#Tomato Soup protest

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Armageddon to wet lettuce: The phrases that defined 2022

Agence France-Presse, 5 December 2022

PARIS — A year of extraordinary upheaval, from the war in Ukraine to catastrophic natural disasters, AFP looks at some of the words and phrases that have defined 2022.

ARMAGEDDON 

With the war in Ukraine and increasingly strident threats from Russian President Vladimir Putin, the specter of nuclear warfare is stalking the globe for the first time in decades.

"We have not faced the prospect of Armageddon since Kennedy and the Cuban missile crisis" in 1962, US President Joe Biden warned in October.

Experts warned of the most dangerous situation they can remember, with fears not limited to Russia: North Korean nuclear saber-rattling has reached new heights, with the world bracing for a first nuclear test since 2017.

LONDON BRIDGE 

At 6:30 p.m. on September 8, Buckingham Palace announced that Queen Elizabeth II had died, bringing to an end the longest reign in British history and sending shock waves around the world.

For 10 days, Britons paid respects to the only monarch most had known, following a carefully choreographed series of ceremonies.

The program of events, famously codenamed "London Bridge", set out in minute detail every aspect of the protocol -- down to BBC presenters wearing black ties.

In the event, she died in Scotland, meaning special provisions came into force -- Operation Unicorn.

LOSS AND DAMAGE

World leaders and negotiators descended on the Egyptian Red Sea port of Sharm el-Sheikh for the latest United Nations summit (COP27) on tackling climate change.

After a fractious summit, widely seen as poorly organized, a deal was clinched on a fund for "loss and damage" to help vulnerable countries cope with the devastating impacts of climate change.

Behind the institutional-sounding name lies destruction for millions in the developing world.

The COP summit was hailed as historic but many voiced anger over a lack of ambition on cutting greenhouse gas emissions.

WOMAN. LIFE. FREEDOM. 

The chant screamed by protesters in Iran following the death of Mahsa Amini, a young woman arrested by the Tehran morality police.

Protesters have burned posters of supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and women have appeared in public without headscarves, in scenes scarcely imaginable before the uprising.

The demonstrations have lasted 3 months and appear to pose an existential challenge to the 43-year rule of the clerical regime.

BLUE TICK

The tiny blue tick (it's actually white on a blue background), which certifies users on Twitter, became a symbol of the chaos engulfing the social media platform in the wake of its $44-billion takeover by Elon Musk.

The mercurial Tesla boss announced that anyone wanting the coveted blue tick would have to stump up eight dollars, only to scrap the plan hours later.

A month on from the takeover, Twitter's future remains up in the air, with thousands of staff laid off, advertisers leaving, and its "free speech" platform hugely uncertain.

ROE V. WADE 

In an historic ruling, the conservative-dominated US Supreme Court overturned the landmark 1973 "Roe v. Wade" decision that enshrined a woman's right to an abortion.

The Supreme Court ruled that individual states could restrict or ban the procedure -– a decision seized upon by several right-leaning states.

Protests erupted instantly in Washington and elsewhere, showing how divisive the topic remains in the United States.

The overturning of "Roe v. Wade" became a critical battle in the US mid-terms in which candidates in favor of abortion rights won several victories. 

QUIET QUITTING 

One of the "words of the year" in Britain and Australia, the phrase refers to doing the bare minimum at work, either as a protest against your employer or to improve your work-life balance.

The trend, which has sparked debate about overwork, especially in the United States, appears to have surfaced first in a TikTok post in July.

"You're not outright quitting your job but you're quitting the idea of going above and beyond," said the post which went viral, drawing nearly a half-million likes.

WET LETTUCE 

As Liz Truss approached the end of her chaotic and short-lived tenure as British prime minister, the Economist weekly mused that her effective period in office had been "roughly the shelf-life of a lettuce."

The tabloid Daily Star leapt on the idea, launching a live web cam featuring said vegetable -– complete with googly eyes -- next to a picture of the hapless Truss.

Her premiership lasted just 44 days and featured a mini-budget that collapsed the markets and generated extraordinary political upheaval. In the end, the lettuce won.

TOMATO SOUP 

Environmental protesters seeking to draw attention to the role of fossil fuel consumption in the climate crisis hurled tomato soup at Vincent Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" painting at London's National Gallery in October, touching off a series of similar stunts.

Since then, activists have smothered mashed potato on Claude Monet and glued themselves to works by Andy Warhol, Francisco Goya and Johannes Vermeer.

For some, the campaigners are heroes bravely drawing attention to the climate emergency.

For others, the attacks are counterproductive and lose force by becoming commonplace.

A4 

Protests erupted in China, initially over COVID restrictions but later widening to broader political grievances, posing the greatest threat to the Beijing authorities since 1989.

The demonstrations became known in some quarters as the "A4" protests as protesters held up blank A4-sized sheets of white paper in a sign of solidarity and a nod to the lack of free speech in China.

© Agence France-Presse 

#Armageddon #Ukraine #Operation London Bridge #Queen Elizabeth II #COP27 #Mahsa Amini #Woman Life Freedom #Iran #Twitter #Blue Tick #Elon Musk #Roe vs Wade #Quiet Quitting #Wet Lettuce #Liz Truss #Tomato Soup protest #A4 China protest

[channeledhistory]

#heinz tomato soup #heinz #tomato soup #climate protest #vincent van gogh #sunflowers #national gallery london #meme

[amshalls]

#ams halls #ams illustrator #artist #digital artist #digital art #digital illustration #vincent van gogh #van gogh #sunflowers #tomato soup #just stop oil #extinction rebellion #climate activists #protest #climate change #climate protest

[mysticdragon3md3]

"How Should We React to Van Gogh Being Vandalized?" by The Canvas

#food for thought #video essays #art #vincent van gogh #paintings #sunflowers #tomato soup #soup #protests #environmentalism #history #oil #Youtube

[creativitytoexplore]

Fossil fuel protesters charged after tomato soup thrown on Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' in London gallery

Fossil fuel protesters charged after tomato soup thrown on Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ in London gallery

Written by By Christian EdwardsDuarte Mendonca, CNNLondon Two anti-fossil fuel protesters who were filmed throwing tomato soup on Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” in a London gallery Friday have been charged with criminal damage offenses. The two young women from the campaign group Just Stop Oil threw the contents of two tins of Heinz tomato soup over the painting, which, the group said, has an estimated…

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#Arts #Fossil fuel protesters charged after tomato soup thrown on Van Gogh&x27;s &x27;Sunflowers&x27; in London gallery - CNN

[angelx1992]

#art #memes #trumpturd #van gogh #sunflowers #tomato soup #evil republicans #ketchup #painting #museum #protesters #meme

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

This is just a thought what about sick reader and Eddie takes care of her and acts like it's the end of the world they're sick because now he can't kiss her

Oh, he would be so upset he couldn't kiss you because you're sick. He'd try to sneak one in quickly as much as possible (Request are currently open)

Eddie munson x reader

Warnings: none, fluff sick reader.

WC:1.5k

A/n: Not proofread.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒊𝒕.

Your head was throbbing. Your nose burned from the number of times you had to constantly wipe it. You couldn't smell anything. Your skin felt raw. You could barely taste anything. Off and on, you'd feel icky like you had to throw up.

You felt okayish yesterday morning, but by that evening, that's when you really felt it. You were sick. Obviously. Not only were you sick, but you were sick and staying at your boyfriends home for the weekend. All the plans he made for you two are canceled. You hated being sick. You turned into the biggest baby when you unwell.

Eddie had been waiting on your hand and foot all night, and now, all day. He kept telling you he didn't mind it. But you still felt bad. Not only that, but you just really wanted him to cuddle you until you got better. He couldn't. You wouldn't allow him to. Instead, you made him sleep in the living room with Wayne. You didn't want to get him sick, too, so you wouldn't let him get too close.

You could hear Eddie's feet stomping on the floor getting closer. His voice yelled out to his Uncle Wayne about something. He had his metal music playing quietly out in the living room as he cooked you some lunch. You barely could smell anything. Your stomach growled. Food just right now didn't seem appealing. You knew eddie was going to make you eat a little something anyway to help you keep some strength in your body.

"Nurse Eddie reporting for duty!" He sang, kicking open the bedroom door a little hard."Oops."

You had your face covered with the blanket, trying your hardest not to spread your germs to everyone.

Eddie looked at you with a smirk. "Do I smell or something?" He joked.

You shook your head. "Nooooo."

"Then don't hide that pretty face from me." He smiled down at you, trying to hold in a laugh. You really were so cute when you're sick, he thought. "Got your soup."

He had a tray full of soup, toast, juice, and lots of tissues. You carefully sat up in bed. Your body felt weak, and your head was getting foggy. Your eyes were bloodshot and droopy.

"Thank you." Your voice croaked.

He sat the tray down over next to you on the bed. "it's no problem, beautiful."

You grimaced but didn't argue.

Eddie picked up the thermometer, and you instantly opened your mouth as he stuck it under your tongue. You waited a couple of seconds before hearing that beep.

"Hmm, still have a low fever." He gave a weak smile going in for a kiss.

"No, eddie!" Your raspy voice protests, and you pull away fast.

He frowns. "Awe, come on, it's just one little kiss. I'm dying over here."

"How do you think I feel?" Your voice kept going in and out the longer you talked.

"All I want is for you to cuddle me, but I don't want you getting sick too." You had a sad pout on your face as you crossed your arms.

"Sweetheart, I can still always do that, but you banished me to the unknown out there with Wayne. He spoke softly, setting the thermometer to the side.

"I didn't banish you." You frowned. "I don't want you to feel like I do."

His face softened, and his heart melted. If you would give in, he'd pull you into the tightest hug possible. He was so worried about you. Yes, it was only a little virus you had. That still would not be enough to keep him from worrying about you. Seeing you in bed looking so defeated broke him.

Eddie moved the tray closer in between you both, making it easier for him to reach everything. He picked up the spoon sitting in the bowl full of tomato soup. Your favorite comfort food. He stirred the spoon around before scooping up some of the soup. He brought it close to his mouth, lightly blowing on it to cool it off for you.

"Come on, pretty girl, open up." He continued speaking in a soft tone. He knew his voice was also soothing to you somehow.

You opened up, allowing him to spoon feed you. You didn't mind this. You were actually loving how he was taking care of you. The tomato soup was creamy and warm. It soothed your sore irritated throat as you swallow it down.

