#the begging bowl: supplemental

[whump-a-la-mode]

Refeeding Your Whumpee

TW: Disordered eating

• Your Whumpee has been starved for goodness knows how long, and you can now easily count their ribs. Now, they’re in your care.

• The easiest solution would be feeding them normally, right? Yet, your Whumpee is reluctant to eat, and what little they do get down comes right back up. Your whumpee is experiencing refeeding syndrome, a disorder in which a starved person becomes sick from eating food again.

• Treatment involves slowly reintroducing your Whumpee to normal food, while supplementing their diet with a feeding tube. Over one or two weeks, the amount of normal food is increased, and the amount of food through the tube is decreased, until the tube is no longer needed. Doesn’t sound easy, does it?

• After their first taste of food, Whumpee begins ravenously wolfing down everything in sight-- At least, when you aren’t around. Every time, this makes them terribly sick, yet, they keep eating, hoarding food, hiding and acting aggressively.

• Now what do you do? You have to keep Whumpee from eating everything, even when they insist that they’re starving. They may beg, they may cry, but it’s for their own good. Particularly sneaky Whumpees might need to have the food in the house locked up.

• What about the other end of the spectrum? A Whumpee that won’t eat, that’s far too frightened of punishment or sickness. Maybe they can try a protein shake? But, it’s been days, and they’re looking so thin... Is it right, to order them to eat, just so they don’t starve? What about forcing them?

• What about the feeding tube? Most Whumpees will shy away at the sight of it, and good luck getting them to sit still long enough for it to be inserted. You might even need to take them to a doctor-- Hopefully your Whumpee isn’t a bitey one.

• If your Whumpee was previously a pet, maybe they won’t want to eat human food. Do you allow them to eat the kibble they’ve become accustomed to? Do you make them eat human food? What about human food out of a bowl?

• Refeeding a Whumpee is certainly a challenge, but in the end, it’s for their own good. Even if it doesn’t feel like it when you practically have to force food down their throat.

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump prompts #whumpee #whump prompt list #whumper #caretaking #food tw #forcefeeding tw #pet whump #pet whumpee #sick whump #med whump #sick whumpee #sickfic

[hotluncheddie]

OKAY I AM THE ANON WHO SENT IN THE CHUBBY!EDDIE THING ANF I AM FERAL AND BACK FOR MORE!!!

okay okay so. after vecna, not only does he have to take crazy meds to keep his fucking organs from shutting down, eddie becomes much more comfortable with snacking and not worrying about the expense of his food. the government payed him a good sum to stay quiet, and he uses it to support himself and wayne. this means all the treats he longed for as a little kid like chicharrones and twinkies would join the iron supplements and heads of broccoli in his shopping cart. he likes how it feels to get stoned and enjoy tasty foods, and when he and steve start dating, steve joins in the fun. cuddled on the couch with a bowl of carrots and ranch, the two pass a joint and steve encourages eddie to lean back into his chest. shirtless and giggly, eddie would gladly accept steve covering his neck and shoulders with kisses.

in terms of reconciling his new body, it was such an abrupt change but one that eddie welcomed. honestly the worst thing was he had found himself stuck between walls and furniture he used to be able to squeeze through more than once. he thought his stretch marks looked absolutely badass and metal, and he knows how much his body drives steve crazy. when he’s feeling mischievous, he’ll make sure to wear shirts that are just a touch too short and expose his belly on chore days (they always end with eddie pressed on the counter while steve fucks his thighs fast and hard). eddie’s almost like a house cat when people aren’t around. he used to struggle with sitting still, but now with steve to ground him and vice versa, the two love to lounge and eat and have mundane weekend conversations.

that isn’t to say there isn’t any sex. boy, there’s a lot of sex. the first places eddie noticed getting sensitive were under his new pooch, the delicate skin inside his thighs, and along his collarbone. however, as time went on, his wrists and love handles became noticeably more sensitive. the discovery of his wrists came one day when he and steve were making out and steve grabbed his wrists. he let out the most pathetic sound, which actually prompted steve to stop to check in. once it was discovered to be a welcome sound, steve held his wrists above his head while they rutted their cocks together, whispering praises in eddie’s ear. when eddie would fuck steve in gentle missionary late at night, the two loved nothing more than when steve grabbed eddie’s plush hips to guide his movements, eddie’s hairy belly rubbing against steve’s dick just right to make them both cum.

I HAVE WAY MORE THUS IS JUST HOW I’M AVOIDING STUDYING FOR A SPANISH QUIZ RIGHT NOW AHAHSHSHAHAHAHAJ CAN I BE 🦂 ANON?????

oh my god oh my goddddd 👹

!!!!🦂 anon!!! hello!!!!

going fucking crazy over this please send me chubby eddie hc's instead of working i beg i beg

obsessed with stoner boyfriend steddie omg and steve who just gets the worst fucking cotton mouth so he insists on buying all different kinds of sodas to see which helps the most. but he's too picky and never really likes what he gets enough to drink them all. and eddie just get fucking hungry and thirsty and just like needs something in his mouth at all times. like munchies so bad and he just ends up stealing steve’s soda bc he knows steve basically never likes them enough the finish the whole case. so eddie’s just in the habit of getting stoned and getting giggly and whiny for steve to get him more snacks, steve to share his soda, steve to rub his belly when he ends up too full and bloated bc he couldn’t feel it thru the weed. and steve just fucking giggles and dotes on him bc eddie get so cute and blushy and soft when he smokes himself into the couch. they watch dumb tv shows and make out for hours.

but the wrists!!! the sensitive wrists!!! you know steve uses that move all the time, pinning them above eddies head, before dipping to suck on his pecks because steve loves it when eddie gets stoned and too hot so he’s always shirtless in low slung sweats. or when eddie is reaching over to grab one of the twinkies hes obsessed with, steve stops him with a firm grip on his wrist, freezing eddie in his tracks, big brown eyes even bigger and pupils blown wide. steve grabbing the twinkie for him, slipping into eddies lap, strong thighs across eddies plush ones, groin up against eddies lower belly, only two thin pieces of material between them. hand still firmly on eddie wrist as he opens the twinkie with his teeth, leaning in slow to hold it up to eddies mouth. eddie keeps his other wrist perfectly still as if it’s being healed down too, opens his mouth slowly, eyes jumping form steve to the cake and back again. eddie being so sweet and good that steve has to prompt him to ‘bite down, that’s it.’ both their cocks hard and wet and pushing up agains eddie’s chub…

and fucking oh my god! eddie’s soft belly rubbing agains steve dick as they fuck and hold hands and stare into each others eyes and make love!!

and eddie who never had enough, always part of the clean plate club, never lets food go to waste. who can afford now to have a full plate, two plates, if he really wants. and fuck, lately he really wants. so he does.

and eddie not fitting thru spaces the same as he used to, getting squished when he leans to get something between the couch and recliner and between the counter and the table in the kitchen. knocking over things on his beside table because now he actually has an ass. and steve getting hard in like 2.5 second whenever he catches a glimpse of eddie’s struggle, the way he always gets a glimps of love handle or lower belly because eddie’s movements still get a little wild, he flails a little to get unstuck. but really he is just a big house cat now, so much more used to lounging and resting because he had to in order to recover. so they have lots of time to mess around, try different things, really play with how eddie’s body is changing and how they keep wanting it to change. planning together for the day when everything lines up just right. eddie’s a little stuck somewhere, enough to really feel it and maybe actually believe it. maybe it’s christmas time so it plays up nicely with the little extra hes put on, overindulging and feeling it all over. steve coming over to grope him, use him while he’s incapacitated (he’s not really but it’s hot). maybe not even touching him much, steve staying fully dressed, just peeling away eddie’s too tight shirt and underwear, playing lightly with his hole, one finger stroking his thighs, light kisses over his shoulders and collarbones, watching parts on him jump and each soft touch. steve just enjoying seeing eddie trapped and plump and squirming…

and those new stretch marks mixing with his new scars into this pink, red watercolour that just makes him feel so unique and badass. it’s like his death, survival and life all there in his skin. but eddie would sooo show it off, cropping his new baggier shirts but keeping some of his old ones too. now skin tight and obscene. and steve is just obsessed, always groping and squeezing eddie if he dares to wear an old one around the house, never getting to stray far and always getting a good solid orgasm if eddie slips one on to tease.

also obsessed with the idea of pre relationship steve getting it in his head that eddie’s too skinny. that he needs more nutrients. making him hearty foods packed with vegetables, making flapjacks full of nuts and raisins. hands eddie a big portion teasing ‘bet you can’t finish it’ and somehow it just makes this electricity buzz between them. the push pull of it. the eddie wanting to please and steve wanting to offer. and then it keeps going, steve offering eddie a spoon to taste, saying he made it just for him. ‘bet you can’t’ knowing he can. ‘bet i can’ knowing he will, that they both want to.

*this is so many thoughts on different tangents aaaaaaa hope it’s okay!!!

#🦂 anon #giving u a big brain kiss! #mwah! #chubby eddie munson #he is a big beautiful worm in my brain now #i love him #hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #weight gain #ask #<3 #chubby!eddie munson #steddie wg

[dre6ming]

When you’re ready

“I stayed there” series ~ part IV

Masterlist

〘Part I〙〘Part II〙〘Part III〙〘Part V 〙

To be added to the tag list click here

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem reader

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, crying, fluff, angst.

Plot: you just can’t seem to be able to catch a break from Austin and when he shows up at your door you have a lot of things to figure out.

