it was tangible, but I was just a sour puss.

I longed for a relationship like that to always know you’ll have someone there for you loving you unconditionally. To be with someone through sickness and in health. I was only 22, but it seemed to me that everyone around me already had that amazing soulmate. I was very clearly late to the game and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find someone to love. I wasn’t even sure I was lovable myself.

Then again I never put myself out there, but times have changed. It's not that easy. Guys have become so shitty and all they care about it sex. But it’s like what about getting to know the person deep down.

Not once has a guy ever asked me my dreams and aspirations, where do I see myself in five years? What are my biggest goals in life? What’s my biggest fear….. I lost all hope for love by the time I was 18.

Reading romantic stories and watching these shows and movies definitely added salt to the wound.

I hadn’t realized how much I was writing till my hand began to cramp. Looking up I realized it was no longer daytime.

“Shit” I muttered under my breath

Slamming my book shut I paid my bill and began to gather my things. Walking out of the restaurant I stepped out onto the golden street. It was about 5:45 and I really couldn’t understand how that much time had passed.

I think that’s why I enjoy writing the most, I’m so far gone in my own world it’s like I’m frozen and the world around me continues to move.

Walking towards the pier it was surprisingly empty at this time. Breathing in the salty air I sat down on a bench. Watching the ocean I let the breeze blow through my hair.

Digging in my purse I pulled out my pack of American Spirits. Sighing deeply I pulled a cigarette out. As soon as I grabbed my lighter all the regret washed away from me.

Placing the white object in between my lips I flicked the lighter a few times before a glowing flame appeared before me. Guarding the flame from the wind I brought it closer.

Inhaling as I lit the cigarette all my worries washed away. This was only my second cigarette of the day and I somehow felt accomplished.

Kicking the gravel underneath me I took a long drag, exhaling I got up. Walking over to the edge of the pier I decided to sit down allowing my legs to hang off the edge.

I wasn’t 100% sure I could do this, but it’s worth a shot I thought to myself. Leaning my chin in the railing I took another drag as I stared into the sunset.

Life was so beautiful and I wasn’t sure why I was so sad and numb all the time. I took a lot for granted and I hated it.

I really needed to stop smoking.

“You know those things will kill you” I heard from behind me

My brows began to furrow as I took a drag

“I’m sorry?” I said annoyed as I looked behind me, blowing the smoke out through my nose as my face dropped

“You shouldn’t smoke” he said again with a cheeky smile on his face

Meeting eyes with the same guy from the cafe made my heart skip a beat and my throat go dry.

“Squinting your eyes is also bad for you” I said putting the cigarette out

“Won’t kill me though” he said shrugging his shoulders

“You never know” I said shrugging my shoulders and standing up

His eyes followed me as I got up and it was only then did I feel super self conscious about this whole situation. My embarrassment turned a bit into anger.

“Anyways you drink Pepsi, so that for sure will kill you” I said as I dusted my pants off

“Guess we’ll both be dead then” he replied

“Wow you’re super blunt” I said scoffing

“Sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to come off rude. I was just playfully teasing” he said looking nervous

Looking at him for a split second and I sniffed and then rolled my eyes

“It’s fine. It’s a bad habit anyways” I replied shrugging my shoulders

“We all have bad habits we’re not proud of” he said in a whisper

“Are you uhh following me?” I asked him cocking an eyebrow

“What? No oh my god no! I was just walking and I thought you looked super familiar” he replied putting his hands out in defense

“I’m just teasing you” I said giggling

“I’m Matt” he replied placing his hand out for me to shake

“I’m Y/N” I stated as I shook his hand

“It’s nice to formally meet you” he said awkwardly

“Yeah” I replied awkwardly

“I’ll uh… ill let you go on about your business. Maybe I’ll see you around” He said

“Well you know where to find me” I said smiling at him

Opening my bag I was digging around for my phone before successfully pulling it out.