Eddie continued spoon feeding you your soup. Each time he stirred the spoon around and blew on it, cool it down for you. You watched his movements and how careful he was being with you. He kept his distance some what. You knew he was going to get sick, too. Even after all the trouble and fussing you did in order to prevent that from happening. You knew deep down it would.

"Kiss?" Eddie held the spoon over the bowl looking at you. His eyes pleading for you to say yes.

"Eddie, you can't kiss me." You whined and quickly covered your mouth to cough in the blanket.

"Just a tiny one. That's all I need. I just need to feel those soft lips on me for a split second." He pleads blowing on your soup.

"No." Your tone stern as you squint.

Now it was Eddie's turn to pout. He brought the spoon back to your lip for you to eat. "I can't believe this is happening to us."

He was being his over dramatic self again. You were used to it. You figured he would be after you kept denying him of a "simple little kiss."

Of all the years you and him have been together. Neither one of you has been this sick before. The two of you are not dealing with it well. The separation is killing you both. Even though he's only in the other room in the same trailer. The lack of physical affection is taking its toll. You wanted to cry. You were always very sensitive when you got sick.

"I can't believe it either. Who did we piss off?"

"Your mother." He mumbled under his breath.

He was just joking. Well, not really, but maybe a little bit. You heard him and shot a look before shivering.

He dropped the spoon into the half empty bowl. He looked proud at how much you ate since you wouldn't touch anything last night.

"You look so pitiful, baby. I hate seeing you like this." He took a napkin, dabbing some of the soup from your chin.

Eddie pushed the tray of food to the side and pulled the blankets up higher on your body.

"I really need a cuddle." Your eyes were getting heavy. Your throat was sore, and it hurt to talk. Your head was spinning so fast.

He gave you a weak smile. "I really need a cuddle too."

"I'm sick." You whispered, but it was a reminder of why he couldn't get in bed with you.

"I really want to kiss and cuddle that sad look off your face-" He looked over to the bowl of soup and back to you. "Make ya feel better"

"You can't right now, Eddie." Your raspy voice reminded him yet again.

He shook his head. You could see the prominent stubble on his chin. His eyes looked like he's barely slept, too. All throughout the night, Eddie snuck into his room to check on you. He'd put a cool cloth on your forehead. There were extra blankets draped over your body. He constantly checked to see if you had a fever by putting his wrist to your forehead. He was exhausted but didn't want to show it.

Eddie gazed at you for a moment. He saw how much this fever has taken out of you. If you were going to be sick, then so was he. He couldn't bear seeing you go through this alone. Yes, he knows he's not thinking rational, but he also doesn't care. He's an action and consequences, first kinda guy. Then he can think everything through after.

Without hesitation, Eddie picked up the spoon you were eating off of and stuck it straight in his mouth. "See, now I'm sick too."

"What the hell you can't do that." You tried to sit up, but your body was too weak.

"Ah, ah, lay back down, sweetheart." He pointed his finger. He picked the tray off the bed, placing it down on his nightstand.

Eddie got under the covers with you. He got right up next to you. You readjusted to lay on your side with your back pressed to his chest. His body heat instantly helping warm you up fast. You felt his hand go underneath your pajama shirt to rest on your tummy.

He gave your cheek a gently kiss. Then another one and another one. Soon, he was peppering your face with kisses all over. You started squirming around in bed, both laughing like crazy. He finally stopped, not wanting to make you lightheaded or anything.

"Jesus christ, ed-stop, I swear to God." You warned between giggles. That turned into a small coughing fit.

"There -" He patted your back while you coughed up a lung. "I feel sooo so much better." Eddie chuckled, cuddling up against your back.

"Buuut, you're gonna get sick." You whined and placed your hand on top of his as he pulled you closer.

"Then you can be my little nurse next." He gave you one last kiss to your temple.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine, I guess. Do I gotta wear that dumb nurse costume from Halloween last year?"

"Oh, you can bet your sweet ass you do." He sighed in content. "I love you baby, now get some rest."

"I love you too."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson blurb #scheduled post

[bones4thecats]

When Their S/O Meets Their Family

Type of Writing: #4 - Poll Result Characters: Manjiro Sano, Mitsuya Takashi, Souya Kawata, and Hakkai Shiba Family: Sister (M.S.), Mother and Sisters (M.T.), Brother (S.K.), and Sister (H.S.) Name: When Their S/O Meets Their Family Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: For Hakkai's part, it only features Yuzuha meeting the reader because of how Taiju is an abusive a-hole to them. Anyways, have fun reading this!

Slight spoilers for: Black Dragons Arc

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🍡 Mikey is very close with his family, and everyone who has ever met him knows this

🍡 When you first met Mikey, he no doubt wanted you to meet his sister, Emma, because he knew that she would like talking to his brother's S/O

🍡 He introduced you guys to one another a couple weeks after your relationship began, in which he just rode up to your house and asked you straight-up if you wanted to meet someone important to him

🍡 You hopped on his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and rode with him from your home to his to meet this person

🍡 Mikey has told you all kinds of stories about his family, from his late older brother Shinichiro to his younger sister Emma

🍡 His bike came to a stop in front of a Dojo, it was his family's, the same one that he was raised in and technically adopted his sister, Emma

🍡 He grabbed your hand and dragged you through the doors, announcing his and your arrival loudly for someone to hear

" Emma! You here? " " Yeah, oh! Who's your friend, Mikey? Is this your S/O? "

🍡 A youthful girl walked out from around the corner of the hallway and looked into the Dojo-themed room, her yellow eyes stared into your (E/C) eyes and she smiled

🍡 Introducing herself, you learned that this was Emma Sano, Mikey's younger half-sister, specifically her father's mistress' child

🍡 Unfortunately for Mikey, you and Emma bonded so much that you were pushing Mikey's affections down a peg, meaning you were ignoring him slightly, prompting him to start pouting

🍡 Why was his family such good conversationalists?

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🪡 You have heard millions upon millions of stories of Mitsuya's younger sisters, Luna and Mana, and his mother

🪡 He has wanted you to meet them for so long, but, since his mother worked late and normally wasn't given many breaks from work, he hasn't had any time to actually set up a meeting

🪡 Both thankfully and not thankfully, his mother was given time off, only because she had gotten sick

🪡 Mitsuya was putting in a lot of effort to helping his mother get better fast, so, when you called and he explained the situation, he was shocked when you said you were coming over with some soup

🪡 He tried to protest, claiming he didn't want you getting sick, but, you protested his protests (omg i've never typed that word that much) and you hung up after telling him you'd be there later that day

🪡 Mitsuya sighed and and laid the phone down, you really were a stubborn person when it came to things like this

🪡 When he heard the sound of his sisters yelling that a person was at the door, he got up from the kitchen stove, where he had a tea kettle and opened the door

🪡 You held out a tupperware filled with a reddish-orange thick liquid, he was guessing it was the soup you had made, probably tomato

" Love, you really didn't have to do this. " " Well, I can't have my future mother-in-law staying sick for long, now can I? "

🪡 Your boyfriend directed you to his mother's room while his sisters played in the living room, and when his mother saw you, she smiled and laughed, teasing her son

🪡 He smiled lightly as he handed her a spoon and laid the smooth-vegetable soup in her hands, before wishing her health to reach her and leaving the room with your boyfriend

🪡 This may have not been the most ideal way for you to meet his family, but it did remind him of why he loved you, you're an amazing person with an amazing heart

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

💢 If you met Angry, you no doubt were destined to meet his twin brother, Nahoya, or Smiley

💢 Angry has wanted you to meet his brother for a while, but, his brother could be quite a lot to take at once, and he understood that, he grew up with him for Pete's sake

💢 When you called his home one day and Smiley picked up, he pretended to be his twin brother, since he obviously wasn't gonna step up to have you meet him anytime soon

💢 He snickered once you hung up, bidding goodbye, and he began to start laughing, though he attempted to hold it in, his brother was in the next room after all

" Who was that? " " Oh, just a spam. I decided to prank the scammer, it was fun! "

💢 Angry was relaxing on the sofa, messing around with a plush you had gotten him a few days prior, by what he knew, they weren't expecting any guests, especially ones after 5:00pm

💢 When he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes widened and he cocked and eyebrow, asking why you showed up unannounced, and when you replied with how he asked you to come over for dinner that night, he connected the dots

" That must have been Nahoya, my brother... " " Oh! Now I'm embarrassed, I can't even tell my boyfriend apart from his brother. " " Not by voice, no, but, you'll definitely tell us apart by our physical features... "

💢 Nahoya jumped out from behind the corner and hugged you, saying how happy he was that he could finally meet the person that his brother raved about when healing or resting

💢 This was gonna be a long night...

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☄️ I'm gonna layer this on very thickly, he does not want you to meet his older brother, he's a sadistic man by heart, and he doesn't need you to suffer from his cruelty

☄️ Hakkai wanted you to meet his sister, yes, but, due to your busy schedules, he couldn't seem to find the perfect time where Taiju and Yuzuha were apart

☄️ So, whenever you guys had met up to hang out, he normally led you to your home and away from his, he didn't need any trouble now

☄️ But, when you came to his house unannounced, he froze in place

☄️ Oh God, why were you here now?! Taiju wasn't in the brightest moods by what Yuzuha told him, and he didn't need to risk your safety like this!

" Hakkai! Who's at the damn door?! It's takin' you forever! "

☄️ You cocked and eyebrow as he yelled out to the male how it was someone he needed to speak to outside for a few minutes

☄️ He ushered you back outside the doorway and stood with you outside his home, and he sighed, knowing you were gonna ask him a ton of questions on what was going on

☄️ Hakkai slightly teared up as you asked what was happening, and, when he just told you that they had some 'familial bonds' that were kinda rusted over, you groaned, knowing he was lying

☄️ Instead of pushing salt into the wound, you hugged him, allowing him to sigh and wipe his tears away as the door opened

☄️ He swung around to shield you as a young girl walked out, she had light-orange hair and piercing amber eyes, and when she saw you she tilted her head

" Who are you exactly? " " I'm- " " This is the person I've been telling you about, Yuzuha. Y/N, this is my older sister, Yuzuha, and this is my S/O, Y/N L/N. "

☄️ Yuzuha smiled and held her hand out for you to shake, saying how she figured he had an S/O with how cheery he was whenever he hung up the phone sometimes

☄️ Hakkai got flustered and tried hiding his face as you and Yuzuha exchanged stories about Hakkai being a dork as he mumbled about how you guys were 'ganging up on him'

#Tokyo Revengers #Tokyo Rev #Tokyo Manji Gang #Toman #Tokyo Revengers x Reader #Tokyo Rev x Reader #Tokyo Manji Gang x Reader #Toman x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Manjiro Sano #Manjiro Sano x Reader #Mitsuya Takashi #Mitsuya Takashi x Reader #Souya Kawata #Souya Kawata x Reader #Hakkai Shiba #Hakkai Shiba x Reader

[heartfulselkie]

@coffeebanana !!! My fabulous wife in angstimony! I was your Littlebug Secret Santa!! Are you surprised? Are you?? Probably not

I know you love a bit of Ladrien, and I know you especially love putting Adrien Through It™. Of course I am going to give my spouse whatever she desires! (After all I enjoy a bit of angst too..!)