Word count: 3300+

It's been a week since I've seen Austin last. I've been trying to go about my life normally, unpacking my apartment, cleaning, going out on walks, but nothing helps. That's why I find myself here, in the animal shelter, looking at cats. I've always begged for a pet, but my parents hate them and I've always been too busy. I don't expect to get less busy now with the residency, but it's time to start doing things for myself. I have to learn to enjoy life and care for my self. Passing kennel after kennel, not really being impressed with any of the cats, I finally stop in front of one. Inside curled in the corner I see a big chunk of black and white fur.

The big green eyes watch me carefully. I look at the tag on the kennel. "Boots" it's the name of the sweet little thing. A female cat estimated at around two years old. "Hey!" I draw the attention of one of the girls working here. "Can I have this one?" I ask pointing at Boots, the little kitty is now sniffing curious around the door of the kennel. "Sure, I'll go grab the papers, it'll be just a few minutes, I have to finish with this one client. Um, you can go shop at the pet store next door, so you don't have to wait." She rips the tag off of Boots's kennel and hands it to me. "She's yours, bring this to the front desk when you get back, to start the paperwork." I nod my head, give the cat one more glance and walk over to the pet store.

I pick up everything google says I might need as a first time cat mom. Litter box, toys, cat beds, a cat tree (how I'm gonna fit it all in my car? I don't know, but I'll cry over it, in a few minutes), cat food, treats, shampoo, claw clippers, brushes, supplements, food bowls, the whole deal. After 30 minutes in the store and minus 300$ in my bank account, I make my way to the front desk of the shelter, I hand the kennel I bought to one of the girls as the other helps me fill the forms. "You can change the name if you, want!" The girl says, but I shake my head, I like the name Boots, it's fit for her, as the pattern of he fur makes it look like she has actual black boots on. "Ok and sign here!" I do as instructed. "Perfect I'll make a copy you can take home, Ally bring Boots out to her new owner" the girl comes back and sets the kennel on the desk, I can see the kitten coiled into a tight ball, poor thing she must be scared.

After all the formalities are done, it's hits me like a brick wall that I now, have to figure a way to fit everything in my car. Struggling for a few minutes, I eventually manage to fit everything in place. I place the kennel on the back seat, buckle it in and get in the drivers seat. Getting home, I turn my apartment into a sanctuary for this cat, girly has the whole place dedicated to her and she been mine for less than an hour. At first Boots seems unsure of her surroundings, so it takes her a minute to warm up to the place. I put some food and water in her bowl. Unable to resist the delicious temptation, she goes to eat. I decide to leave her do some exploring on her own, as I sit on the couch turning the tv on. After a few hours of be binging half of the second season of "Only murders in the building" I get up to make some dinner. Boots is now sleeping on her cat tree, she looks to cute for me not to pull out my phone and take several pictures.

Doing a quick inventory of all that I have in my fridge the best option for dinner looks like an omelette. As I reach to get the eggs out, the buzzing of the doorbell makes me jump, dropping the entire carton of eggs on the ground. "I guess fuck dinner!" I say with a puff, going to answer the door. When the door swings open, I swear I must of died and woken up in hell. "What do you want?" He licks his lips nervously, lifting up my converse shoes, that look squeaky clean, they might as well be a new pair for all that I know. "Brought your shoes back.." I squint my eyes at him, I really can't catch a break with him, can I? "Ok." I sigh and reach out to grab the shoes but he pulls them back before I have a chance. "I give them to you, if you have dinner with me!" I widen my eyes , he can't be serious. That's when he lifts up the bag he's holding in his other hand. "Pasta from that one Italian place you love." The smell slowly reaches my nose and my stomach betrays me growling. He hears it of course, that fucking smirk of his spreading on his face. "No!" I close the door, fuck them shoes, I can buy another pair. Austin's foot stops the door. "Please, let's talk, I-"

"You what?" I'm really curious what more could he want from me, but not curious enough to let him in. "How did you even know where I live?" As the question leaves my lips, he blushes looking down, like a child being scolded for something they did. "Ana, she's still dating my friend, Aaron, so I asked her." I'm going to kill Ana. "She had no business doing that." He looks away, biting his lip. We stay like this, silent and then my stomach goes against me one more time. He smiles at me. "Someone's hungry, can I?" He motions towards the inside of my apartment. He's so casual and chill, while I have the fight of my life in my head as everything telling me to not let him in, loses to those small parts of me that want him here. I say nothing as I move to the side, closing my eyes while Austin makes his way inside.

He's looking around the place, I can't read his face, but if he dares to say something about my apartment, I might just stab him. Nowhere deadly of course, maybe in the left lower abdomen to avoid any major blood vessels or organs with vital importance. "It's nice!" He breaks me out of my planing to kill him, bastard. He takes off his shoes, going to the kitchen. I can't help the smile that creeps it's way on my face when he jumps back. "Ah what the- eggs?" Austin holds his left leg up in the air, showing me his egg soaked sock. I laugh at him and he can't seem to be able to resist joining in. "I was holding them when you rang the doorbell, got scared and dropped 'em" I shrug my shoulders, going to grab the mop from the closet in the hallway, I quickly grab a pair of socks from the load of laundry I've been too lazy to put back. "Here" I say as I smack the socks on his chest and begin cleaning.

"These won't fit me!" He complains, but I pay him no mind. "So you have a cat now? I know you've always wanted one." He changes his socks as he speaks to me, looking over at the cat bed, where Boots is sleeping peacefully. I put the mop away, grab plates and cutlery, then sit down at the small dining table. "I adopted her today." I keep my voice monotone and he seems to notice. Austin sits down and brushed a hand through his hair. "Oh, that's nice, she's cute, what's her name?" Why is he being so casual, what does he want from me? It can't be just the name of my fucking cat. "Boots" he laughs and looks at me waiting to tell him I'm joking. "Wait, you're serious? How- what happened to naming the cat after one of your favorite characters?" Un-fucking-believable.

"I did, named her, after William Turner's dad, Bootstrap Turner, you know I've always had a thing for Orlando Bloom." I tuck my hair behind my ears and watch his reaction, hoping he won't know I'm lying. "Right, of course!" Either he believed me or he just decides it's not worth to argue. "You have a dog!" I say as I start unpacking the food and putting it on the plates. "Yeah, Sheldon." I lift one brow at him, he teased me for my cats name and he names his dog after the kid from "The Big Bang theory". I start eating, but he doesn't, he just watches me. "Did you poison this before you came here, or-" Austin straighten his back as if I pulled him out of a trance. "No, god, no." He eats some of the food as well. It's pathetic, we make small talk? Like we weren't just on the beach a week ago, with me screaming at him. "Talk!" My voice is unfortunately a little louder than I want. He looks confused at me, it really baffles me how he can't understand he's not a happy sight for me. "Um, I wanted to say I'm sorry and before you say it, I mean it, I really do!" Tears gloss over my eyes and the lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. "No you're not!" I whisper as I look away, fixing my eyes on the window. The sun is starting to set. I blink and feel the tear fall down, i quickly wipe it off, but he notices it anyway. "I really am!" I hear him sniff and I look at him. Austin looks like his holding back tears of his own, but this can't be right. Right?! "Why?" My voice breaks.

He takes a deep breath, bringing both hands to his hair, pulling it exasperated. "Because I fucked up, big time." Tears now fall on his cheek, you've seen him cry before, but it never broke your heart like it does now. "You were right, so right, I-" he pauses the breathe. "I was just to far up my ass to see it. It's thanks to you that I even got the part in the first place." Shock covers my face, how can I be the one to thank? I shake my head and get up from the table, I need water or air, or a slap across the face. "No, no!" I repeat over and over again as I pace the kitchen. He sits up too, but keeps his distance from me. "The night before I sent in my last audition tape, I had the worst nightmare ever and, and when I woke up I just sat down at the piano and sang 'unchained melody', the director loved it and I got the part." I'm now full on sobbing, I know how real his nightmares are. "After I found out the news I wanted to tell you, but I didn't have your number anymore, I was angry that day when we broke up, I deleted. I drove up to your house, but your mom said to leave you alone, so I did." I can't no, he needs to stop, he can't. I lean back on the wall and fall to the ground, hugging my legs.

Austin falls to his knees with a cry of despair and an exasperated look of pain on his face. "I- I tried, I looked for you in every girl. Fuck I kissed them and pretend they were you. Sometimes I would manage to trick myself, but then I'd open my eyes, and all I saw was not you." He dries some of his tears with his hands, shaking his head. "It wasn't worth it, it wasn't - I might win an Oscar or whatever, but nothing will ever bring me back." So it was his number after all, he just didn't have my number anymore. I sniff and try to calm down. I have to be honest, I expected anything, but this. "You still talk like him." I didn't plan to say that out loud, but I did nonetheless. Something breaks inside of him, I can see it. My skin tingles, so I hug my knees harder and I close my eyes tight. "I can't find myself anymore, I- I don't think there's even an Austin in he-" he doesn't finish speaking, as he breaks into a fit of violent sobbing. I can't fight it anymore and I crawl over to him. I position myself on his lap, my legs on either side of his hips. He looks up at me, eyes puffy and read.

I can't look him in the eyes so I hug him tightly. Austin's hands embrace me, while he's crying in my shoulder, his tears soaking through my shirt. I want to say this feels horrible, I want to scream at him, slap him, scratch his face, rip his hair out, but I can't. I can't because I haven't felt this relaxed, warm and at home in three years. I stroke his back up and down, holding him until his body doesn't shake and no more sobbing can be heard from either of us. "Help me fix this? Cause you're all I've ever wanted" I close my eyes and sigh. I want so badly to say yes, but I don't know what to do. His arms let go of me and he pulls back to look at my face, but I avoid his eyes.