“Right, we’ll have a good evening” he said and waved shyly

“I’ll see you round Matt” I replied

Going our separate ways I looked down at my phone, 6:55pm…. Sighing, I walked back to my car close to the cafe and drove home.

Shuffling up the stairs I pushed my apartment door open after unlocking it. Making note that I must call the maintenance guy because that door needs some WD40 badly.

Locking the door I turned my lights on. Today just felt strange like I couldn’t put my finger in exactly what the fuck was going on.

Walking over to my patio I opened the sliding door and stepped out. Taking in the evening breeze my mind just went blank.

Stepping back inside I grabbed my purse, grabbing my lighter I shuffled my hand around my purse to feel for my pack of cigarettes. But my brows furrowed when I didn’t feel the square container.

Walking over towards the light I opened my bag more and looked inside. An annoyed feeling washed over me as I couldn’t find the box. I mean honestly good because I did not need anymore.

Still searching as if the box was going to magically appear. I groaned soon realizing I must’ve left them on the bench and they are for a fact long gone by now.

Throwing my lighter back into my purse I groaned and sat on my couch. The one time I desperately need a cigarette I fucking left it on the pier.

I cut that night short with a 80s movie marathon and left over pizza as a midnight snack.

remembering that tomorrow I had to stop into the cafe to pick up my paycheck. We’re living in a very digital world right now and my job still does paper checks….

Groaning at that I decided to call it a night….

The End

Okayyy IVE BEEN GONE FOR SOOO FUCKING LONG. And I’m sooo sorry it’s just life has been so crazy since March! However this was the end of part 1….stay tuned for more🥺🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[f0point5]

What if I told you I’m back?

This was a request but tumblr ate, you’ll all just have to believe me. Someone asked for a Max POV during the best friend era. So, I decided to go with this one ✨set 16th April 2018✨ the day after the Chinese GP, because I feel like we don’t talk enough about the early friendship.

I hope this finds its way to whoever sent in the ask and that you enjoy it 🫶

Max almost turns around three times on the way to your building.

The first time, it’s when he realises it’s late, gone ten p.m. on a Monday, you might be asleep. He should go home and come by tomorrow. But you’re a night owl, you won’t be asleep.

The second time, he thinks you won’t be asleep, but you won’t be expecting company. He hasn’t even texted, and he should have, but he left his phone in his jacket which he gave to his concierge to send upstairs with his bags. He should intrude. But he’s not exactly company, he’s seen you in your pyjamas, it’s not like he’s suggesting you go out.

The third time, it’s the absurdity of the situation that gives him pause. He hadn’t even set foot in his building before setting off to yours. After three and a half weeks away one more night shouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe you’ll think he’s a bit strange. But equally, it shouldn’t be a big deal to just see you for a minute, right? If only just to give you your present.

He’s surprised by much he found himself missing you. It’s not like he hasn’t been sued to being away from his friends and family his whole life, it’s not even like you didn’t talk while he was away. You talked a lot. But, he rationalises, he’d got used to having you around during winter break, you’d hardly been apart. You’d even come home to his mum’s with him just before Christmas. Your presence, your perfume, your way never letting him finish a sentence, it was all normal to him now. It wasn’t that he needed it, just that he had had to learn how to be without it, and that had been harder than anticipated. The last time he’d done that he was eight.

It only occurs to him now, as your building comes into view, that you might not feel the same way. You’d said you’d missed him countless times in the last three and a half weeks, but that didn’t signify. After all, he’d said it maybe twice and he here he was, asleep on his feet but at your door because he didn’t want to go home without seeing you.

He should just go home.

“Max?” No turning back now. He turns around to see you, dressed in a pretty blouse and a short skirt, teetering towards him on stiletto heels. “Maxy, Maxy, Maxy,”

You collide with him before he has a chance to laugh at the way you were squealing like a child. He hugs you back, holding you up when you lift your feet off the floor for a second. He’s half expecting you to smell like a distillery, unable and unwilling to comprehend that your reaction is all your own. But all he smells is your perfume, and it feels like Christmas all over again.