I'll let you decide what happened here. Did Adrien jump in to protest his Lady without transforming? A confrontation with Monarch gone wrong? Or did he just have a lot of tomato soup and got sleepy now that he's full, but Ladybug is distraught because he made a mess and that's going to stain dammit!

#yes this is a very late secret santa i know #but i'm still within the littlebug deadline! (technically!) #tw: blood #ladrien #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanart #miraculous ladybug fanart #selkie draws

[celenawrites]

lumberjack!price (who used to be ex military) rescues you, an injured traveller, when he goes to the woods one day to cut wood.

he finds you, buried in a thick layer of snow and injured with a twisted ankle and some cracked ribs and so out of it due to the pain and the freezing weather and as a good Samaritan, he hauls you away bridal style back to his cabin near the woods, isolated from society - the perfect place for him to spend his retirement while chopping woods, hunting for food, etc.

lumberjack!price who contacts his doctor friends and tends to your wounds, dressing your fragile skin with alcohol wipes and sterilized gauze, cuz the nearest town is at least two hours away from here. he layers you up with the thickest blankets he has, tries his best to assist you into changing into a spare pair of clothes (his clothes that are too large on your frame) and he restraints himself from registering how pretty you look in his clothes despite how banged up you have been atm. he lays you down on the sofa and tends to the fireplace with the chopped wood he has, ensuring that you're warm and safe and miles away from experiencing anything close to hypothermia.

lumberjack!price who feels how smooth and soft and perfect your skin is, your body is under his calloused, scarred hands and how all he wants to do is protect you from anything that can pose as a danger to you.

lumberjack!price who keeps waking you up every two hours cuz he's afraid you have been concussed. he wakes you up and feeds you some medicines and home remedies, maybe he cooks you some warm food - creamy tomato soup, grilled sandwiches, maybe a bar of dark chocolate he had bought on his last town run for groceries and utilities. he keeps checking your temperature and blood pressure, worried sick about you and he vows to take you to the hospital first thing in the morning.

lumberjack!price who gets to know you while you recover and stay at his abode (he insisted, despite you trying to leave and get in touch with your trekking team). he learns about you, about the job you had, about how you decided to join a trek group in order to make more friends and to travel in your free time, about how the snow blizzard had made you all split up and somehow you ended up fainting in the cold, left for dead. luckily, he found you and you'd forever be grateful.

lumberjack!price who insists on doing everything for you, but you're just as stubborn as he is. you bake him mug cakes and cook him your ma's signature dishes, and you offer to clean the dishes after the meal but he gives you a look that almost makes you falter, but your family has instilled values of gratitude deep into your bones, so you protest anyway - making him settle for you drying the dishes he washes instead. the scene is domestic, and price realises that he likes your presence in his humble abode quite a lot.

lumberjack!price who feels his heart break a little whenever he sees you recover steadily. he wants you to get better, can barely handle the days when your pain gets the best of you - but he cannot make peace with the fact that you'd probably leave the moment you're given the 'OK' from the doctor.

lumberjack!price who always comes running in the middle of the night whenever you wake up screaming from a nightmare (replaying the day you got seperated from your friends, except there's no one to save you). he shushes you, holding you in his strong, muscled arms as he promises to always look out for you and kisses your forehead as he rocks you back to sleep, letting your head rest on his chest and fall asleep to the lullaby of his heart.

#sorry my poor knowledge idk a lot about lumberjacks #except that they cut trees #but im so sick about lumberjack price #im frothing at the mouth #i need him carnally #i need him biblically #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #lumberjack price #cod au #call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #captain price #captain john price #john price #price x reader #capt. price #price #char.price #celena.rambles #celena.writes

[bigfan-fanfic]

I'll Always Worry (Spiderbro x Peter Parker PLATONIC)

Spiderbro taking care of peter after a mission cleaning his cuts, making him dinner and setting a bath for him and listening to him rant about whatever is on his mind also offers cuddles since my peter love language is physical touch

"Where's May?"

"Out. She's gonna be at a F.E.A.S.T. meeting all weekend, so I'm in charge."

Peter nods, and you see him for the first time. "Holy shit, Pete!"

He's covered in scratches, some of which are still bleeding, and didn't even try to get out of his Spider-Man suit, which is practically shredded.

He barely reacts when you snap into action, pushing your laptop aside and half-carrying him to his bed.

You help him get the wretched fabric off, and spend a while cleaning his scratches and cuts.

"Dude, what happened?"

Peter launches into a full on tirade and well, you asked. You sometimes forget that he doesn't have anyone to talk about this stuff with besides you, because your mom will worry about him even more than she already does and his friends don't quite get it

So you let him vent, and ask questions where needed

And watch the tension practically drain out of him as he talks himself all out of steam.

"Well... that sucks, buddy." You chuckle, and are relieved to see Peter smile wanly.

"I should get back out there...." he says softly, and you clear your throat.

"I'm in charge, Pete. Remember? So you're gonna stick right here. You need to recharge your batteries."

"But what if people are out there that I can help? With great power... comes great responsibility."

Your dad was a good man. But you have a feeling that Peter is making his last words into almost a mantra for existence as opposed to the dying words of a man desperately trying to distill all the paternal advice he would be unable to give into something, anything.

"You also have a responsibility to yourself, Peter. And part of having great power is knowing your limits. You can't help anyone if you hurt yourself doing it." you say sternly.

You gently take Peter by the shoulder, and he leans into the touch.

Thankfully, he relents. "I still feel guilty, though."

"Well, feel guilty in a bubble bath. I'm gonna make something for dinner for us, and I want you all melty and relaxed."

He chuckles. "I haven't had a bubble bath since I was a kid."

"You still are a kid, kid." You tease. "So relax, will ya?"

He raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay..."

He takes a while, so you go all out with dinner, making some cheese sandwiches, grilled with butter and smeared with a homemade pesto, and with some freshly cut tomato. You make a nice pile of them, and serve them with some soup.

Peter emerges in a loose white shirt and shorts, and he smiles at the meal you've made.

The sound of you two eating dominates the table - the food too good and the comfort too sweet to bother talking.

But finally when seconds and thirds are finished and your bellies almost uncomfortably full, you tell Peter this weekend is a recharge time. No Spider-Man.

You expect him to protest, but instead he nods, and he just... looks so lost.

"I figured we'd catch up with each other over the weekend. You know, order some pizza, play some games, chill."

"I'd like that."

"You wanna watch a movie with me?"

He nods again, and you grin at the eclectic collection of themed Band-Aids dotting his arms and legs.

You both crash on the couch, grabbing some blankets, but very soon, you stretch out an arm, and he leans against you.

Peter melts into the side hug, like he always does. The poor kid seems to crave physical affection.

Remembering when he first came to live with you all, when his parents died... he needed that loving, to make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

He became your little brother then, not just your cousin. And that first night he fell asleep in your arms, you promised yourself you would protect him.

It's become harder to protect him these days, but at least you can be here for this.

Your little brother falls asleep against you, and you let him rest, smiling a little as you watch the movie on a lower volume, watching over him.

#spiderbro reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male reader #headcanon #marvel headcanons #spiderman headcanons #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter seven: you be the parachute | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you’re more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same. 

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do.”

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept. 

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren’t sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it’s for, though. It’s a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It’s a birthday gift, though you’ve been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven’t found out what yet.

“So?” you prompt.

“What are you going to do?” 

“Not sure, to be honest. But for you… I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table. 

You smile. “Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says. 

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you’ve noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit… arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still. 

“I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —” he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face “— but it really isn’t as easy as it may seem.”

“Well, I have you,” he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

“Alright, fine,” you mumble. You don’t try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

“I want to make a mug,” he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay. 

“Alright —”

“For you,” he adds, and you jolt. 

“You don’t need to —”

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies. 

“I know I don’t need to,” he says. “But I want to. When are you going to understand?”

“After you make me a wonky mug, maybe,” you say, lips twitching to fight off a grin, face heating again.

Tim smiles, too, the lightest you’ve seen him today, like a weight physically taken off his shoulders — for the most part. 

Your heart skips a beat and you look back at the clay, weighing out a chunk for a mug. 

At the wheel with a bowl of water, towels, and the clay, you walk him through everything. You pull up a stool on his right side, to give you control of the pedal and thus, the speed. You run through sealing the clay to the bat — the actual surface of the wheel that spins — then centering it. After you make a divot in the center with your thumbs, you are ready to push into it, to start creating the walls.

Well, he is ready. Under your watchful eye and careful instructions, of course. And inserted reminders about his stance. 

“Elbows on your thighs.”

“You didn’t do it like that,” he complains but does as you say, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” you remind him, grinning. “Okay, come on. We can start making the walls now. Use your index and middle finger to slowly push down.”

Your foot finds the pedal again, the wheel humming as you press it, making it spin once more. 

Tim, hands now covered with wet clay, hesitates.

Your foot eases off. “I promise you, this clay is more scared of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not scared,” he mutters, but you know him. Tim Drake is a perfectionist. There is little that escapes his sharp eyes. You would wager a guess that he doesn’t want to mess up. And how can you mess up if you just… don’t touch the clay anymore?

Yeah, you get it. 

“Think of our ancestors. We’ve been making pottery for thousands of years. They made mistakes, too. Those mistakes are treasured now, you know.”

“But I don’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t for future anthropologists and archaeologists,” he says, a little petulant. “It’s for you.”

Oh, wow.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You clear it. 

“Well, perfection is a false ideal, anyway. The nice thing about things like this is that it’s handmade and that it’s not perfect. So, here.”