"Don't hide your eyes from me, please!" He begs me, he's begging. My heart speeds up and when he grabs my face in his hands, it nearly runs out of my chest. I lick my lips, trying to steady my breathing. Austin closes his eyes when my warm breath fans over his wet face. "Please!" He says again, licking his lips. "Austin, I need time, you don't get it." I get up from his lap and go to sit in the couch, dinner long forgotten. Boots comes up to me and sits on my lap. I pet her and she starts purring.

"I'll give you anything, just- please try with me!" He's sitting in the armchair opposite from me, his eyes burn holes through me, begging for a 'yes'. I look down at my cat, she's so oblivious towards the fact that I'm having a stroke while deciding if I should take my ex back. "You did your talking, now I do mine, I'll be clear, because I don't always speak in half said sentences" he immediately catches on the bite I take at his insult form the other time. He's ready to say something but you shut him up. "You were my first and only boyfriend, it took me a long time to be comfortable to talking to you. I told you everything, I never lied to you, I always supported you, hell when I read the news I almost called you to congratulate you and I cried happy tears for you. I was concerned about you and it seems I was right to be. You took digs at me, where you knew it hurt most." He nods he head and waits to see if I have anything more to say, but when I don't speak, he closes his eyes. "I understand, you hate me." He starts to get up from the armchair, but before he's fully up I speak again. "I don't hate you, that was the only lie I've ever said to you, that's what the problem is."

Shocked he comes to sit next to me and the couch, eyes searching my face for the truth. A little smile shows on his face, when he confirms I was telling the truth. Austin's gaze goes to my lips, so I bite my bottom lips, nervous at his proximity. A strangled sigh leaves his lips. "I think I want to try and fix this, but not tonight." Hie features soften, somehow his calming down. "Sure, yeah, when you're ready." I look away.

"It'll take me time and you have a girl-" he interrupts me "I broke up with her, I didn't love her" I nod, he didn't love her, ok, but did he love me? He couldn't have, you don't break what you love. "I love you, I loved you then and I love you now, I always have" my eyes are so wide I think the might fall out of my sockets. "You don't have to say it back, (y/n)!" He quickly adds and I simply nod.

He’s lying, he has to be, no way he just said that. I loved him, back then, but now? I still feel something, it's clear, but, is it love? My thoughts are cut short by my growling stomach, stupid stomach. "You're hungry, come on!" He takes my hand and we sit back at the table. We proceed to eat in silence and when we're done, I wash the dishes and he dries them, it's all so domestic and simple. I have to pinch myself so I keep in mind where we are and what brought us here. "I should leave you to rest, thank you for talking." I put the plates in the cabinet and nod listening to him carefully. "You have my number, right?" He asks

"Yeah, I do." Austin bites his bottom lip and I'm unable to move my eyes, hope he doesn't catch on, or at least doesn't joke about it. "Ok, text me when you're ready, I'm gonna be in LA for 2 more months." As I listen to him talk I take note of something, of his voice, it's back, it's the voice of my Austin, my sweet Austin. I step forward and hug him tight. "I will, I promise!" I look up at him and before I can think about it his lips are in mine. We kiss for a short moment, a small sweet kiss, it's reserved, fearful, but healing. "I'll go now."

I watch as he goes to put his shoes on, I'm at a loss of words. He opens the door and I come next to him one more time. We kiss again, this time more passionate, he grabs my waist and I tangle my hands in his beautiful hair. When we break apart we breathe hard trying to recover from being without air for a while. Our foreheads are still touching so I can smell him, warm, musky with a little citrus, I recognize the smell to be the perfume I gave to him for his birthday all this time ago. He must of kept on buying it, otherwise there's no way he still has it, my heart fills with a new feeling, something I haven't felt in a long time, love. "Goodnight!" He kisses the top of my nose, let's go of me and leaves.

I close the door and go straight to my bed, I'm exhausted so I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I have a dreamless sleep, unusual for me, but welcomed as the next morning I wake up and for the first time in three years I don't feel empty or numb anymore. I feel hopeful, let's pray it doesn't come to bite me in the ass.

#I stayed there series #elvis and priscilla #elvis songs #elvis film #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis fans #elvis biopic #austin butler elvis #austin butler smut #elvis smut #Austin #butler #austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler #love #fluff #angst #I stayed there #Austin butler imagine #fiction #x reader #elvis imagine #elvis music #elvisaaronpresley #austin!elvis #elvis 2022 #austin

[thesketchyheartist]

02/21

Takahata- Grave of the Fireflies

Grave of the Fireflies is a Studio Ghibli film following the spirits of a brother and sister in their travels towards the end of WWII. Grave of the Fireflies is more bloodless and traumatic than Barefoot Gen, but it follows two innocent civilians before the war ends.

One of the things that stood out to me, which I know is a characteristic of Studio Ghibli films is the attention to detail. A few things within that characteristic were what I saw. 1) Animating simple child movements, particularly Setsuko's mannerisms. I know the purpose is to make sure to draw sympathy to connect to a young girl since the film is narrated by Seita through a mature outlook. The camera would just look at Setsuko doing the most basic things like changing out of her clothes when they go to the beach instead of focusing on other parts of the scene. I'm not an animator, but I know a storyboard wants to focus on certain scenes for plot and artistic details, but I am curious why watching simple actions is so captivating. Or when Seita was unwrapping [I think] candy and having to pull it twice because it stuck to the paper when it was just a waste of a few seconds and effort just to show the inconveniences.

And this transitions to attention to detail #2: food. I only watched like 1-2 Studio Ghibli films but I was quite young and I don't even know the name of the movie to know if they are from Studio Ghibli or not, but I noticed other movies have a great animation when it comes to food. In GotF, the fruit drops, which I think are now closing down, much to Japan's grief, were especially pretty. Rice, a culture staple in many Eastern cultures had a great detail to show pretty much every grain and size (from experience, it looks like a short-grained sushi rice found often in Japanese food) when food is freshly cooked and served. WWII had many countries on food rations, and rice was the one food families always needed.

Side track note: In Chinese, there is a saying, “要饭”, which literally means "want rice", and novice learners might be tempted to say 我要饭, which would not be wrong but it is more right to say 我要一碗饭 because the first sentence doesn't actually mean "I want rice" but it refers to beggars asking people for rice as it is the cheapest food and it is a carbohydrate so it isn't something hard to get like vegeatables or meat. The second sentence is still "I want rice" but it's more specific and asks "I want one bowl of rice" like when you are at a restaurant. I only know Eastern and Southeastern Asian cultures, but I know outside of that area rice is still a vital staple of food culture. I only know American and European cultures to depend more on wheat and bread. I have heard that rice is getting taken out of food stamps and SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistant Program; government program for basic food supplies like vegetables and meat) and I know that many people who are in need will suffer. I know I would rather eat a bowl of rice than a loaf of bread because rice has the fiber to keep me full and I can cook different dishes rather bread is only a side thing that might not go well with other foods. Anyways, rice is important, and if countries that depend on rice and its growers have to even ration its most basic necessities, I know many people will suffer as a result. The worst part of not having enough is when no one else is not having enough, so it's actually just you not having enough and if no one else is not having enough than no one but you will even think about fixing your problem. Ok, previously on the last episode: ...

Continuing on The Food episode: When food became scarce for Setsuko and Seita, that was probably the climax when they started to suffer, and likely when Setsuko probably started having diarrhea. If I were to guess, it was when they moved out of their aunt's house. Even when Setsuko revealed to have problems, Seita refused to listen to the farmer and beg their aunt to take them back.

A final detail: the color red. As characteristic of Studio Ghibli films, the movie was filled with color, especially of nature. Compared to Barefoot Gen with the atomic bomb aftermath, the more common air raids did not strip the movie at any time of color. But the one color you did not see too much of was the color red. Oranges and yellows were for fires; greens and blues were for nature; the neon greens and yellows were the bridge with the fireflies. Red seemed to symbolize death and the spirits. In both the beginning, the end, and in occasional scenes in between, we see Seita and Setsuko only red when they are seen as spirits. At the end and beginning of the movie, you remember this is Seita's perspective of their lives. I remember at the end, Seita momentarily looks at us through the camera. We only see Setsuko's POV after she died where we see how she has spent her days waiting for Seita to come back to the shelter as she plays around and eats dirt. As the two finally get off their train, they can finally "do whatever they want" yet they chose to sit on a bench on a hill overlooking what must be a modern city years after their hometown was destroyed completely.

I also was kind of confused about their aunt. I know she didn't mean it, but after a while, she got annoyed with the siblings' presence, and I know she was probably jealous and maybe stressed to see them so happy and carefree. Yet, when they decide to leave and live at the shelter, she doesn't beg them to stay and apologize, nor does she try to hurry them. I think it's just part of the pain and emptiness people felt from the war.

And their closeness reminds me of Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko from Demon Slayer. Especially with the older brother carrying their younger sister, even though they are not particularly injured, they just carry them as a good onii-chan.

Also, the professor said this week was supposed to have really sad movies. Life honestly.

Like many post-war anime, the people are animated, yet disaster tends to be realistic. Even their bandaged mother had more realistic jawlines than other women characters.

-02/19/2024

[byroots]

Buy Authentic Lebanese Food Online At Best Price | Byroots

The emphasis in Middle Eastern cuisine is on flavor and Authentic Lebanese Food.

Lebanese Cucumber Yogurt Sauce This versatile sauce is a must if you’re hosting a barbecue, a potluck, or just want to add a little something extra to your meal. It’s creamy, light, and made with just four ingredients. You can make Lebanese cucumber yogurt sauce if you have yogurt, fresh mint, cucumber, and salt in your pantry!