“Hey,” he says, lowering you to the ground and finally getting a good look at you. Your hair’s a little shorter, your face is- no, you couldn’t have gotten prettier. You’re a bit more tanned.

“I thought you were still in China,” you say, squeezing his shoulders. “You look so hungry, have you lost weight?”

“I just got back,” he says with a shrug. You’re almost his height in your heels, he notices for no discernible reason.

You take in his no doubt plane-rumpled appearance. “Did you come straight here?”

“Uh,” he clears his throat. He’s not going to admit that when you’re giving him a warranted look of confusion, but he doesn’t want to lie either. “I brought you a present.” He holds up the package, wrapped poorly on the flight home. Even the flight attendant had given him a sympathetic look as she watched him struggle.

“Aw, thanks,” you say, pressing your key fob against the censor and pulling open the door before Max can get to it. “Come up,”

“Are you sure?”

You give him an incredulous look, lit up by the golden glow of your lobby lights. “Of course,”

You tell him about the dinner you were just getting back from when he arrived, all the way up to your flat. Some people would find it odd or even rude that Max has been a continent away, racing the fastest cars on the planet in front of millions of people, and yet you’re perfectly at ease taking time to talk about your overly creamy pasta. Max likes it, relishes it, even. You’ve never seen him or his job as anything special. He went to work, you went to dinner. It’s normal. Just friends catching up.

You let him into your flat, heading straight for the kitchen, and Max takes the same seat at the breakfast island that he always does. He idly wonders if anyone else has sat in it since he’s been away.

“But then it’s not exactly Naples, you what can you expect. Sometimes I think the French sabotage Italian food on purpose,” you say, filling a wine glass with water from your fridge dispenser. “Great race, by the way. Glad my voodoo worked,”

Max scoffs. “So, you didn’t watch it,” he shakes his head as if that will help the memories fade quicker.

“I did. Got up at the crack of dawn and everything. And I cursed your car not to win,“ you say with a mischievous grin, pulling out a can of red bull from the fridge.

Max frowns. “What the fuck?”

“You can’t win when I’m not there to see it,” you declare, handing him the Red Bull. He reaches to take it, but you don’t let go until he looks at you. “I’d have been devastated,”

For the first time in his life, Max is actually half glad he didn’t win a race.

He chuckles, opening the can with one hand while sliding the gift along the counter towards you with the other.

“Well, I want to win,” he says, as you start picking at the copious amount of sellotape. “So you’ll just have to come to all the races,”

He’s surprised how much he means that.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Maxy. Oh my God, you can’t wrap for shit,” you say, finally managing to pull apart first Max’s wrapping, and then the box containing the, “Chopsticks?”

“Very fancy chopsticks,” Max explains. He points to the set of dark wood chopsticks you’re holding, gesturing to the intricate gold figures entwined on the top. “See, one set has dragons and one set has a phoenix? They’re famous in Chinese mythology. The guy said to give It to someone you like, they’re supposed to bring luck. Or something. I didn’t really understand his English,”

You stare at them for a while, a sort of bewildered smile on your face, and Max almost slaps himself. He should have just bought you a handbag. They had a Chanel in China. Why didn’t he just listen to his dad? This sentimental shit is weird and embarrassing and he should have just gone home.

“So,” you say, using the chopsticks to point at Max accusingly as you smirk at him. “You like me now? Who would have thought? After all those years of telling everyone how annoying I was, you like enough to want me to have good luck,”

“You-“ Max fights the urge to argue.

That smug look on your face still triggers him something awful. But behind it is someone who has become important to him. It’s not just that you know things about him that even he’s forgotten, it’s that he doesn’t want there ever be anything you don’t know about him. You him laugh, and he never wants to see you cry, and he’s used to being reviled and admired, and even liked, but you’re the only person who’s ever made him feel this understood.

“You’re my best friend,”

Once, he might have been embarrassed that you don’t say it back, but just like you know him, he knows you now, too. You grin at him, sipping your water as you look at him over the rim of your glass.