You lean forward, inserting yourself into his space (for the sake of this clay, that’s it) and pressing your hands over his. Your hands are covered in wet clay by now but because it’s still wet, it’s not too unpleasant. His hand is warm, too, which is… not what you should be focusing on.

“Like this,” you say, folding your index and middle finger over his, tilting your head sharply to get a good look at the clay. Your foot finds the pedal again and the wheel hums, abiding by your wishes for more speed. 

You instruct his other hand to hold against the outside, to help shape it more. But he hesitates again, so you scoot further into his space, until your knee is pressed to his, your arms brushing, and you can place your left hand over his. 

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I know I’m in your space.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, breath ghosting over your ear and you have to suppress a flinch at how close he is. Everything about it makes your pulse jump to unhealthy heights but you force yourself not to let it carry you away. Trembling hands won’t help anyone right now. 

“Alright,” you say, and together, you slowly, slowly pull the walls to dimension. Every motion flows into the next. Two fingers to lower the bottom inside with his left hand. Three on the outside from his right hand. Tim is pliant under your instruction, when ordinarily you might expect some pushback.  

But you can’t do everything.

“Three fingers inside, one thumb outside. Gotta keep going while I grab the sponge.”

He grunts quietly in acknowledgement, seeming to focus more now as he does as you say. Your hands are only away from each other for a short few seconds as you grab the sponge, lightly pressing it to the bottom, pulling excess water to prepare to pull up the walls even further. 

“Here,” you say, and he takes the sponge from you, holding it still against the bottom of the clay. “Good. Keep it there. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He lets out a slow breath. You can feel the exhale against your cheek and resist a wild shiver. His breath smells like spearmint, the gum he’d chewed on the drive here. 

You swallow, staring at his hands, which doesn’t really help your pounding heart, just cause… Tim has really nice hands. Long, slender fingers, surprisingly calloused but still soft, somehow. The knuckle of his left pinky is a tiny bit wonky and he says he accidentally broke it playing football with a friend when he was a teenager and it didn’t heal quite right. 

You should stop thinking about his hands. Too bad that’s kind of a thing with pottery.

“Four fingers inside. Keep your thumb out.”

He says your name. “Help me out a little.”

“You’re doing good.”

“But I can do better if you’re guiding me,” he says, a little beseeching, breath warm against your cheek in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

Jesus. 

You think you might spontaneously combust. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham. And no one could blame you, either. Frankly, you’d like for anyone to be in close quarters with Tim Drake when he asks you to do something for him and try to say no. Or retain full function of their brain. Impossible. 

“You’re doing good, way better than I did on my first try throwing a mug, but alright,” you mutter, sliding your left hand over his, forcing you once more into close proximity with him. His right hand holds the sponge as you instructed. 

With his left hand, four fingers press to the inside and a thumb on the outside, helping further lengthen the walls slowly. 

You feel the fingers of his left land part just a little, yours nearly slipping through the gaps, and you knock your knee against his. Doesn’t affect him, either, since, ignoring your earlier reminder, his elbows aren’t sitting there anymore. 

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” you grumble, face heating. 

You know what he’s thinking about. That stupid scene from that movie from the, like, eighties. You know the one — the one with the… weirdly sensual pottery scene. Hana told you all about it on your first day of class. That that wasn’t how things went and if anyone did want to do it, they could do it in the privacy of their own home. Not, you know, in class with all of you.

And, to be clear, that isn’t what is happening here, either. He knows better than that.

(You think.

Probably.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a tone that tells you he is not very sorry at all; it’s teasing, if anything, in a way that makes you want to catapult yourself across the classroom to get a little space between you. 

That is the unbearable part of this. 

You kind of want to shove your stools back, put your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him for, you don’t know, a really long time. Forever, maybe. Of course, that’s not biologically possible but it’d probably be a nice way to die and in Gotham, crime capital of the United States and of horrible, miserable deaths, that’s, like, gold, right?

 The thought shrivels something inside of you, reminding you sharply of what did happen today. That six people are dead. 

You shove the train of thought away immediately. Now isn’t the time to think about that and you don’t want to set him off, either. This is about him and you would hate for him to notice the shift and start comforting you.

It’s a two-way street, you know that, and it’s fine for you both to be equally comforted but thus far, you haven’t been able to do much for him. You want to, though. He seems to be handling everything that happened today worse than you, for reasons you aren’t sure of, and you want to be there for him. 

Luckily, it seems like he didn’t notice. 

“Have you seen it? Ghost?”

“No, and I am not interested in seeing it,” you say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to keep my experiences with pottery untainted, thank you very much.”

Tim laughs and the sound goes straight to your head. Literally. He’s still close to you, so you feel the warm exhale from his lips, spearmint tickling your nose and making you want to do inappropriate things. To him, preferably. 

Anddd you don’t need to be thinking of that right now. Okay. Alright. You’re chill. You’re cool. 

“Look,” you say. “We’re nearly there. Just a little bit more length…”

He focuses again, actually concentrating on lengthening the walls of the mug now. A minute passes before you nod and pull your hands back. He does the same. Your foot eases off the pedal. 

You grab a ruler, recalling the measurements you two had agreed upon, and measure the height of the walls and the width of the cup itself. It’s bigger than a normal mug, but since he insisted on it being a mug you didn’t have to baby, it’ll have to be high fired to get that durability, which will make the clay shrink. 

Tim waits as you work, seemingly bracing himself.

“Looks good,” you say, pulling it back and setting it to the side, sending him a small smile. It does look good. The walls need to be smoothed with a rib and there’s one part of the rim that looks… a little wonky but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When Tim scrutinizes it, reaching forward, you gently push his hands away. “It’s fine.”

“But —”

“It’s cute.”

“Not the word I’d use.”

“And supposed to be mine, so, I think I get the final call.”

“You know what you are?”

“The soon-to-be proud owner of this mug?”

He doesn’t expect that and you know he doesn’t expect that because he flushes, pink rising in his cheeks in a… decidedly tempting manner. 

But of course, Tim Drake is not one to let himself be overtaken so easily. 

“No,” he says slowly, leaning forward, into your space, holy hell, you think you might actually spontaneously combust now as he gets close enough for you to see the silver flecked in blue irises, thick dark lashes framing them, the sharp but not unpleasant scent of eucalyptus clouding your senses and, huh, you know, this isn’t very platonic of him, not very platonic at all but the thought of Tim Drake flirting with you is a laughable one —

And naturally, as you think that and promptly freak out internally because it unfortunately makes logical sense, you are an adult, you’ve never been in a relationship but people have flirted with you before, thank you very much — well… Tim takes advantage of your brief moment of shock. So, you don’t see his hand dip into the bowl of water, softening the clay on his fingers and then —

“You’re bossy,” he finishes, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he doesn’t seem to actually mind and then you’re gasping, jerking away as he smears some of wet clay on your cheek, facade breaking as he grins, the force of it making his eyes crinkle.

“What are you?!” you hiss. “Twelve?!”

You would know. 

He laughs, of course, and you can’t truly be mad at him, no, not at all, even if it’s the kind of messing around that Hana would side-eye you for, but fortunately she has her back to you two, deep in conversation with the few pairs of people who came to class today. 

Absolutely no one is paying attention to you, so, you think it’s only fair that you return the favor and he lets you, well-aware of you dipping your hand back into the water and then smearing an even bigger streak over his cheek. (While you also ignore the feeling of the soft skin, warm to the touch, warmer than usual, his flush having not left quite yet.)

And the fact that he lets you, watching you with a gaze full of affection and a mischievous grin, has the rapidly-unspooling warmth in your chest become too much. Like you are a star about to go supernova. 

But with that comes relief. To see him back to himself, no longer looking so… haunted. You can’t tell the full extent of what you would do to protect it, to protect a small bit of happiness for him to have whenever he needs, but you think it’s a lot. Anything short of murder, maybe.

(Even that depended, though.)

“Here,” you say, shoving the rib into his hand. “Smooth it out. You’re on your own now.”

Tim doesn’t protest, still smiling faintly as he does as you say. You scrunch up the side of your face, feeling the clay on your cheek. 

He does an okay job — not the worst, anyhow — and then you guide him through taking it off the bat and centering it upside down for trimming the bottom. After doing so, you work on pulling the handle just using the molding stand; instead of waiting for it to dry, you apply a little bit of heat, then you apply it to the mug. 

“That’s it?” he asks, going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“That’s it,” you affirm, putting the mug in the shelving unit right beside it. “It needs to be fired once before you can glaze it. Then again after that. You can come in whenever, just tell them you were with me.”

“Are you going to work on anything?” 

You hum thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. You got here at seven and it’s about to be eight. The center doesn’t close until ten but if he has places to be…

“I was just wondering,” he adds, stepping away from the sink to let you take his place, drying his hands on a paper towel. Clay is still smeared on his cheek, grey standing out against the pale skin. “That way I can help. Or watch if you’re tired of my… amateur efforts. Either way. This is… nice.”

You soften considerably at that, glancing down at your hands, watching the clay fall away under the warm water and soap. After everything… you think you finally have an idea about what you want to do. 

“You can help me, then. Think I’d like to make a mug as well.”

Tim nods and tears another piece of paper towel, running it briefly under the water, presumably to clean the clay from his cheek. 

You finish washing your hands just as he finishes cleaning the clay off his cheek. Your hands will get dirty again but the clean feel is a nice break before you do. 

You dry your hands, then, still using the damp paper towel, attempt to clean the clay off your cheek. 

Tim snorts quietly. 

“Am I close?”

“No.”

“Aw.” 

He smiles and holds out a hand. You relinquish the paper towel to him and he dampens it under the water, then reaches up to press it to your cheek. 

You resist letting tension take hold of you as his eyes focus on your face. Like always, you are unused to the sharp attention he gives you but part of you is endeared, too, seeing him dedicate himself to the task. Tim doesn’t do things in halves. Only absolutes. It’s not great for your heart.

To distract yourself, your eyes stray to where his streak was once. The skin is clean, but this close, you spot a few leftover flakes of grey clay. 

“There,” Tim says, gently patting your cheek with the dry end of the paper towel.

“You’ve still got some,” you mumble, taking the paper towel from him and switching to a cleaner patch on the damp side, then gently dabbing his cheek. 

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes on your face, the look there making your heart pound out of rhythm. 

You pull back, not as gentle as he was about patting the spot dry — his cheeks are still warmer than usual; the thought of it being because of you is a dizzying one — then toss the towel. 

“Ready?” you ask, fixing your apron.