This tangy sauce is typically paired with kebabs or other slow-cooked, spicy meats to give them a tangy kick. Plant-Based People

Bamia is an easy okra stew without meat from Lebanon. Bamia, or Lebanon’s Okra Stew, is made by simmering okra in a tomato-rich broth. This sweet-and-spicy mixture is a flavorful veggie dish that goes well with pita bread as well as rice. Or, on the other hand, scoop yourself a big bowl and enjoy it solo. Okra is actually a fruit, despite being considered a vegetable. Who knows?

Skinnytaste’s Lebanese Lentil Soup is a nutritious vegetarian and vegan soup made with green lentils, kale, sweet potatoes, and a lot of garlic, ginger, and lemon.

Lebanese lentil stew — with no meat but a lot of flavors — is another unusual option for meatless Monday meals. Do you wish to save this recipe? Please provide your email address below, and we will promptly send you the recipe!

Enter your email address… It is made with a lot of ginger and garlic, kale, sweet potatoes, and green lentils. You can make a large batch of this stew on Sunday and freeze portions for easy weeknight cooking because it freezes well. Your family will beg for more, your kitchen will smell divine, and your stomach will be full.

FeelGoodFoodie’s Best Lebanese Hummus: Authentic Lebanese Hummus There’s a reason why hummus is a Middle Eastern classic.

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It is a popular addition to dinner tables all over Lebanon. It is smooth, creamy, and has a flavor that is all its own. Every cook at home has their own take on it. Despite its simplicity, this delightful recipe is sure to make you feel good.

There are just four fixings in this super-simple, speedy, helpful, and delectable recipe.

For a buttery side dish that goes well with sandwiches, salads, and dips, combine chickpeas, tahini, lemon, and garlic.

As I said, there’s a reason it’s a classic.

Holy cow! Lebanese chickpea stew Holy Cow Vegan Lebanese Chickpea Stew (Byroots.com) Vegan Recipes Chickpea Stew from Lebanon Cooks from Lebanon adore chickpeas. And who would betray them? A wide range of dishes benefits from the flavor and bulk of this legume, which is high in protein. Along with roasted red bell peppers and an aromatic herb and spice mix, they are gently simmered in a tomato broth here. It is nutritious, vegan, filling, and, most importantly, tastes like heaven in a bowl.

Lebanon’s spinach soup (Sabanekh): Every Little Crumb 6Spinach is regarded as one of the finest greens available. Lebanese Spinach Stew It’s plentiful in folate, iron, calcium, and nutrients A, C, and K.

In the event that you need that large number of astonishing supplements, however, and love eating your greens, slip them into this magnificent dish. For a light, tangy hit, spinach is cooked with spicy ground beef and drizzled with lemon juice.

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#Authentic Lebanese Food #Traditional Lebanese Food #Buy Lebanese Moune Online #Buy Zaatar Online

[backlinktopper]

Substitutions and Tips and Tricks for Recipe Success

We (like all Hawaiians) take our poke seriously at Pola Poke Bowls. While most non-Hawaiians associate the word "poke" with raw fish bowls, this isn't necessarily the case. Our mixed bowls menu includes both raw and cooked fish alternatives, such as chicken, shrimp, and crab.

1

Some folks may find that strange. Poke, on the other hand, has nothing to do with fish. Poke means "to slice or chop" in Hawaiian, giving the typical Poke bowl a far wider meaning. According to Aland Kyser, Hawaii resident and author of the cookbook Aloha Kitchen, the "fish is the star of the dish, everything else functions like the chorus line" in the mixed bowls menu. Poke is often served with ahi tuna or marinated salmon on a conventional mixed bowls menu, and we do offer both choices in our poke bowls at Pola Poke Bowls in Reno. We don't stop there, however. We prefer to push things a step beyond.

The greatest poke in Reno can be found on our Pola Poke mixed bowls menu. We always utilize the freshest ingredients, and we're proud of both our classic and non-traditional Build Your Own Bowl (BYOB) mixed bowls menus. Yes, with a selection of all our components, you may create your own wonderful mixed Poke bowl. You'll have the finest bowl of Poke ever this way!

Choose From Our Menu Of Poke Mixed Bowls

Bowl of Superfoods

Our Supplement You may not get superpowers from a poke bowl, but you never know. According to Oxford Languages, a superfood is "a nutrient-rich food said to be particularly helpful for health and well-being."

You may use either kale or brown rice as the foundation component in our Superfood Poke Bowl. Kale has long been regarded as one of the most powerful superfoods due to its high vitamin and mineral content. Vitamin B6, calcium, folate, and iron are all abundant in kale. If you pick brown rice, you may also anticipate a lot of nutritional fiber.

Salmon sauced with sesame shoyu cucumber, sesame seeds, scallions, and red onion is the protein in our Superfood Bowl on our mixed bowls menu. Fresh avocado, edamame, pickled ginger, and seaweed salad top our delectable Superfood Bowl. Furikake and dried nori seaweed strips are added for an additional crunchy superfood bite.

Bowl of the Otherside

Our Otherside Bowl stands out among our mixed bowls. Instead of raw fish, we utilize chicken with a garlic chili or teriyaki sauce, cucumber, scallion, sesame seed, and red onion in a typical white rice foundation. Fresh mango, maize, jalapeño, carrot, avocado, and edamame are all included in this scrumptious Poke bowl, which is garnished with crispy onion and coconut. The Otherside Bowl is ideal for those of us who like a more "chicken" approach to eating raw fish.

The Bowl of Vacation

Okay, this is one of my personal favorites. Also, my mother. My girlfriend, too. And her mother... You get my drift. Do you like sweet and spicy foods? Options for traditional poke fish? Lots of tasty fruits and vegetables? Our vacation bowl is also especially for you!

We start with mixed greens and white rice, then top with tuna or salmon, pineapple ponzu sauce, cucumber, sesame seed, scallions, and red onions. We top our Vacation Bowls with spicy crab, avocado, fresh pineapple, and seaweed salad to give them an additional hot bite. With furikake and coconut macadamia, we add crunch to our Vacation Bowl.

Bowl of Aloha

Aloha spirit reflects the synchronization of love and heart in everyone, Hawaiian and non-Hawaiian equally. When you are welcomed with a loving "aloha," you are offered mutual admiration and affection without any expectation of reciprocation. "Aloha" refers to the nature of a relationship in which each individual is essential to the happiness and survival of the other. "Aloha" means "to hear what cannot be heard," "to see what cannot be seen," and "to know what cannot be known."

We had to create the Aloha Bowl as we were putting out our mixed bowls menu. We also poured our hearts and souls into it in order to portray the actual essence of "Aloha." We begin with a white rice foundation and then add ahi tuna and octopus, as well as a sesame shoyu, cucumber, sesame seeds, scallions, and red onions. Sweet pineapple, bell peppers, seaweed salad, masago with the crunchy kick of furikake, dried seaweed, and crispy onions are among our fresh toppings.

That Beet Bowl is a hit with vegans and vegetarians alike.

We have a Love That Beet mixed bowl menu option for our vegan and vegetarian Poke fans. We start with a simple mixed greens base and then top it with beets and avocado dressed in a Japanese sauce. For a spicy and crunchy kick, we toss in some wasabi sesame seeds and crispy garlic.

The Ultimate Mixed Bowl Menu Option: BYOB

This is where our Poke mixed bowls menu takes a turn for the bizarre. With our mixed bowls offering, consumers may be creative and create their own Poke bowls. You may select from two sizes: Regular (2 scoops of protein) and Large (3 scoops of protein), as well as a pure veggie option. Do you want four scoops of protein? You have it! In our perspective, it only makes it that much better.

Then, based on the size of your dish, you may choose which of your proteins you want and in what proportion. Deep sea crab, chicken, octopus, salmon, spicy tuna, and shrimp are all available. You may choose numerous proteins from our mixed bowl menu if you're feeling extra daring. Are you looking for spicy tuna, salmon, shrimp, or crab? Do it! Then you may choose between white or brown rice and kale or mixed greens as your basis.

What is the Poke Bowl Recipe?

Get the rice ready. Brown rice takes a little longer to cook than white rice, so keep that in mind. Cooking time in my rice cooker is usually about 40 minutes. This step may be accomplished ahead of time as well.

Tuna should be marinated before eating. Using a VERY sharp knife, cut the ahi tuna into bite-size dice. Fill a medium mixing bowl halfway with water. In a mixing bowl, combine soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey, and sesame oil. Marinate the ahi tuna while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

Make the spicy mayonnaise first. Combine the mayo and sriracha in a small bowl. Everything should be combined. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Place the mayonnaise in a small plastic baggie. A little piece of the corner should be removed.

Mix the ingredients in the bowls. It was easy as I said! Half-fill a bowl with cooked rice. Place the tuna on top of the rice. Cucumber, carrot, and edamame should be used to surround it. Arrange the avocado on top. Sesame seeds and green onion pieces are sprinkled on top. Drizzle hot mayonnaise on top.