“Well, despite the fact that this whole chopstick story sounds like the beginning of an Indiana Jones movie, they’re beautiful, and I love them, and I promise I will only ever use them to eat Chinese food with you,” you say, putting the chopsticks back in their box. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

Max doesn’t say anything, fiddling with the can again, and you sigh.

“When are you leaving again?”

“Um,” he hesitates, like if he doesn’t say it then it won’t happen. He gives up and gives you an apologetic smile. “Thursday. Going to the UK for some work and then straight to Baku,”

“Oh,” your face, falls, and you toy with the stem of your glass, only for a few seconds, before you shrug. “Well, we should have dinner before you go, and then-“

“Do you-“ He cuts himself off, because he knows he should think about this more, but then you’re looking at him and he’s done thinking. “Do you want to come?”

“To the UK?”

“Yeah,” Max mumbles, looking down at his Red Bull as his fingers fiddle with the tab. “And to Baku,” he glances up to see your reaction, “and, I mean, anywhere,” he adds a shrug, because, obviously, the invitation is totally casual.

You shrug back. “Okay,”

He can hear his dad already, complaining about how you’re a distraction, you bring cameras and drama, how Max gives you too much of his attention on race weekends. But there’s worse things than Jos’s moaning, like not seeing you for another two weeks.

He barely has time to think about that before a Chinese takeout menu slides into his vision. He looks up at you, confused. “Didn’t you eat?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like you have in about a week. You are starting to get Cillian Murphy cheekbones,” you grimace. Max has no idea who that is but based on your face he doesn’t want to look like him. “And besides, I want to test out these magic chopsticks,”

[lazerswordweilder]

I wanna see Danny absolutely insane. Not like. We got too silly insane. Like, pushed past his breaking point, desperately trying to hold on, for the fifth time this week, and it’s Monday.

I wanna see him smile when Dash shoves him into his locker, because he’s not sure what to do. On one hand he’s so done with this, and he knows he could end Dash in a fraction of a second. On the other hand, it was almost reassuring, nostalgic, he remembers when this used to hurt.

I wanna see ghosts and humans alike, go to hurt or bother Danny Fenton Phantom. And have them stop when he turns around, because the look in his eyes is not something they understand nor want to mess with. Lancer saw a weight he thought only characters in books could possibly have to carry, Paulina saw tears and when has anyone ever seen him cry, Vlad saw exhaustion that cuts into your very core but you have to keep going because that’s what’s expected of you, Ember saw grief and pain over something that never happened but could’ve been, Dash saw pain a hundred times worse than anything he’s ever felt, Jazz saw protectiveness of a kingdom who hates him, Wes swears he looked insane.

And Danny? Danny is done with their shit. And he doesn’t swear. He’s so tired of everything, he’s so close to giving up, he is very much not feeling phantastic right now. He’s got more scar tissue than skin, he’s pretty sure everything he owns has at least a little of his blood on it by now, he’s forgotten what feeling okay is like, and he can’t even begin to describe everything else, and he means everything. He’s got half the mind to track down who ever said death was peaceful and make them deal with his life. But he’s a hero. Right?

He knows he’s got duties, the Realms needs a king, Amity needs a protector (both the humans and the ghosts), Danny Fenton needs to go to school. Oh and he’s pretty sure Frostbite is having a panic attack after looking at him which is ridiculous. But still, the stars seem real inviting right now, he wonders if Clockwork would turn back time for him and just let him sleep on the moon for 200 or so years. Probably not. (Clockwork absolutely would’ve). He might just do it anyways. It’s kind of ridiculous how much somethings just look like comfy beds to sleep in for a trillion years to him now, he fell asleep in a snow bank earlier which wasn’t nearly cold enough. But it’s kind of fair Danny supposes, he can’t remember the last time his home really felt like home, and Amity in general is his haunt, but eh, whatever.