Tim clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck when you glance at him, his gaze elsewhere. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

You two spend another hour there throwing the mug. Tim is the one sitting adjacent to you this time, helping in the beginning but seeming to settle as you go on, apparently happy to just watch you do your thing. 

You… try to prod about any preferred glazes or designs, mostly by asking what he thinks would look good, and you get some useful bits of information that you’ll be able to use the next time you come here. Or, well, sometime after that. This mug requires a bit more work than usual. At least for what you have in mind for it. 

But it should be ready by the time July rolls around. 

The sun has set when you two step out. The rain isn’t coming down as hard as earlier but it’s still drizzling, making streets and sidewalks glisten under street lamps and traffic lights. 

In a considerably better mood than earlier, the two of you stop at O’Shaughnessy’s for a shake and fries, then return to Rose Oaks. You keep the food at your place while he heads up to change and you do the same. You check on the boys while you wait for him to return, finding Manny and Diego climbing into the little shelf on the side, while Sid dips in the saltwater pond.

You smile faintly and go back to the couch. On the coffee table, for once clear of schoolwork as you are officially caught up before finals, the bag of fries sits next to the drink carrier, holding two medium chocolate shakes.

Tim returns a few minutes later, letting himself in with the spare key he has, now dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt that stretches flatteringly over his shoulders. 

In the mood for something light and nostalgic, you switch on Ice Age, the two of you relaxing on the couch and eating your dessert. Sleepiness weighs down on you with more time that passes. 

Tim finishes his shake and fries after you, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table. When he sits back, he is closer to you, your arms pressed together. The warmth of his body and the faint scent of eucalyptus lulls you. It doesn’t help that you shut off the lights, the only light coming from the TV, showing the white snowscapes from the movie.

The sound of your name is a surprise but not unwelcome. Especially not from him and how he says it, syllables wrapped in a sleepy kind of warmth. He’s tired, too. You understand. Even if he may have been at his place for most of the day, it must’ve been emotionally draining to deal with everything else.

You lean your head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Yeah, Timmy?”

His hand finds yours in your lap, slightly calloused fingers gliding against yours, a softer palm following. 

You feel his head lean against yours. “Thank you. For today.”

“Thank you for letting me do it for you.”

Tim squeezes your hand and you think he’ll pull back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, with some movement, you find the blanket thrown over the back of the couch now draped over your laps. 

With his hand in yours, the comforting scent of eucalyptus surrounding you in tandem with his body heat, you surrender too easily to the pull of sleep.

(Later, in the early morning when the sun hasn’t risen but is just about to break the horizon, you stir, not finding yourself in your bed like last time but instead held tightly in his arms, your legs tangled beneath the blanket which isn’t really necessary, with the body heat he emanates. In his sleep, Tim breathes slow and soft, warm exhales of air tickling the skin of your forehead as you two share a pillow. And too sleepy and warm to care, you burrow into his arms, which tighten around you in his sleep, close your eyes, and drift back to off to dreamland.

A few hours later, you’ll wake again, but alone this time, disappointment gnawing at you at the realization. 

At least until the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, his hair mussed, pillow creases still on his cheek, and he bids you a sleepy smile and asks what you want for breakfast.

And this is when you will realize you are past the point of no return. But you don’t care that the chances of him returning your affections are so laughably low that it actually isn’t funny. You don’t care about any of that. You just care to keep him around. For as long as you possibly can.)

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader

[maokomi]

ᥫ᭡ Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

.ೃ࿔*:･ 「𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬.」 vv minimal angst with a lot of comfort, Kaeya’s inner demons hinted at but not directly confronted in this one, 2 AM depression hit my man hard rip, established relationship, soft stuff tbh, domestic fluff

Its 3 AM and the sheets feel too goddamn warm. Half-stirred back to consciousness by the sudden heat, you reach back over to Kaeya’s side of the bed, grabby fingers poised to drag him into an cool embrace—

Only to be met with empty space.

Half asleep, you grunt in dissatisfaction as you root around a bit more, but as your brain slowly stirs more and more to life, you realize that Kaeya’s not in bed.

You can’t help the seed of worry that plants itself in your mind. So, biting the inside of your cheek you hurriedly getting out of bed, eager to leave behind the suffocating warmth of the comforter, and find Kaeya.

Luckily you needn’t go far— you find the vision holder in your kitchen-slash-dining room, leaned back in a chair, staring solemnly at the icy-blue vision that blinks back up at him from your dining table.

“Kaeya,” you call to him when you see him, relief making you sag. Your voice is soft and hoarse in the early morning hour but Kaeya still shakes himself out of his daze to turn to you.

The worry immediately returns when you see the plastered, practiced little smile on his face and the distant look in his eye.

“Hey,” he calls back just as softly, beckoning you to approach. You do. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t sleep without me?”

His weariness only makes itself more known the closer you get. The bags under his eyes (eye?) the sallowness in his skin and how his lips are dry and cracked from him worrying them. You glance at the vision on the table before flicking back to him.

“Yeah, actually. The bed got too hot without you,” you settle on instead.

“I told you we didn’t need that incredibly thick comforter, darling.”

His small smile is the littlest bit more genuine, thankfully.

“Yeah, well, I like the weight, so sue me,” you playfully stick your tongue out at him, interlacing you fingers and delighting in his low laughter. 

But there’s still something so exhausted in his gaze— something you know that doesn’t disappear with a good night’s rest. It’s not your first time seeing it, but Kaeya doesn’t often let people see his inner turmoil like this. Not even you.

You’re lost on what to do, unsure if he’d prefer to be left to his thoughts or if he’d want your company, even if just to know he wasn’t alone in this house. It’s the faint grumble of his stomach that decides for you, though, and before long you’re pressing a kiss to his forehead —“I’ll make something for us to eat.”— and heading to the stove to prepare the tastiest 2 AM breakfast you can.

“You… you don’t have to,” Kaeya says behind you, protesting like you didn’t literally hear his stomach grumble less than a meter away. “I’m not even that hungry, really. There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” you tell him, flashing him a grin over your shoulder as you put all your ingredients on the counter. Some meat, carrots, bell peppers and tomato sauce, among other things. Decidedly, you begin hunting in the cabinet for a pot and a ladle. “If you’re not that’s fine, you don’t have to.”

Kaeya doesn’t protest much after that, merely falling silent once more at the table. As you cook, you stay silent too, not wanting to pressure or push him, but letting your constant movement and the harmony of the kitchen remind him that you’re there with him.

He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. If he ever wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen. No matter how long it may take, you think to yourself, cutting the peppers, carrots and meat to toss them into the brewing pot. The soup bubbles happily over the fire, engulfing the kitchen in a delicious scent.

It takes a while but when it finally seems finished you turn off the heat and scoop it carefully into a bowl, making sure to get lots of the good bits in it. “Do you mind if I sit?” You ask, and as soon as he gives you a nod, you’re planting yourself and your bowl of fresh Goulash across from him at the dining table. 

Kaeya still looks distant as you down the first spoonful of soup, but you mentally pat yourself on the back because damn that’s a damn good Goulash right there.

He’s a little surprised when he sees the bowl and a spoon pushed into his line of vision, though. 

“Have some,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat a bit. “It’s really good, and going very long on an empty stomach isn’t good for you, you know.”

Kaeya chuckles, but doesn’t bother to protest. He just gratefully eats one spoon, feeling the flavors envelop his tongue and the warmth travel all the way down his throat into his stomach, like wrapping him in a blanket from the inside out.

“I’m impressed,” he says, smiling at you. You smile back. “‘Pretty good’ is an understatement.”

“Have some more, then.”

And he does. He eats spoonful after spoonful, letting the warm, homemade soup settle in him, and chase away the chill that’s settled in his bones over the last few hours. Before he even notices it, the bowl is empty and Kaeya is feeling at least a bit better than before.

You look happy though —even if he’s essentially stolen your meal— if the way you smile contentedly at him is anything to go by. Wordlessly, you take the bowl and head back to the pot, ready to get him another serving.

Just as you’re spooning some diced tomatoes into the bowl, Kaeya speaks up behind you. 

“You deserve someone better than me.”

It doesn’t even sound like he’s saying it to you. Just like he’s speaking his mind, letting Like this is just one of the many thoughts that had managed to slip past his lips.  Like he wholeheartedly believes it.

Your hand stills for a moment, eyes blinking as you try to process what he just said. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but you go back to scooping soup back into the bowl nonetheless. When you next speak, your voice is even. 

“Hm. Don’t I get a say in it, though? Isn’t it up to me to decide what I deserve?”

Kaeya doesn’t say anything, and when you turn to head back to the table, his eyes are glued on you. 

Gently, you slide the bowl over to him once again, the look in your eyes still so soft and patient that Kaeya thinks his heart is both ripping at the seams and mending itself at the same time. “You make me happy, Kaeya. You. In the end, all I really want is to be with you.”

And he might not fully believe it now, might still have trouble overcoming the loneliness and the troubles that have followed him all his life, but that’s alright. Because you will always be there to hold his hand, time and time again.

“I love you,” is what Kaeya finally says, after staring long and deep into the bowl of goulash. He sounds the slightest bit choked up, but you pretend not to notice.

Your hand finds his across the table, interlacing your fingers easily. “I love you too. Now eat up— you and I are way overdue for some cuddles.”

#love’s stories ♡.ೃ࿔*:· #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact angst #genshin impact #kaeya alberich

[luigisblueoveralls]

hi! could you write something where Luigi is sick and reader takes care of him🥹🫶🏻

Of course I can!! I love this idea! I hope you enjoy it!

Sick

Luigi x Fem!Reader

I'm putting this picture of him here cause it's adorable as hell

Summary: When Luigi gets down with the flu, you take care of him while also showing him with lots of love.

Notes: Fluffiness galore.

💚

You placed your hand on his forehead, your hand instantly burning up.

"Oh geez, Lui. You're burning up."

"I'm fine." Luigi protested as he sloppily put on his overalls.

Just by looking at your boyfriend, you knew he was indeed not okay. He couldn't even put his leg through the leg hole without nearly falling over.

"Call Mario and tell him you're sick and can't make it today." You calmly but sternly told him.

"No, (Y/N). I'm fine. I can do it." Luigi grumbled sickly.

You rolled your eyes at him as he finally got his overalls on, but instantly fell back onto the bed. Just him putting on his overalls exhausted him and that's all you needed to know.

"One day is not going to kill you, Luigi." You reassured him.