#food #recepies #poke bowls

[williamson67junker]

Loving Elementary Football Learning Habits

Option Offense technology has a host of new options. These options are optimized for college football. The defenders can also be highlighted so that the offensive players can closely monitor their movements. This will help in making the decision about whether to keep the football or throw it. Start with two shakes per morning.One before breakfast and one after work.Experts recommend you drink 1/3 of your shake before and 1/3 during exercise, and 1/3 of it after lifting.This is fine as long your stomach can tolerate it.It can be quite difficult to consume in the summer. So, give visit here and see what happens. football player game If the shake comes out instead, it does not serve any purpose. Back in the 90's I coached the only way I had ever known, "I" formation power and option football. As an add-on to our "I", we bought a small spread shotgun package and ran a simple base 5-3-2 defense. We ran the same offense and used all the drills I had learned as a youth and high school football player. We also used some of my College drills. Our offensive production was often directly tied to the amount of talent we had, and often the size our offensive line. Increase your speed. A good football player should be quick in his footwork. Track exercises can be added to your workout and you will be outpacing your opponent in no time. It's something few guys will agree to. However, if you want to improve your football skills and get your coach to view you as a starter, you must be willing to put in more effort than the rest. Many players believe they are so good they don't need to work hard. You're welcome. So, before we get into the subject of how to use supplements to get faster and stronger for football at all, first realize that they are, as the name implies, supplements. They are meant to complement your normal eating habits, but not replace it. If you are not eating correctly, it is time to start. Then, once you're happy with your eating habits, you can look into supplements. My mistake was to not terminate the teams enrollment. The problem was this team practiced across the street from Omaha's largest housing project and the kids had no other place to play football within walking distance. After the football practice that we held the first day was seen by the children in the area, more and more people started to come along, begging to be a part of the team. I'm not good at turning kids away, but these were kids who needed the program even more than we did, so I took them all. I had 3 teams the following year, and we had the coaches we needed in order to accommodate teams of 25. Osborne drafted future NFL quarterbacks Jerry Tagge (now Dave Humm) and Vince Ferragamo (now NU) to lead these offenses. NU was the quarterback. From 1969 to the late 1970s, NU was a 50% pass/50 run team. They were split roughly in the middle. NU won National Titles both 1970 and 1971 with this "spread" passing system. Johnny Rodgers even won the Heisman Trophy in 1972 as a receiver at NU. Osborne's 1971 and 1970 National Title winning teams (both had amazing defenses) but his teams in the mid- and late 70s were being beaten every year by Oklahoma. His teams often did not fare well at Bowl Games. Although NU's teams were winning 9-10 matches every year, it wasn't their goal. They wanted to compete for National Championships.

#pragmatic007 club

[sephirajo]

Another supplementary begging bowl

Okay here is the cleaner write up this one for the last week and change of the month. Already starting out with 30 in it and like before setting at 250 for foods and medicine. Any little bit you can give helps feed my kiddo, me and get me the medicine I need to live life. So yeah please pass around like mad today so I can hopefully pick up my meds before I leave my moms house Monday. As always help can be sent to my PayPal [email protected]. Or feel free to contact me if you want to help but PayPal doesn't work. 30/250 Thank you in advance. I hope you guys can help or pass the bowl. Now I get to pray to be able to deal with the pain till then.

#the begging bowl: supplemental #the begging bowl #donation post #signal boost #please help me #total disability sucks ass

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

#salem writes #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw dark content #tw yandere #tw vomit #it's vomit from illness btw #tw self injury #please lemme know if i miss a tag #hawks x reader #yandere hawks #i might delete this or repost to my side blog sdklfjla #we will see #for now it is here

[67impalaandwhisky]

Get Some Rest

Daryl Dixon x Wife

Rating: 18+

Chapter 5.

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Blood, Death, Walker Bites, Smut, Impreg Kink, Pregnancy Sex, Fluff, Angst

Warnings For This Chapter: None Really

A/N: So I am watching TWD for the first time, I started writing this series when I was only on Season 2 and now that I'm on Season 7... We needa talk lmfao. I'm going to keep this series based before Negan in Alexandria before Glenn and Abraham... you know. Hershel is also gonna be alive cause that's grandpa and we love him. So keep that in mind while you read! Enjoy!

The sun is only starting to go down when Daryl wakes up.

He pulls himself away from you slowly, kissing your temple.

If last night didn't finally pull some perspective out of him, getting home to you this morning to see how completely worried you were did.

He doesn't waste a second getting up, Hershel's orders echo through his brain like a ringing bell.

He grabs you a bottle of water, then two just in case before starting on some food.

You've actually been revolutionary when it comes to food for this town. You're so smart and so resourceful all from reading books and knowing little tidbits from before the apocalypse.

You taught people how to make pasta from scratch, taught people how to make edible wheat, you've even gone so far as to make equipment from scratch for food purposes.

Daryl knows the underlying reason if he's being honest.

You won't be asked to go out on runs and to go patrol if you're helping manage the food sources and helping bring old favorites back to the town's inhabitants.

He can respect it. It's smart.

You're smart.

Daryl cracks a few eggs into a bowl, peeking down the hallway every so often to make sure you haven't woken up.

Your husband has picked up on a few things since you've shown your skills and he's simply run away with the cooking in this house.

You do so much for all the townspeople, he's willing to do whatever it takes to make you just a little bit less stressed.

He's the survivalist of the family and you're the brains -- can't ask for much more.

"If you put the spring onions in the eggs it'll add a tasty bite to them, supplements the pepper and salt," you call to your husband.

Daryl jumps at the sound of your voice, nearly knocking the bowl over. "Jesus Christ! Don't ya know better than to sneak up on a man? Fuck!" he curses, putting his hand over his heart.

Your giggle is short and light, making up for the scaring incident just moments ago instantaneously.

"Go back to bed, you ain't walkin' around today," your husband instructs, grabbing the spring onions like you suggested.

"I'll go back to bed later, I need to go check how the rice is growing." you reply, sliding on your shirt.

Daryl shakes his head immediately, walking over to the front door and blocking your exit. "Go back to bed, baby. I ain't sayin' it again. You gotta rest. Doctor's orders."

Your frown is so deep, you wouldn't be surprised if your face gets frozen that way.

"But-"

"But nothin'. Get your sweet ass back to bed. Just listen for once, please," Dixon begs, folding his arms.

With a whiny sigh, you trudge back to your bedroom.

"Stubborn pretty thing," your husband hisses, walking back to the kitchen.

There's been many days lately where you just get to be laid up in bed. You've never seen the inside of your house as much as this month.

You find it difficult to just sit around when so much needs to get done in the way of food around here. Even Daryl finds it difficult to stay in one place but you relate that to him always being on the move since he was very young.

"You're jittery," your husband notes, sitting up.

"I'm just so used to doing stuff," you breathe.

You're so full from the good food Daryl made that you don't think you'd be able to move even if you wanted to.

"Your feet are so swollen, I don't think you're goin' anywhere for a while," the redneck comments, moving down the bed.

Just the notion of being stuck inside has you raring to leave.

"That sounds terrible," you chirp.

Daryl lifts your foot onto his lap with a lopsided smirk. "Hand me the lotion," he insists, combing his hair back with his fingers.

"Ah yes, the good ol' expired lotion." you tease, tossing him the bottle from the bedside table.

"It works, don't see you gripin' about it when I'm rubbin' your back," he quips.

Sticking your tongue out, he chuckles freely.

His thumbs work quickly once the lotion is on your skin, he applies pressure in all the right spots, dragging the pads of his fingers over your sore, swollen muscles.

"Oh God, you're sure you weren't a masseuse before the world ended?" you beam, resting back against the headboard comfortably.

"Ya got me," your husband teases, kissing over your bare calf.

"I gotta read this book on beans and how they grow," you announce, grabbing the hard covered book.

Daryl laughs at the notion, nodding at the thick book. "Go on, I'm gonna tell the baby another story."

As you flip open the front cover, you watch your husband's eyes glaze over like he's remembering thousands and thousands of memories all at once.

"Where'd I stop, kiddo?" Daryl murmurs, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You stopped at the time you broke Rick's nose," you remind him, flipping through the first pages.

Your husband hums in agreement. "Your mama has saved my life so many times over, not just from those damn walkers but from people too… We had a nasty recurring character in our lives, called himself the Governor."

You scoff at the name, grabbing your water bottle and shaking your head at the memory.

"There was a real bad illness flying around the prison back in the day. Your mama thinks it was swine flu. I think it's another joke God wanted to tell."

Daryl continues to drift his fingers along your feet and ankle, remembering the old days.

"The Governor gave us a lot of trouble. We just had the flu victims finally getting better and the mad motherfucker rolled up with a tank…"

"What do you mean Carol is just gone?" you hiss to your boyfriend pulling him into an open cell.

"She burned two people… Rick said she had to go." Daryl murmurs, sitting on the bunk mattress and hanging his head.

"She was just trying to protect us! Is he crazy?! How's she gonna survive out there on her own?!" you gasp, covering your face with your hands.

You can understand where Rick is coming from but you can understand Carol's mentality.

If burning those two people meant that it could have stopped the sickness, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

"She has supplies, weapons, food…" the redneck whispers.

"Oh stop it! That doesn't mean shit and you know it! The only reason that she didn't come back with Rick is because that sickness spread. If it would have stopped at just those two, she would have been seen as a fucking hero. Such bullshit," you curse, folding your arms and taking a seat beside Daryl.

He hums in agreement. He has a special relationship with Carol, everyone knows this, they've become soulmate friends so fast after Sophia.

"Did you punch Rick again?" you inquire, leaning back against the wall.

"No… I don't even know how to process all of this… It's all ju-"

There's a large boom that echoes throughout the air and both of your heads slowly turn to one another with wide eyes.

"What the fuck?!" Daryl shouts, rushing out the cellblock with you in tow.

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Don't you dare leave my side, you understand me? I ain't losin' you again. Stay with me."

You nod immediately, bursting out into the courtyard with him.

"Rick! Get down here!" the Governor yells, standing atop a military grade tank.

"Oh, he's so fucking insane," Tyreese murmurs.

Your boyfriend pulls you with him, handing out sniper rifles to everyone as quietly as possible.

