so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.
first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.
it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.
and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.
you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.
and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.
your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.
in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.
in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.
so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.
you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.
once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.
and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"
you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?
hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!
you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.
we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?
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A part of you was unsure how your Orc Boyfriend would react. As you pruned the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you were starting to regret your idea. It was only a few paces from the camp now, surely you could just turn back around and throw it away, right?
Flowers were something that women received typically. Maybe he would think you were insinuating something about him, or that maybe he was weaker than you thought he was-
“Love! You’re back!”
Too late for take backs now. Hiding the bouquet behind your back, you watched as your Orc Boyfriend dropped a wood chopping axe and rushed over to you. “How was your walk? Did you get what you needed?”
You weren’t sure why you thought you could hide the flowers from him. He was at least two or three feet taller than you.
He peered over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “What’re those for? You’ve never brought flowers back before.”
Well, now or never, you thought. Meekly, you pulled them out from behind your back and held them out to him.
Your Orc stared at you for a minute, looking you up and down in confusion. “I… Um…” Where did you even begin with this? You must look insane.
Sighing, you lowered the bouquet and looked down at the different blooms. “When humans really like each other, sometimes they give flowers. So, I picked some flowers for you.”
There was silence for a moment and you felt your face burning. You knew it, this was a stupid idea.
“You picked these… for me?” His green hand came into view, wrapping around your interlocked fingers.
You nodded, still not looking at him.
Before you could stop him, he had snatched up the bouquet and held it high above his head. He bellowed to his others in the camp: “Look here! My lovely lady brought me flowers! What have you suckers got?!”
Orcs from their various work stations looked up, growled, snarled and swatted their hands at your Orc, “get stuffed you lug!”
Your jaw hung open at your Orc's audacity, before he looked back down at you and gave you the widest grin. “I didn’t know humans did such a thing,” he admired the flowers in his hand, seemingly as big as daisies in his huge hand. “You picked these yourself?”
“Wait, you like them?”
“Why wouldn’t I like them love?” Your Orc kissed you on the forehead. “You went out of your way to get them for me.”
“It’s just… I thought… Human men don’t normally get flowers, so I thought that…”
Your Orc let out a bark of laughter, “but I’m not human, am I love?” He pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tightly. His arms were the most reassuring and calming thing at that moment.
Hugging him back, you realised that there had been nothing to be afraid of. How could you have assumed that he would have been insulted by your gift?
“Anything from you is something to be treasured.” He mumbled to you, giving you another kiss on your lips.
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grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso
wc: 1.0k
summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems.
contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.
a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!
You have a regular on the weekends.
Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season.
But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—
The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer.
You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head.
There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—
—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything.
The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you.
You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers.
“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose.
It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you.
The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath.
He continues to stare, unmoving.
Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward.
A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first.
“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store.
The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils.
His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?”
It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking.
“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.”
He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion.
“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper.
Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best.
“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.”
You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch.
Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves.
You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.”
He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be.
“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.”
You most certainly were not expecting that, either.
This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.
You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.”
It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little.
When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again.
“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye.
“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.”
Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet.
“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils.
“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.”
And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—
“What’s the occasion?”—
Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season.
—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly.
The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.
“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.”
The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out.
He furrows his brows, confused.
You definitely, most certainly did not expect this.
“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.”
thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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DP x DC Prompt
…
There are no more heroes.
Well, okay. Rewind a bit.
Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)
The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.
And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.
Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?
Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.
So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.
There are no more heroes.
Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.
Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.
Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)
In other words:
Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.
Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.
(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)
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