While Luigi wasn't a work-alcoholic, he hated having to leave Mario by himself to do all of the work for the day. He just was that committed to his brother and loved his brother.

"Okay." Luigi grumbled, as he realized that you indeed weren't going to let him go.

You went through Luigi's clothes to find him some warm and more comfortable clothes. Even though he was burning up, his body was also shaking from being cold. You got him a t shirt with some fluffy Harry Potter pajama pants.

"Oh, my favorite pj pants." Luigi mumbled, his eyes sparkling a little bit.

"Something warm for you to wear." You told him.

They were yellow Hufflepuff pants. Luigi leaned up and tried taking the clothes from you.

"Do you want me to help you?" You offered.

Luigi shook his head as he tiredly got out of his overalls and into the clothes you picked out for him. You then felt his forehead again and he was still burning up.

"I'm gonna go get a thermometer."

Luigi mumbled in response to what you were doing as you went to the bathroom, grabbed the thermometer, and came back to the bedroom.

"Open." You said as Luigi tiredlly opened his mouth and you stuck the thermometer under his tongue.

His skin color looked off, his eyes were barely open, and he was looking like a deflated balloon. Luigi hardly ever got sick, but when he did, it hit him like a truck. The thermometer beeped and you gently took it out of Luigi's mouth.

"101.2." You announced.

"Hmm." Luigi grumbled.

"Don't worry, I'll be here all day." You reassured him, putting the thermometer on the nightstand.

"But I don't want you to get sick." Luigi protested, scooting away from you.

"Well if I do then you can take care of me and it will be even."

Luigi couldn't argue with that logic. He just nodded in response as he got under the covers, visibily shaking.

"Want to go into the living room? It will be warmer in there, and I can plug in the portable heater down there." You suggested.

Luigi nodded as he tiredly got out of y'alls bed, with the blanket still wrapped around him.

"I got you." You told Luigi as you helped him walk downstairs and sit on the couch.

You could feel Luigi shaking as he sat down and then laid down on the couch. It was indeed warmer in the living room, but you didn't think that would do any good for Luigi, so you went ahead and got the portable heater for him.

"How do you feel?" You asked him as you plugged in the heater, turned it on, and pointed it towards him.

"C-Cold. And hungry." Luigi stuttered out.

"Come closer to the heater. What do you want me to make you?" You asked Luigi as he scooted closer to the heater.

Luigi just shrugged his shoulders. Well, he definitely needs something warm due to his cold chills he was having.

"How about some soup? Anything in particular?"

"I-I'm fine with anything, really." He answered shakingly.

"Tomato?"

He nodded his head. He was that sick that he could barely talk. You felt so bad for him. You sure as hell don't remember him getting this badly sick the last time he was. Before starting the soup, you went and grabbed Luigi a second blanket and turned on his favorite TV show to keep him occupied and not focused on the fact that he was sick.

"Let's see, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia or SpongeBob?" You asked Luigi.

"S-SpongeBob." Luigi answered.

You turned the TV on to SpongeBob and walked into the kitchen to start making the soup for your sick boyfriend. As you were peeling the skin off the tomatoes, you started thinking about how the two of you met. You were working at a coffee shop when Luigi and Mario came in. You thought Luigi was the cutest person ever and he was so nice too. Eventually, Luigi came in multiple times that got the courage to ask him for his number. His face had turned bright red. A pretty gal like you asking for his number? He couldn't believe it! You were his first relationship and so he was very shy with the relationship aspect of things but he quickly got comfortable and now the two of you have been together for a long time. As the tomatoes went into the boiling pot of water, you could hear Luigi quietly laughing, which made you happy. Even though you knew it was just a flu, you still couldn't help but feel bad for him.

"Smells good in there." Luigi croaked out.

"I just put the tomatoes in the pot, babe." You told him, making him whine.

"Why? Do you want my tomato soup that badly?" You asked him.

"Hmhm." Luigi mumbled in response, which sounded like a yes to you.

"Do you need anything while the tomatoes are cooking?" You asked him.

"A hot rag please."

You got a towel rag, soaked it in warm water, and brought it to Luigi's forehead.

"How does it feel?"

"Fine." Luigi said.

You felt awful for him. You hated seeing him not be his usual self.

"I'll finish the soup as soon as I can." You reassured him as you went back to the kitchen to finish.

Quick as flash, you finished the tomato soup while still making it taste good. You made you and Luigi a bowl and brought it to the living room.

"Soup's ready." You announced as you sat down.

Luigi weakly sat up straight. He looked even sicker than he did earlier. Not only was his face still flushed red but his nose was also turning red.

"Honey I'm so sorry." You told him apologetically.

"No, no it's fine. I'll be fine." Luigi reassured you, as he eyeballed the soup.

"Looks delicious."

"Are you able to hold it?" You asked him.

Luigi nodded as he you handed him the soup. He started sipping on the soup.

"This is so good, (Y/N). And so warm. Thank you." Luigi thanked you as he finished the soup.

"Of course Luigi. And you can do the same for me when I'm sick." You joked with him, making Luigi smile.

The soup went down nice in Luigi for it temporarily made his body stop having those bad chills and shakes but they eventually returned.

"Oh Lui." You said with so much concern and empathy.

He was leaning on your shoulder and was absolutely shaking from the sick chills rushing through his body.

"I-I'm fine." Luigi told you.

You knew he was lying.

"You're shaking so much, Luigi. You need a hot bath. Let me go start one." You started to get up but he stopped you.

"You don't have to do that, (Y/N)."

"No, Lui. You're sick. I'm gonna take care of you and make sure you're okay. I love you." You reassured him.

Luigi smiled at you.

"You're so good to me, (Y/N). I don't know what I would do without you." Luigi said, holding your hand and softly kissing it.

"I don't know what I would do without your goofy self." You told him, making him chuckle.

You helped Luigi stand up and walk him to y'alls bathroom which was shower and bathtub combo. You gently helped him sit on the toilet while you turned the water on to get it warmed up.

"I won't make it super hot just hot enough that it feels like a hot tub." You reassured Luigi and he nodded in response.

Once the temperature was perfect, you stopped the drain and waited as the bathtub filled up. Luigi was still droopy but it seems like his color was coming to his skin.

"You good?"

He nodded at you.

"I'll hang out with you in here if you want me to." You offered.

"Yes please." Luigi answered.

You nodded as you stopped the water for the tub was now full. Luigi removed the blanket off of himself and started taking his clothes off, while barely keeping his eyes open. You threw his clothes and the blanket in the dryer so it would be nice and warm when he was done in the bathtub. You held him as he carefully stepped into the bathtub, immediately sighing in relied with how warm it was. He then sat down, submerging his body in the water and leaning his head against the wall. You could tell he felt instant relief sitting in the warm water.

"Feel good?" You asked him.

"Yep. Thank you, (Y/N)." He thanked you.

"You're welcome, Lui." You said as you kissed his forehead.

Still warm but not burning hot.

"I promise I'll put a ring on your finger soon." Luigi promised.

"I know you will. But no rush seriously, Luigi. I want that day to be perfect." You reassured him, leaning in close to him.

Luigi smiled in response, giving your nose a small kiss.

Once the water got cold, Luigi was feeling slightly better, which was good, so you dried him off good, gave him his warm clothes and blanket back, and for the rest of the day and night you both were cuddled up watching a SpongeBob marathon. You loved Luigi so much that you hoped you would be together for forever and even in eternity.

#luigi nintendo #luigi x reader #super mario #super mario luigi #super mario movie #x reader #luigi #luigi fluff #luigi fanfic

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Riddle Rosehearts - Lab Coat Vignette

"This is my 'intuition.'"

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Riddle's Room]

[knock, knock]

Riddle: Please, come in.

Trey: Excuse me. Riddle, have you finished filling in all of the paperwork for the Housewarden meeting?

Riddle: I've long been finished. Here you go.

Trey: Oh, wow… That's a lot. This all goes to the Headmage, right?

Riddle: That's right. There are still other documents I need to finish tidying up, so I'll be counting on you.

Trey: Got it, I'll bring it to him right away. Make sure you don't push yourself too hard.

Trey: I'll be off then.

Riddle: Goodness… Trey has always been a bit of a worrier.

Riddle: Although, if I rest now, I won't be able to get everything done according to my schedule. I'll try to finish this up quickly.

Riddle: Hmm, all that is left now is… the registration forms for the Inter-Dorm Magical Shift Tournament.

Riddle: …I see, since Azul prepared these, there are an abundance of regulations to go through. It will be quite a lot just to read through it.

[rain starts to fall]

Riddle: Hm, is that rain…? I was so focused on checking the documents that I didn't even notice.

Riddle: It's coming down pretty hard. The forecast hadn't even given any warning for this.

Riddle: I wonder if Trey brought an umbrella with him when he left...

[Cafeteria]

―The next day

Trey: Achoo!

Riddle: !

Trey: Whew… Sorry for sneezing over the food.

Cater: Trey-kun, you sick?

Riddle: Really, now… This is why I told you to stay warm and sleep early yesterday.

Trey: Haha, that's my bad. I wanted to finish all my assignments, so I ended up staying up later than I meant to.

Trey: So it's just a self-management issue. Riddle, it's not your fault.

Riddle: Humph…

Cater: Hey, wait! Why's Trey-kun apologizing when he's the one who's sick and Riddle-kun is perfectly fine?

Cater: Obviously, there's something going on here that I don't know! Tell mee, let me in on it～

Trey: I mean, it's not really anything important…

Riddle: Yesterday, it started raining while he was out running an errand for me.

Cater: Ahh～ yeah, I guess I remember it raining. That was super unlucky, huh, Trey-kun?

Trey: Yeah… Achoo!

Riddle: Trey, do you have a fever?

Trey: I took my temperature this morning, but… I think it's looking good for now.

Riddle: Once you finish dinner, you should check your temperature once more. It doesn't seem like you have much of an appetite, either…

Cater: He's right, you haven't eaten anything. Why don't you go to the infirmary later?

Trey: Both of you are overreacting. I'm fine. I'm just a little lethargic, is all.

Cater: Then at the very least, you should have some soup, or something else good for you like that. Want me to go buy some for ya?

Trey: Like I said, you're blowing this way out of proportion. You don't have to do anything that… Achoo!

Trey: Urgh…

Cater: Uh-huh, see, like I said. Hey, Riddle-kun… I'm going to go take Trey-kun back to the dorm.