Still though, having your enemy worried for you is really something. Like Vlad should comment, Vlad’s the source of a small fraction of his problems! Which is a lot! First of all having to worry about another source of constant attacks, having to try and convince his parents that Vlad is so clearly evil, having to check up on Dani and also make sure Vlad isn’t trying anything like that again, and not to mention the whole mayor of the town he lives in thing.

Okay this kind of got off track. But my point is, I want it to be too much, instead of somehow managing to survive it all and getting help, Danny gets pushed off the edge (and can’t get out) and he just goes crazy, he breaks down right in the middle of school over a minor inconvenience, laughing then sobbing then screaming then wailing for ancients knows how long. Then he flies off somewhere and continues to breakdown for a while, then he returns to his life like nothing happens, but it did.

That was it.

He can’t be pulled back now. You had your chance. You all had so many chances. And now he’s lost it for good. And you all deserve it.

He’s not going to apologise for punching Dash through a wall, he’s not going to apologise for whatever he did in that little blacked out period of time, he’s not going to apologise for taking a nap in the observatory and hissing and attacking all the tourists and everyone else, he’s not going to apologise for dissecting his parents, he’s not going to apologise for making Vlad regret it, he’s not going to apologise for making the ghost writer eat a book, he’s not going to apologise at all.

You let him get like this. He doesn’t want to shift the blame. But what was he supposed to do? No. Oh no. Don’t try to explain. This is all your fault. And he’s tired of pretending he’s fine. And he’s tired of helping. Because you lost that a while back.

You all don’t even know how dead you are to him, he had a little regret when it came to Sam and Tucker and Jazz, and that’s why they’re alive right now. Because they did all they could, well, not all they could, but that was because he asked them not to tell. Maybe he shouldn’t off.

-

All hail the high king Danny Fenton Phantom. The king who never stopped crying.

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[dredshirtroberts]

yeah guys idk I'm just thinking maybe the lightheadedness and desire to sit down about halfway through putting away groceries my whole life might not have just been a reaction to the way my parents were when i was a kid and the accompanying anxiety and sudden flurry of movement, but also possibly maybe i have a Health Thing about this...

[ghostzzy]

googles ‘how to stop feeling guilty all the time about everything’

[heartyearning]

context for today’s rant is that i got the feedback on my jury’s written feedback in the ‘general’ section (meaning it comes from more than one person) that i’m disrespectful towards my teachers and fellow students (i got it phrased in 2 different ways for flavour) & when i asked around today who said this so i could see how i could change my behaviour (btw none of my fellow students think this which i know bc i asked and everyone was shocked that i got this feedback) all of them were ‘i dont think this but it was discussed that’ which is funny bc it means the school’s computer system has a ghost or no one wants to fucking apologise to me for a very personal and hurtful comment that they can’t back up, but anyway, i was asking for clarification & my most diplomatic teacher (who i dont for a second believe to have written this feedback bc she’d have said so to my face no doubt) was like “well some teachers are worried about you and [best friend]’s clique & think it might turn into an Intellectuals Vs Others thing” (i don’t need to tell you this is so fucking out there i nearly fell from my seat like i have never said this in my life and when this very teacher saying this made a comment about one of my less-well read fellow students i was one of the ones who ‘‘rallied’‘ or whatever in her favour) and anyway then she continued “some ppl feel like u make condescending comments & you just need to remember not everyone has had your trajectory in life” WHICH IS FUNNY because she says this bc my bestie’s got a whole philosophy degree but i’m a highschool dropout with a lower than average iq in certain subjects. which obviously isnt even close to being the point and i do know that but i’m clearly feeling very upset and mad about this whole situation.

[witchfable]

i remember a fic going 'caleb teaching essek that being good means constantly feeling guilty is not the way' and yeah

[vamptastic]

danganronpa is whispering its siren song to me but alas nobody shares my big brain million iq opinions (drv3 hater) (korekiyo defender) (ishimaru understander) (celeste and hifumi apologist) (kaito hater) (protagonist love triangle poly advocate) (post sdr2 anime enjoyer) (fucking hates the writing bar the first half of sdr1 and ending of sdr2) (never even finished v3 because it was so dogshit terrible and also i genuinely can barely get through the minigames) (problematic psychological horror fan)

[soy-sauce-and-mothra]

Hey! Are there blacksmiths in your story? I'm a hobbyist blacksmith and I'm here to help!