You're unsure what continues to draw people to this psychotic one eyed man who is always the leader of a band of misfits and deranged sociopaths… maybe it's the drawl of his accent that lulls people into a false sense of security.

Your heartbeat is racing inside of your ears, like your body is getting ready for a fight it instinctively knows is about to happen. You can't hear anything from the outside world, only responding to small squeezes from Daryl's hand before he lets it go.

You, Daryl and Carl post up against the chain link fence, keeping the mouths of your guns faced towards the commotion.

"Jesus Christ," your boyfriend murmurs when Michonne and Hershel are pulled from the back of their truck.

You can hear the violent sobs of Maggie and Beth muffled, like they're screaming underwater to the vast ocean.

You can only think to yourself how completely tits up this is going to go.

"I can shoot him, I can end it right now," Carl insists.

"Or you'll start somethin' else." Daryl hisses, looking over at the boy with a stern gaze.

"Should have let him take that shot," you interrupt, studying the growing phases of the beans.

Your husband grabs your other foot, sighing softly. "I should have, yeah."

When The Governor grabs Michonne's katana… your heart thuds deep within your chest and your fighting sobs that threaten to slip past your lips.

There's only one way this is going to end… you can feel it.

"Get to the bus," you cry gently.

"No. We stand together. We all have jobs to do," Beth whimpers, trying to steel her resolve.

Rick begins a passionate plea, a speech that for all intents and purposes would put gusto and faith into many.

"This isn't gonna work, he's fucking craz-" your voice suddenly stops when The Governor chops at Hershel's neck.

The scream is so loud and you find yourself even yelping at the sight.

"NO!" Maggie bellows.

You fire the first shots at the survivors outside of the gates, if Daryl has taught you one thing -- survival of the fittest is the only thing that matters right now.

There's gunshots and screaming, blood just flying up into the air like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

You lose sight of Michonne and Hershel in an instant, even Rick is nowhere to be seen.

"Baby!" Daryl's scream is drowned out by missiles flying into the prison walls.

Everything in this moment is like the worst cacophony of a deathlike musical. The crying, the screaming, the shouts of anger… it all triples into a song of battle.

When the tank rolls in, you lose your boyfriend immediately. You don't stand your ground, you run and hide for a better angle on the incoming murderers.

You can hear the growls of walkers when bullets aren't whizzing into walls and plants by your head.

This is so beyond fucked.

You're so beyond fucked.

But you're gonna keep fighting -- because Daryl will.

"BABY!"

Daryl's voice fades and echoes with each passing moment but you can't respond as you keep your finger on the trigger gunning down incoming folks.

When the tank drives closer, you feel a golf ball sized lump growing within your throat.

"Y/N, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" your boyfriend screams.

Finally, you catch him out of the corner of your eye. He's two seconds away from taking a bullet to the brain but you manage to shoot his aggressor in an instant.

"Walker!" you bellow.

Your boyfriend turns on his heel at your word, stabbing the walker in the temple with his knife.

He uses the dead man as a shield, absorbing bullets as you take out men here and there that shoot at him.

Daryl is comfortable with you watching his back so much so that he feels like can afford to take a second to pull the pin out of a grenade.

Your ears ring with the loud bang and you have to blink several times to will your vision to straighten out.

"Y/N, come to me! Now!" your boyfriend orders, pulling the pin out of another grenade and shoving it down the pipe of the tank.

You do as told, jumping up and running on weak legs towards him.

He holds up his crossbow, shooting it into the head of the plaguy tank driver.

"Carl?!" you scream at the top of your lungs, shooting some close walkers who are getting too close for comfort.

"We gotta go baby. Right now. We gotta leave." Daryl hisses, pulling you with him.

"But we can't! We have to g-"

"Y/N! We have to go!" the redneck yells, tugging you away from the prison.

"God, the smell." you recall, shutting your book.

Daryl hums in agreement, closing his eyes at the memory. "I didn't know what I would have done if I would have lost mama again. She was all I could think about."

"You were worried about Hershel," you comment, combing your fingers through his hair.

"Well yeah but he's fine now." Daryl murmurs.

"We lost everyone after the prison, everyone was split up," you tell your stomach.

Your husband scoffs at the memory. "Me and your mama just ran and ran until we couldn't anymore."

"I-I can't," you wheeze, jumping over a strewn tree trunk.

Your boyfriend looks around at his surroundings before nodding. There's no imminent danger that he can see so the least he can do is let you rest a few minutes.

"We sh-should hole up somewhere," you wheeze, crouching down to take deep breaths.

"Ain't got nowhere around here that's safe, baby girl," Daryl murmurs, passing you the only bottle of water left between the both of you.

"We can make a place safe, put up signs that tell the others where we are… they're gonna come look for us. I just know it." you breathe, leaning back against the tree trunk.

The redneck weighs his options and God, it sounds like a good one.

"I should try and track… see if they left any clues about where they took off to." Dixon announces.

He doesn't believe that anyone at the prison is still alive… hell, he's surprised you both are okay.

But you believe, and that's enough for him to keep going for a few hours.

Next Chapter ---->

Get Some Rest Taglist: @howlerwolfmax, @dunixxd, @daryldixonstorm, @shawtygonemad, @riverscyberwife, @gnocchey, @fuseburner

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon smut #daryl x you #daryl x reader #twd fanfic #twd fic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead

[alolanrain]

Headcanons about Ash's Pokemon?

- babies. The entire loft of them. Babies.

-yeah their tough and all that but when it’s just them and Ash they turn into absolute goo piles of affection and love. Begging for attention and nudging Ash’s cheek and hands.

- even Ash’s tougher Pokémon such as Charizard and Sceptile still go weak when Ash brings out this soft praising voice when it’s just him and them

- there’s a bit of jealousy circling around Ash’s Pokémon aimed at Pikachu but it’s not really spoken about

- like they all know it’s there and that they all have some kind of itch of it against the mouse but they don’t vocalize it

- they really don’t hold it to Pikachu since he is Ash’s first Pokémon and their relationship was one if not the rockiest ones out of everyone

- much like younger kids do with lost pets; Ash’s Pokémon bring home hurt Pokémon, both captured and not, and beg their trainer to help heal them

- this also causes a lot of commotion with Ash and other trainers when they find their hurt Pokémon missing, though it’s usually bad trainers who just leave them there, and Ash’s ranch/mom’s house is now kind of known as kind of like a Pokémon center run by two humans and other Pokémon

- fire types usually don’t like sweets, they mostly enjoy tangy or bitter fruits and other foods, but Ash’s fire types adore sweet treats

- they beg Ash to bring sweets from what ever region he’s returning from and he just can’t say no to them.

- on the other hand Ash’s water types have a thing for spicy shit and Ash physically cringes when he smells the over whelming spice’s he picks up from stores around the world.

-multiple times he has to remind himself this so for them and not him and that he won’t ever eat this much amount of spice

- most meals are the normal Poké-vet, heavily Brock and Misty approved, kibble with specific vitamin powders for certain Pokémon or added supplements for others. though most just get plain Poké kibble with no added things and such.

- their dispensed into specific cup, bowls, even plates when Ash is away by a hand made machine that much bigger nursery and Pokémon boarding camps have and either Brock or Misty go over to the ranch to check to make sure each one is all filled.

- all of his Pokémon have hand made dishes that are very personalized to them and how Ash met them or signifying a special event between specifically them and him.

- Like Charizard’s bowl has a giant leaf on one side, made as a handle for him to grip easier for his claws, that almost looks frosted on the edges. Signifying the night he met Ash and the moment he and the boy reconnected down the line.

- Snorlax’s bowl is shaped like the fruit forest, if I remember this correctly, in Hoenn that Ash left him in to take care of. It symbolizes that he’ll always come back to Ash because he chooses Ash as his trainer and he’ll walk to the ends of the Earth just to be with him again.

- Buizels bowl has an unofficial Sinnoh ribbon glued to the side while the other has a resin shared of rock on the other, used as a handle for easier eating, from his first ever battle with Ash. He had taken it and hid it under the flap of his neck-float until Ash found it while helping him clean his back. Keeping it safe in his backpack for the rest of the entire trip of Sinnoh.

- even Legendaries have their own bowls! Because a few have stopped and stayed with Ash for a few nights at the Ranch.

- Mew is natured base and doesn’t really have anything sticking out from its wide caldron shaped cup besides the handle that’s a vine with leaves wrapped around it. It depicts a countryside all around it and she eats all her meals from it and refuses any other dish.

- Mewtwo and Newtwo are really the only Pokémon that have matching utensils to their plates and cups that they rarely use. Only in the presence of Ash if he also has a meal that requires a spoon or fork.

- their also really the only two that have a full set of dish-wear for them. Each having a cup, plate, bowl, and utensils.

- even bigger Legendary Pokémon have bowls! Though their made by Ash’s friends since he can’t go to a potters and casually commission a giant ass bowl for Giratina.

- the wonky dishes in his house that aren’t really personalized like the others are his, Pikachu’s, and strangely enough Arceus’s.

- that’s right. Arceus has a damn bowl waiting in Ash’s giant ass two floor barn for a shed in the back. It hasn’t been used but it’s there. Just in case.

#ash ketchum #ash ketchum pokémon

[lillianofliterature]

protective measures | data soong x reader

a/n: this came to me while I was in the shower myself and blacking out (losing vision and hearing) repeatedly because I decided taking a hot shower was a good idea. So I suddenly pictured this scene in my head and I decided to write a fictober fic about Data being a protective partner and not dealing with my shiz – aka me ignoring the fact that I have a chronic illness and that my body can’t regulate its own temperature.