Riddle: …

[Library]

Riddle: Trey's cold has completely taken a turn for the worse. At this rate, my own ability to care for my own dorm residents will be called into question.

Riddle: Let's find a home cooking recipe book… Here it is. Hm, the soups listed here that would be good to help warm up someone with a cold are…

Riddle: Spicy curry soup, tomato and chili soup, leek and pork habanero soup…

Riddle: These all seem like they would warm anyone up, but they don't seem very gentle on the stomach…

Lilia: You there, boy, is something troubling you?

Riddle: Oh! You are Lilia-senpai from Diasomnia… Whenever did you get behind me…?

Lilia: Your nose was really dug into that book. What're you looking for?

Lilia: …Oh, you've got a recipe book there in your hands, I see.

Riddle: Ah, no, this is…!

Lilia: So, are you trying to cook something? I thought that was your Vice Housewarden's job.

Riddle: …Ordinarily, it would be, yes.

Lilia: Haha, I see. Looks like Trey really got hit hard by his cold despite his protesting.

Riddle: Eh? How did you know of that?

Lilia: We're in the same class, after all. He'd been sneezing all morning, so anyone'd notice.

Lilia: Which means, I guess you're in here searching for a light soup that would be gentle on his stomach to make for him?

Riddle: …He came down with that cold because of me.

Lilia: Hmm, seeing you so distraught and out of your comfort zone brings back memories.

Lilia: It takes me back, how old was Silver back then, again…?

Riddle: I believe it would be a major over-exaggeration to say I am distraught. …I will be fine once I find the right recipe.

Lilia: I bet you won't find it.

Riddle: Wh-Why would you say that?

Lilia: Kufufu. Because I've searched for one before, too.

Lilia: A mild soup to chase away a cold is much too easy to be found in recipe books.

Lilia: You can just feel the arrogance of those professional chefs.

Riddle: No… Well then, I'll simply have to think of another dish.

Lilia: Wait, wait, no need to rush off. How about I help teach you something you can make instead of soup.

Riddle: Eh!?

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Kitchen]

Riddle: I never realized how cold the kitchens get at night…

Lilia: Well, yeah, there's a lot of things that use fire here. Obviously, it'll be colder when there's no one else around.

Lilia: Anyway, let's get down to business. We need to finish making the soup before Trey goes to sleep.

Riddle: Right. Let me think, first… Should I retrieve the pot?

Lilia: Mhm. And you'll also need water and the seasonings.

Riddle: How much water should I use? …And please don't just say "use your intuition."

Lilia: You can just measure out how much you want him to drink in a cup and add that. As for seasonings, that'll be based on how much flavor you want to give it.

Riddle: How much I want him to drink… Would three cups be enough?

Lilia: Oho, jumping right in. Well, that should be fine. As they always say, "go big or go home."

Lilia: Next, you'll want to add a few spoonfuls of consommé for each cup of water… How many spoonfuls was it again? Eh, probably about 4.

Riddle: I understand. Then that would be a total of 12 spoonfuls.

Lilia: Now all that's left is to season it and let it simmer, but now comes the hard part. Everything from here will be gut feeling.

Riddle: Urgh… That is what I was hoping to avoid… Can one really create a delicious dish while relying on instinct…?

Riddle: So then, what would my intuition say to put in the soup? Should I start with salt?

Lilia: Hm. Salt is a fundamental ingredient, but the best ingredient is putting in what you want to. For example… What is your favorite food?

Riddle: That would be a strawberry tart for me. However, that cannot be added to a soup.

Lilia: You think? I think it would increase your appetite if it's made with something that you truly like.

Lilia: Choose ingredients chock full of nutrients to also add to the soup. Like ginger, eggs, garlic…

Lilia: Oh yes, bananas and yoghurt were common ingredients in my home.

Riddle: You'd really put those in as well…?

Riddle: Although, it is important to consume the proper nutrition efficiently, so you may have a point… How much should I put in?

Lilia: That's where your intuition comes into play!! The more nutrition you put in, the faster he'll get better.

Riddle: Is that so… Then, I'll add more…

Lilia: Back when I made this, I remember I added chili peppers.

Lilia: With one bite, Silver jumped out of bed as if whatever curse he was under had been lifted.

Riddle: W-Wouldn't a stimulant like that be detrimental here? …Alright, I think that's enough seasoning now.

Lilia: Oh, you're not going to add anything else?

Riddle: That's right. I pictured Trey and what I thought he'd like… This is my "intuition".

Lilia: I see, then. Well, all that's left is to bring it to a boil and it'll be done.

Riddle: I understand. Is medium heat alright…? …For some reason, I feel like the smell its giving off is… too intense…

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: …Achoo!

[knock, knock]

Trey: Hm…? Who's knocking at this hour?

[door opens]

Trey: …Ah.

Riddle: That's my line. You shouldn't still be up "at this hour."

Trey: I had been sleeping ever since I got back to the dorm, I just woke up. I felt a little bit better, so I was just finishing up some homework.

Trey: But never mind that, what do you have there in your hands…?

Riddle: …It's soup. This is the first time I've made anything like this, so I can't vouch for the taste…

Riddle: If you don't want to eat it, you don't have to. I can eat it for breakfast tomorrow.

Trey: No, I'll take it. Thanks for making it for me.

Riddle: Right. Well then, goodnight…

Trey: …[slurp]

Riddle: W-Wait, why are you eating it right now!? Go relax and eat it after I'm gone!

Trey: [slurp… cough, cough] Well, you went through the trouble of making it for me, so I thought I'd tell you how it came out.

Trey: It's not bad for your first time. Thanks.

Riddle: …There's no way… Achoo!

Trey: Riddle?

Riddle: Urgh… Your room is a little cold, Trey. It'll be hard to get better when it's like this.

Riddle: You should raise the temperature and go to sleep quickly.

Trey: Right, you too, Riddle. It looks like it'll be pretty cold tonight.

Riddle: Even now, you're still… It's fine, you need to worry more about yourself than me, Trey.

[School Infirmary]

―The next day

Riddle: …Achoo! Urgh… I feel so cold…

Jade: Riddle-san, please take care. I shall return to the classroom, now.

Riddle: Right, thank you for bringing me to the infirmary during class… Achoo!

Riddle: It doesn't look like the nurse is in, but there are beds available. I can probably take care of myself from here…

Riddle: Whew… First, I need to check my temperature… And get an ice pack…

Riddle: How negligent could I be? I never thought I would catch a cold as well…

Riddle: Ah, I forgot… to change out of my lab coat…

Riddle: But it's… too much work… to take off…

Riddle: …Zzz… Zzz…

Riddle: …Hm?

Riddle: Ah! Oh no, what time is it!?

Trey: School has already ended for the day, Riddle.

Riddle: Trey… Why are you here?

Trey: I heard that you were resting here in the infirmary, so I came to check up on you. How are you feeling?

Riddle: I'm feeling much better now… Achoo!

Trey: It looks like its not gone yet. You should take the rest of today to sleep. We can head back to the dorm once you're doing better.

Riddle: Hah… Looks like we've completely swapped positions from yesterday…

Trey: Haha, guess you're right.

Trey: Thanks for the soup. I drank it all.

Riddle: …You're a fool.

Trey: Hm?

Riddle: Nothing. I can walk with no issue now, so I'll return back to the dorm to rest.

Trey: Do you need someone to hold on to?

Riddle: I don't ne… Achoo!

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #jade leech #lilia vanrouge #twst riddle #twst trey #twst cater #twst jade #twst lilia #twst translation #mention: crowley #mention: silver

[ktwritesstuff]

The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 6

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Mature Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~2,700 Summary: Calm before the storm. Beta-read by the immaculate globe-trotter, @bs-fangirl.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (below cut) | Part 7

Somewhere Outside Richmond, Virginia. Summer 2010

After Atlanta, the three of you were careful, stayed away from populated areas; you rarely encountered the infected.  The world outside was more beautiful than FEDRA’s propaganda led you to believe–green and quiet–it was a shame you weren’t feeling well.

At first you tried to brush it off as allergies; it has been so long since you had been in actual nature, but allergies didn’t usually come with nausea and body aches.  Of course, sleeping on the ground didn’t help.  Eventually you admitted that it had to be flu or some other virus; you didn’t know how you picked it up when you hadn’t seen any other people in weeks.  

The nights were getting colder and you were running low on supplies.  You were hungry and exhausted–the lymph nodes under your arms so swollen and tender you couldn’t even carry a backpack without crying–so Joel and Tommy took turns exploring the mountainous terrain while you rested as best you could.   

Joel had been gone for little more than an hour and you didn’t expect him back until closer to nightfall, so when you heard footsteps approaching through the trees Tommy raised his gun.

“It’s just me,” Joel called.  “Calm down.”

“What are you doing back?” you asked, sitting up from where your head was resting on Tommy’s pack.  “Did you find food?”

“Better,” Joel said, reaching to help you up. 

“What’s better than food?” 

“I’ll show you,” he said.  “Come on.  Trust me.”

You and Tommy followed Joel about a mile into the woods until you came to a steep ledge along a riverbank.  Joel lowered himself down and reached up to help you.  

“I don’t like this, Joel,” you protested.  Your arms and legs felt weak and the rocks were wet and slippery; you gripped Tommy’s hand harder as he helped to lower you down.  

“I know, Sweetpea,” Joel put a hand on your back to support you as you made your way down the ledge.  “I got you.  We’re almost there.”

After wading through the river and trudging through the woods in wet socks and shoes for another twenty minutes you reached what might have once been a gravel path or road, now overgrown with grass and greenbriars.  

At the bottom of the hill there was a perfect little cottage bathed in dappled light.  The tin roof was covered in moss and speckled with dandelions.  A black walnut tree was growing through the remnants of the porch.  There was a clear pond and a garden that had gone wild with bolting greens, summer squash that had gone to seed, and runner beans trailing up the pawpaw saplings sprouting up through the yard.

“Joel,” you gasped.    

“There’s more,” Joel said, grinning like a maniac.  

The porch groaned under his weight as he climbed the steps to the house, you and Tommy following carefully behind him.

In the front room there was a wood-burning stove, a wooden rocking chair still in good condition, a sofa that was mostly dry-rotten, and a whole shelf full of books, even an antique sewing machine with a foot-pedal and a basket full of scraps where squirrels had made their nest.  They scurried through the window as you came into the house.     