Blacksmithing is one of those things that a lot of people get wrong because they don't realize it stuck around past the advent of the assembly line. Here's a list of some common misconceptions I see and what to do instead!

Not all blacksmiths are gigantic terrifying muscly guys with beards and deep voices. I am 5'8, skinny as a twig, have the muscle mass of wet bread, and exist on Tumblr. Anybody who is strong enough to pick up a hammer and understands fire safety can be a blacksmith.

You can make more than just swords with blacksmithing. Though swords are undeniably practical, they're not the only things that can be made. I've made candle holders, wall hooks, kebab skewers, fire pokers, and more. Look up things other people have made, it's really amazing what can be done.

"Red-hot" is actually not that hot by blacksmith terms. when heated up, the metal goes from black, to red, to orange, to yellow, to white. (for temperature reference, I got a second degree burn from picking up a piece of metal on black heat) The ideal color to work with the metal is yellow. White is not ideal at all, because the metal starts sparking and gets all weird and lumpy when it cools. (At no point in this process does the metal get even close to melting. It gets soft enough to work with, but I have never once seen metal become a liquid.)

Blacksmithing takes fucking forever. Not even taking into account starting the forge, selecting and preparing metal, etc. etc. it takes me around an hour to make one (1) fancy skewer. The metals blacksmiths work with heat up and cool down incredibly fast. When the forge is going good, it only takes like 20 seconds to get your metal hot enough to work with, but it takes about the same time for it to cool down, sometimes even less.

As long as you are careful, it is actually stupidly easy to not get hurt while blacksmithing. When I picked up this hobby I was like "okay, cool! I'm gonna make stuff, and I'm gonna end up in the hospital at some point!" Thus far, the latter has yet to occur. I've been doing this for nearly a year. I have earned myself a new scar from the aforementioned second degree burn, and one singe mark on my jeans. I don't even wear gloves half the time. Literally just eye protection, common sense, and fast reflexes and you'll probably be fine. (Accidents still happen of course, but I have found adequate safety weirdly easy to achieve with this hobby)

A forge is not a fire. The forge is the thing blacksmiths put their metal in to heat it up. It starts as a small fire, usually with newspaper or something else that's relatively small and burns easily, which we then put in the forge itself, which is sort of a fireplace-esque thing (there's a lot of different types of forge, look into it and try to figure out what sort of forge would make the most sense for the context you're writing about) and we cover it with coal, which then catches fire and heats up. The forge gets really hot, and sometimes really bright. Sometimes when I stare at the forge for too long it's like staring into the sun. The forge is also not a waterfall of lava, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Welding and blacksmithing are not the same thing. They often go hand-in-hand, but you cannot connected two pieces of metal with traditional blacksmithing alone. There is something called forge welding, where you heat your metal, sprinkle borax (or the in-universe equivalent) on it to prevent the metal from oxidizing/being non-weldable, and hammer the pieces together very quickly. Forge welding also sends sparks flying everywhere, and if you're working in a small space with other blacksmiths, you usually want to announce that you're welding before you do, so that everyone in a five-foot radius can get out of that five-foot radius. You also cannot just stuck some random pebbles into the forge and get a decent piece of metal that you can actually make something with, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Anvils are really fucking heavy. Nothing else to add here.

Making jewelry is not a blacksmithing thing unless you want jewelry made of steel. And it will be very ugly if you try. Blacksmithing wasn't invented to make small things.

If there's anything here I didn't mention, just ask and I'll do my best to answer.

[myriadsystem]

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[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Moving! Moving in two months! Working on moving when I was literally doing this shit exactly a year ago! *SCREAM*