I juST WANT A SCALDING HOT SHOWER WITH NO RISKS, DARNIT.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

fanfic or original work: fanfic

fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation

prompt: (#24) “Are you kidding me?“

summary: reader has a chronic illness (POTS/Dysautonomia) and decides to do something stupid, which Data rectifies immediately.

warnings: reader has a chronic illness, playful arguing, light language

terms used: spoon = chronically ill folk like myself refer to our energy levels as spoons. For example, doing one chore or taking a shower would take up one spoon, and some days we might have three more spoons or no more spoons left to spare after that.

word count: 2.9K

music: What I Love About Charlie by Randy Newman

The soft whoosh of the door to your quarters hummed peaceably to a close behind you as you crossed the threshold of your small haven among the stars. There was a reminiscent twinge of lavender in the air from the candles you had burned before your shift, daring you to clamber under the soft duvet of your large bed and let sleep have its way with you. However, instead of such, you heaved a wearied sigh and slid your shoes off by the door, nudging them against the wall, knowing full well that you had only one spoon left to spend – and you needed a shower.

Your movement by the door warranted the attention of a certain ginger tabby who plodded up to you from her hideout under the cool recesses of the multi-tiered scratching post. The indulgent warmth of Spot’s fur comforted you as she lathered her forehead against your calves. You smiled down at her and whispered a soft greeting, granting her head a gentle pat.

When you stepped forward to make your way to the bedroom suite, she wove herself in-between your legs in the pattern of an eager infinity circle before ambling over to her half-empty dish near the replicator. A long strain of melodramatic meowing ensued.

“Spot,” - you dragged out the vowel in her name in feigned frustration and opened your dresser drawer flamboyantly for emphasis - “there’s still food left from this morning! What are you complaining about?”

I can see the shiny glint in the bottom of the bowl, she seemed to meow.

An amused chuckle left your lips as you shook your head at the begging tabby. Those piercing green orbs of hers always seemed to do the talking when she was quiet, but when she spoke so loudly like this, the “puppy dog” effect was in full swing. You would have given in, too, if it hadn’t been for the various feeding schedules you knew Data was testing.

He had been attempting to find her preferred supplement mix for the last couple of weeks, but she seemed indifferent to everything except the food she could always persuade you to give her from your own plate. After she refused so many of the different mixtures and flavors he had coded, he theorized that it might have been something to do with her feeding time rather than a picky sense of taste – and perhaps the added incentive of your spoiling her so much, which Data didn’t seem to mind.

After gathering fresh undergarments, fuzzy socks, and a comfortable set of loungewear, you crossed the carpeted floor and headed for the bathroom, passing by Spot as you went. “Data will be home soon and he’ll feed you, okay? I don’t want to interfere with the schedule he’s trying out.”

As if she couldn’t understand you – or perhaps she simply refused to acknowledge that answer – her meows kept coming until you turned the corner and disappeared from her sight. You set your wad of clothes on the stout countertop by the sink and began taking off your uniform, dropping it in a heap by the doorway to be put through the garment processor later on. With a tired, achy intake of air, you stepped inside the shower dome and began entering your preferred specifications on the small grade LCARS panel.

You were almost ready to engage the water feature of the shower – you much preferred the soothing effect it had on your body rather than the quick efficiency of a sonic shower – when you pondered in the last second whether or not to indulge in a higher temperature. Your finger rested idly above the panel that waited for your touch.

Would it be alright to let yourself have a hot shower for once? To just let the steam relax your aching muscles?

A knowing sigh escaped your lips.

It never ended well when you indulged yourself like this, even just in the simplest things. Hot showers were soothing in the moment, but as soon as the water turned off and you stepped out, your body was unable to balance its temperature and you would become absolutely drained and sometimes even purple below your knees. There were always consequences when it came to your autonomic issues – such as lasting fatigue, frequent trips to sickbay for sodium supplements to regulate your blood pressure, and even having to miss shifts on occasion.

You were of course grateful that the world around you had excelled to a point where chronically ill bodies were able to be more readily treated and accommodated, especially in a place like Starfleet, but there were still times when it was just all a bit much.

Your next thought was of Data. As your husband and closest friend, he was the best anyone could ask for, especially in your situation. He was always going the extra mile in your relationship to help you keep up with your symptoms and sure you were taking care of yourself at all times. He even checked in on you throughout the day by use of your combadges. He never hesitated to stop you from pushing yourself too far or doing something stupid – like taking a hot shower when you knew that the aftermath was never fun to deal with.

He wouldn’t approve of this at all.

But you were cold and sore from a day spent on your feet that had been riddled with dizzy spells, palpitations, and a myriad of other symptoms that hardly ever left your body. Very few things feel better than a hot soak after a long day, and a lukewarm shower just didn’t appeal to you.

Without a second thought, you raised the temperature of the water and let the hot entity coat your body in its calming pitter-patter rhythm. The heady feel of the steam enveloped you like a warm blanket and you released another sigh – this time peacefully, with a sense of long-awaited relief.

   Data passed through the door of your shared quarters and immediately noticed your shoes toppled over one another near the entryway. Subconsciously, he was acutely made aware of the sound of running water from the other room. He turned to follow the source, deducing that you were well enough to shower after a full day’s work, which was a tremendous feat for your body. Plus, it was purely ritual to say hello to each other as soon as you arrived back home. His turn of direction was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Spot, who nudged herself against his legs impatiently.

“Hello, Spot. It is nice to see you as well,” he knelt down and stroked the feline head to tail, contentedly smiling to himself as her curling spine conformed like putty to the mold of his hand, “I assume you are ready for your next helping of food, yes?”

The tabby meowed once before returning to a low purr.

“I thought you might be. It has been approximately eight hours and seventeen minutes since your last meal,” - Data scooped the satisfied cat up in his arms and carried her over to her dish, never breaking eye contact with her - “If my studies are correct, this should be an appropriate time to allow you your second portion since there has been ample time for proper digestion.”

It was only when Data had bent to reach for her dish that he realized she had only eaten a little more half of the breakfast supplement he had laid out for her. It had been infused with vitamins and other nutrients beneficial to the feline species, which he had hoped she would enjoy. Apparently, Spot was pickier than that.

Everything but the very bottom layer had been devoured, just until she reached the silver shine of the lowermost rim and left the rest to dry distastefully. His head tilted to the side as he contemplated all the possible causes for her sudden disinterest.

“Curious,” he simply stated.

Spot squirmed out of his arms and sniffed her bowl once before resting low to the ground in anticipation. Data picked up the bowl and set it onto the replicator tray. It dissolved into nothingness before being replaced by Spot’s dinner supplement, which he promptly placed on the floor. He refreshed her water dish and stroked her back dotingly as she scarfed down her food with an enthusiasm she sparingly demonstrated.

Data quirked his head to the side slightly, resolving to the realization that perhaps Spot was not meant to be understood most of the time, but rather accommodated.

When he stood, he turned back to the sound of running water with a lingering glance at his little tabby and made his way to the bathroom. He stopped short when he noticed the steam pouring out of the doorway and dissipating amongst the broad cast of lamplight on the ceiling. Without batting an eye, Data acted quickly. “Computer, override Lieutenant (L/n)’s controls of the LCARS shower panel and reset the water temperature to sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit.”

There was a chirp as the computer relayed his directions before transmitting audibly in the living area where he stood. “Controls have been overridden. Temperature resetting.”

Data watched as the steam dissipated from the doorway and nodded to himself with an air of self-satisfaction. In a split second, there was a shriek of discomfort he had been expecting.

  You recoiled from the stream of chilled water and slammed your fingers against the LCARS panel, hitting every possible control to reheat the temperature. When it refused to respond, except with a blaring sound that indicated your action was blocked, you cursed under your breath. “Are you kidding me!?”

“Computer, why isn’t this panel responding?”

“You have been denied access to the temperature dial.”

“Denied access? By who?”

“Lieutenant Commander Data.”

You huffed in frustration, slowly inching yourself around the water and towards the curved glass door, sliding it open enough to fit your head through. “DATA SOONG!”

The sound of his solid and perfectly timed footsteps approached until you saw him standing in the doorway of your bathroom.

“What did you do to my shower?”

“I have prohibited you from endangering yourself with your chosen temperature setting.”

“Data, I’m a full-grown adult. I can choose the temperature of my own shower.”

With a pointed finger, he stepped closer. “You know as well as I that higher temperatures in your showers cause your blood pressure and internal body temperature to spiral. You have said yourself on many occasions that the immediate satisfaction is not worth the toll it takes on your cardiovascular symptoms,” - he paused only to jut his chin downwards and quirk an eyebrow at you in an imitating fashion as if to prove his point - “Have you not?”

A mock-gasp passed your lips. His matter-of-fact statement held a certain air of sass to it that you hadn’t expected—it was moments like these that made you wonder how people could think Data was incapable of his own emotions. It was so obvious in some moments, however vague or fleeting, that he was entirely capable of expressing himself.

“But it’s FREEZING!”

“I assure you, (Y/n), the temperature is not low enough to freeze. I set it myself. You are simply acclimated to the hotter setting of one hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit. It is no doubt a shock to your body to experience such a steep decline in temperature, but it does not put you at risk,”

“The chills all over my body would beg to differ,” you muttered.

Timidly, your feet inched back under the waterfall, testing its discomfort. You kept the door slightly ajar so you could hear his impending lecture, slowly dipping your head under and rinsing the lathered shampoo from your hair. Contorting your back in what was likely not Beverly Crusher approved posture, you made sure your sopping wet hair of ice didn’t make contact with your back.