The area behind the cabin was overgrown with wildflowers and brush.  Tommy actually whooped at excitement at the sight of a fat doe bending down to nibble on the tall grass, which caused her to turn tail and run.  On the other side of the room there was a set of narrow stairs up to a loft and a little kitchen where Joel was already throwing open the cupboards which were stocked with rice and beans and mason jars full of soups and tomatoes and pickles.

“I know it looks like a lot, but we still have to be careful,” Joel said.  “With a little planning, it should get us through winter.”

You covered your mouth and sank on to the floor; every muscle in your body finally giving out in relief.  Joel grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you back up; you held onto his shoulders for support.

“This is ours,” you laughed.  “Our house.”

Joel nodded, his pride evident in spite of his usual seriousness.  

“If the well is good, Tommy and I can get the pump working–we might even have running water.  There’s a bedroom back here,” he said, guiding you into the back room.  There was a double bed with a cast iron frame, a wardrobe, and a cedar chest of linens and wool afghans that Joel tossed onto the bed.  

“There’s plenty of wood, I can get a fire going in no time,” Joel explained.  

You nodded, sinking onto the bed, tears streaming down your face.

“Stop that,” Joel warned, but his voice was soft.  “Everything is going to be okay now.  We’re gonna make some food–you can finally get some rest and get healthy.”

You slept like a rock until Joel roused you with a mug of hot soup–a bean and vegetable number with tomatoey broth.  You wished you had some crackers to settle your stomach, but even without it was the best meal you had eaten in months.  

After, you slept again until after nightfall when Joel came to bed, undressing in the dark.  

“Tommy’s going to take the loft,” he explained.  “I’ll stay down here with you.”

“I’m afraid of getting you sick,” you protested as he climbed into bed beside you.

“If you haven’t gotten me sick already, you ain’t gonna,” Joel said.

You spent a few days subsisting on applesauce and oatmeal and sleeping as much as possible.  Joel mostly kept watch over you, hauling firewood, and fixing things up around the cabin–reinforcing sagging floorboards, patching holes in the roof.  There was a shed on the property with tools and supplies, but without electricity things took time.  Tommy helped out whenever Joel needed an extra set of hands, but mostly he passed time exploring the surrounding forest and stalking deer–so far unsuccessfully.  The house had come with a rifle and a small supply of ammo, but he knew to be judicious with it.  

You spent your few waking hours cataloging the contents of the wardrobe–women’s clothes, much of it handmade, most of it too small for your frame, but there were a few dresses you could use–and the cabin’s modest library–cookbooks, field guides on local plants and wildlife, and herbal remedies.  Little by little, a picture began to form of the cabin’s previous occupants.

You dreamed of her often.  Sometimes a lone pioneer, sometimes a fairytale witch.  You woke feeling feverish and ashamed.  You felt haunted.  Joel fretted over you when you screamed yourself awake, unable to explain why.  He never slept much either, so you weren’t surprised when you woke one night to an empty bed.  

The wind was cold.  You could hear black walnuts thunking against the tin roof as it blew.  You wrapped a knitted blanket around you and padded out to the kitchen in bare feet.  

Joel and Tommy were speaking in hushed tones out at the table.  They had a fire going, sharing nips of alcohol from an ancient-looking bottle of whiskey.  You wouldn’t have thought much of it, except they went silent real quick when they realized you were out of bed.  You couldn’t avoid the question that had been burning at the back of your mind any longer.  Who would have left this place when it had everything you needed?

“Joel, was there somebody here when you found this place?”

Joel cleared his throat, not meeting your eyes in the firelight.  

“There was an old woman,” he said.  “She was dead when I got here.”

“You swear,” you said.  “Do you swear she was already dead?”  You almost asked him to swear on Sarah, but you decided against it, knowing you would have to live with the answer.

“Jesus, Sweetpea, I swear,” Joel said.  “She died natural, as far as I could tell, in her bed–which makes her a hell of a lot more fortunate than the likes of us.”

“In the bed where we’ve been sleeping,” you wailed, pointing back to the bedroom.

Tommy chuckled.  

“You see why I didn’t want to tell you,” Joel said.

You closed your eyes and took a breath, choking down a sob.  People died all the time–you had lost your entire family in one night and barely shed a tear–so why were you suddenly overcome by the loss of this person you had never even known?  

“What did you do with her?” you asked.

“I wrapped her up in the comforter and walked her down the hill; I flipped the mattress over and I came and got you and Tommy,” he explained.

“Joel!” you shrieked.  

“What was I supposed to do?”

“We have to bury her,” you said.  “She left all of this for us; it’s the least we can do.”

You hardly considered yourself a Christian anymore, but still.  It didn’t sit right with you to leave your predecessor out in the open to be scavenged by wild animals.

“Fine,” Joel growled.  “We’ll take care of it, first thing tomorrow.  Go back to bed–you need to rest.”

True to his word, in the morning, Joel dug a modest grave.  You thought about looking at the remains before they were interred, but couldn’t bring yourself to unfold the threadbare fabric of the old quilt.  You covered the mound with river rocks.  Tommy whittled two dowels down and bound them with twine to make a cross.    

“You don’t know that she was Christian,” Joel protested.  You glared.  

“Would you like to say a few words?”

“I think I just want to say ‘thank you,’” you said, standing over the grave with a bouquet of Black-eyed Susans from the field behind the house.  “I know you don’t know us, but because you planted a garden we get to eat and have a safe place to sleep. And I just want you to know, we’ll take care of your home.”

After the funeral, it felt like a spell had been broken.  You were sleeping through the night and your appetite returned.  By the end of the week, you were feeling much stronger, so when Tommy finally brought home a deer, he and Joel showed you how to field dress and butcher it. 

Joel put the knife in your hand, standing behind you, guiding you through the motions.  

“Keep the point away from you and go slow,” he warned.  “Be gentle, you just want to go through the skin.  Puncture the stomach or intestines and all you’re gonna have is a fucking mess.”

You made it through the first layer of skin and the membrane beneath without too much difficulty.  Without the heart beating, there was less blood than you expected.

“This is a fat fucking deer,” Joel laughed, helping you scoop out the guts.  “Hell yeah,” Tommy agreed.

“She’s beautiful.”

You ran your fingers through the coarse fur, around the rose-like bloom where Tommy’s bullet had entered the deer’s shoulder and struck her heart.  Tommy knew what he was doing: a clean kill, quick, and as close to painless as it got.  You wondered where they had learned this; imagined that maybe they had gone on hunting trips with their father when they were young.

“You alright?” Joel asked.  “You look pale.”

You nodded, shaking off the wave of sickness.  

“I’m okay,” you said.  “What next?” 

“Reach inside,” Joel said, guiding your hands into the stomach cavity.  “Feel that muscle there, you’re going to cut through to get to the heart and esophagus.  Once you cut through that we can pull everything out to let it drain.”

“You’re a natural,” Tommy said, patting your back encouragingly.

“Takes a soft touch,” Joel agreed.  

Tommy took the deer to drain the rest of the blood.

With no refrigeration, the three of you realized you didn’t have a reliable way to preserve the meat; it was going to be much more than you could eat before it went bad.  Joel thought if he took the pelt and the extra meat to the Richmond QZ, he could trade for medicine or other supplies.  You didn’t like the idea of him out there alone, but neither he nor Tommy were willing to leave you alone.  

By day three with no sign of Joel, you started to panic.  Tommy put on a brave face, but you could tell he was just as worried as you were.  When reading could no longer keep your anxiety at bay you walked, exploring the forest.  You collected black walnuts and happened upon a strawberry patch up the hill from the cabin (though it was too late in the season now for strawberries), you even found chicken of the woods.  Tommy refused to touch it, convinced you were going to poison him.  

It was close to sunset on the fourth day when you finally caught sight of a figure with Joel’s approximate proportions and coloring, limping along from the rocks overlooking the old gravel road.    

“Joel!” you called out, scrambling down the hill.  “Joel.”  

“You had us scared half to death,” you said, throwing your arms around him.

“M’alright,” he said, relaxing into you.  “Twisted my damn ankle.  I’m sorry I scared you; I’ve just been moving slow.”     

Joel let you take his pack, and you ducked under his arm to support him on the path back up to the cabin.  Once you were within earshot you called out for Tommy and he helped you get Joel back up to the house and settled onto the bed with pillows under his bad ankle.  

“You got any Advil in here?” Tommy asked, rooting through Joel’s pack as you struggled to get his boot off his swollen foot.  There was a hint of bruising, but Joel could wiggle his toes.  It didn’t rule out a fracture, but if there were, hopefully it was small enough to heal on its own.  

“I wish,” Joel grimaced.  “Managed to find a new pressure switch for the jet pump, though.”

While Joel and Tommy went over their plans to get the well back in order, you sorted through your jars of dried herbs and spices, mashing up comfrey and wild garlic to warm on the stove with a few drops of oil from the pantry.  

“What the hell is that?” Joel said as you went to wrap his ankle with the paste.

“An herbal poultice,” you said.  “I learned how to make it from one of the books–been using it on cuts and scrapes.  Arnica’s better for a twisted ankle, but it doesn’t grow wild in this part of the country.” 

“I’d rather have some good old fashioned ice,” Joel complained, gritting his teeth as you tightened the bandages.

“Well we don’t have ice, now do we,” you snapped, tying off the bandages a little tighter than you needed to.  “So you’re just going to have to keep off it.  Now, are you hungry?  We’ve got fish.”

“Yes.”  Joel frowned; you knew he hated being laid up, but at this point there was nothing else you could do until his ankle had a chance to heal.  Thank heavens, it wasn’t worse. 

“I’ll put a plate on the stove for you,” you said.  “You have to rest.  The well can wait a few days more.”  

It was dark by the time Joel had eaten and dinner had been cleaned up; you changed into a flannel nightgown by candlelight.  You hadn’t even realized how scared you had been until you felt the relief washing over you as you climbed into bed beside him.

“I missed you,” you said, tucking yourself close to his side.  “It gets cold at night.”

Joel put his arm around you and kissed the top of your head.  You realized he must have been scared, too.  Or at least he was glad to be home, as much as he liked to complain.

“I even asked Tommy if he would come down to keep me warm,” you teased.  

“You did?” Joel chuckled.  “How did that go?”

You laughed.  “He gave me his blanket and told me to go sleep by the stove.”

Baby's First Taglist: @stilllivindue2spite, @amethystwonders11, @teacupcollectorr, @jbaby2, @flyingmushroomsss, @boysddontcry, @cated18, @sunnycamm

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