Data continued. “In fact, I have done extensive research regarding the benefits of colder bathing routines. It has been proven that cold water actually increases circulation and can reduce muscle soreness. Some results indicate that human hair and skin is greatly improved in shine and condition, causing a ‘glowing’ effect.”

While listening to your husband’s voice and internalizing his carefully researched evidence, you found it hard to stay annoyed. He was devoted to you in every possible way, even in the ways a human partner would hardly have the patience for. Despite your tendency to return to harmful habits for the sake of quick pleasure – even just a hot shower or a bite of dark chocolate – he was ever-faithful and willing to help you each and every time.

A fluttery sensation erupted in your stomach, just as it had the first day you had met him. You silently hoped that feeling would never subside.

  All while he talked, you managed to withstand the cold long enough to rinse the scrubs and creams from your body quickly enough to avoid the first symptoms of common hypothermia. When the water finally shut off under your input, you slid the door open and looked around for the towel you had evidently forgotten to set out.

When you tuned back into Data’s conversation, your ears weren’t prepared for the mental image they evoked. “-last meeting in Ten Forward, Commander Riker informed me that he prefers cold showers over the alternative. He enjoys the rush that the lower tempera-”

“I couldn’t care less about how Commander Riker and his naked ass cheeks bathe. I’m cold,” you shivered, wrapping your arms about your chest.

Without being prompted, Data turned to the linen closet where a smaller replicator was located for such a purpose. He tapped away on the panel until it replicated his entry. Grabbing the towel, he turned and unraveled it as he came to your side.

“Here,” he held it out in front of him for you to step into, “I replicated a heated towel, not unlike the heating pad you often use for easing pain. It should be far more comfortable for you.”

You stepped forward and let him wrap you into the warm cloth. A shiver wobbled your limbs briefly as he tucked the corners under your chin for you to hold in place. Glancing down, you found that your legs were, in fact, not purple. Your fingers and toes weren’t numb or tingly. You were tired from the exertion, but you weren’t nearly as dizzy. It was a pleasant change.

Perhaps Data was on to something—maybe a cold shower was better for you.

You smiled up at him, leaning into his chest. "I know I complain about how you help me sometimes, but I really do appreciate you, Data. I don't think I'd be able to stay here aboard this starship if it weren't for you. Thank you."

"It is one of the greatest pleasures in my life that I am able to help you succeed, (Y/n). However, I do not require praise for my efforts; it is what any husband would do for his wife, in any situation. It was a condition in our vows that I fully intend to honor."

Your smile broadened. "You'd be surprised at how hard it is for humans to help each other sometimes...and I still want to thank you, just for being you-- and how willing you are to put up with me."

"In that case, you are welcome. But I do not simply 'put up with you'. You are not a burden to me. I value your companionship above all else."

"I love you, too, Data," you leaned forward and pecked him on the lips, which he responded to almost eagerly.

  You made your way to the nightwear you had set out and carefully clambered into them while holding your towel to your skin as long as physics would permit. When you had dressed and disposed of the towel and your uniform, you shut the lights out and followed after Data.

He stood by the dresser and pulled out his own set of pajamas you had replicated for him some holiday past, and proceeded to change. Although he did not have the need for sleep, he did enjoy mimicking a normal life as much as possible. Not because he was a puppet or sought solely to please you, but because Data wanted to belong—not only in the wide universe of sentient, feeling beings, but also in the simple warmth shared between two people under the intimate haven of a soft duvet.

He preferred imitating sleep alongside you rather than keeping himself busy with other things in between his shifts, which consequently allowed him to roam his own memories and run the occasional diagnostics.

His most frequently visited memories were those he shared with you and his close friends, such as Geordi and Guinan. But his favorites, if he were able to choose in an emotionally attached sense, were the moments he had spent with you, down to the very millisecond. Every last detail.

With an exaggerated exhale, you plopped down on the bed and began to brush through your hair. Data had moved to the living area where he checked on Spot, making sure her water dish was full for the night and fluffing her bedding that sat primly under the wide coffee table. Your gaze drifted to his kneeling frame as he tucked her into her own blanket.

“Goodnight, Spot. I wish you sweet dreams, although I do not understand the use of the term ‘sweet’, I suspect it is used as a synonym for pleasant,” he stroked her gently as he spoke, earning a quick lick from her pink tongue, “I do not require grooming, although I do appreciate your effort. If you should need me, I will be in bed with your mother.”

The smile that crept onto your features was effortless.

#fictober #fictober20 #fictober2020 #data soong #datasoong #data soong x reader #data soong fanfic #data soong imagine #data soong imagines #data soong preferences #star trek #star trek x reader #star trek imagine #star trek imagines #chronic illness #chronically ill reader #pots #dysautonomia #cardiovascular #Star Trek: The Next Generation #star trek tng #TNG #star trek: TNG #st tng #picard #star trek the next generation

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Sorry there’s no Eye of the Storm for today. I’m currently going through physical and emotional hell but I hope you don’t mind some Andy Barber.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed angry. You were always warned against it and you always learned your lessons the hard way. Hence, your current predicament and that stabbing just above your eye brow.

You got up slowly. You groaned and grumbled as you forced yourself to your feet. It was early and you had a shift at the diner. You never thought you'd be eager to be in your greasy apron but it was better than the alternative.

The night before, you'd spent a few minutes looking around the bedroom. There was an attached bathroom and you were thankful for that as you'd awoke once to relieve yourself before stumbling back to bed. 

You pushed through the half-open door and pulled your night shirt over your head. You stretched and reached to start the shower. There was a hand towel hanging from the ring above the sink but nothing else. You went to the closet but upon opening the door, you were surprised to find another bedroom on the other side. 

You swore and slammed the door before Andy could look up from his tie. You searched the handle for a lock and clicked it into place. God damn it! What kind of house was set up like that?

You heard his bedroom door in the hall and he knocked on your own. You scrambled to pick up your night gown and pull it back on as the hinges whispered and he appeared at the bathroom door. He looked confused as he crossed his arms.

"What was all that about?" He asked.

"I needed a towel," You huffed. "And I thought it was... a closet."

"Ah, linen closet's right next to my room." He explained. "I never really liked the layout but Laurie... I'll get you a towel."

You nodded and he left you. He returned with a dark blue towel and offered it to you. You took it and he reluctantly let it go. His gaze never left you; sombre and serious.

"Did you decide?" He asked.

"I'll tell Saul today," You said. "Is that acceptable?"

He sighed and sniffed.

"Call me." He said. "Doesn't matter when, I'll pick up. You let me know when your next appointment is."

"Okay," You resigned. "So, can I shower or...?"

"I gotta head out," He tucked his hand in his pants pocket. "I'll leave your breakfast on the counter."

"I can take care of myself." You insisted.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," He gave a sarcastic smirk. "What time are you done?"

"Seven," You answered dully. "I'll be home before curfew, dad."

He rolled his eyes and backed away.

"Well, won't be long till I am," He countered. "Isn't that right, mommy?"

He left you, the door closing with a snap. You listened as he went back to his own room and left shortly after, his footsteps fading down the stairs.

You set the towel down on the toilet lid and felt the warmth of the shower’s spray with your fingertips. You'd thought living with your mom was hard. Now you almost missed it.

🌙

You felt like you had a secret victory. While you'd given up the job that had seen you through the last decade, your job at the cafe was starting to look more promising. Many of your co-workers were college students and handed off shifts quite often. 

By the time you left the diner, dispirited as you were after the last few days' events, you had picked up two half-shifts for the next week. Another and you'd have more than thirty hours away from Andy and his suburban prison.

It was short-won as you found a bitterly familiar car waiting by the curb as you walked out of work. Andy sat in the front seat, his hand leaned against the steering wheel as he squinted at the glowing screen of his phone. You were tempted to ignore him and catch the bus instead but you didn't want another night of arguing. You just wanted to be home. You could hide in the guest room and try to forget. Well, as much as you could.

You knocked on the window and he looked over. He gave you his usual disapproving look and unlocked the doors with the flip of a switch. He tucked his phone away and turned the engine as you climbed in.

"I messaged." He said as he peered out into traffic. "Why didn't you answer?"

"I haven't checked my phone," You frowned. "Sorry."

"I told you to call me." He pulled out and his knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the wheel. "You make your appointment?"

"Monday," You muttered. Only three days away. "Ten thirty."

"I can make it work," He said. "You wanna grab some dinner? It's a bit late to cook."

"You gonna spoon feed again?" You challenged.

"Only if you make me," He said. "I want a copy of your schedule. Every week. I need to know when you're working and not."

"You're not serious?" You scoffed.

"I think I have a right to know. And look, we're having a kid and we should learn to get along before it gets here." He glanced at you in the rearview. "It wasn't so hard that night in the bar."

"Andy, forget that night," You breathed. 

"I can't." His voice was low, dusky. "Even if... if I hadn't run into you again, I'd still be thinking about it."

"Don't do this," You begged.

"I love-- Loved my wife," He continued. "But it was never like that. Never that--"

"Stop," You interrupted. "Andy, I get it, well, I can't really understand what you're going through but you're grieving your family. It's confusing, scary, but you can't expect me to fill that hole. It was a one night stand. As far as I know those are suppose to end the morning after, at latest."

He was silent as he pulled into the drive through of a local burger joint. You'd been to the place once, they had great potato wedges but charged a bit much for limited portions. He stopped at the speaker and turned to you.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Chicken burger, extra mayo, side of wedges," You craned to read the menu around him. "And an iced tea?"

"That's a lot of sugar. You should have a water for now and I have some stuff at home."

"Why did you even-- fine," You relented. "Water is fine."

Andy ordered and idled between the windows as he waited for the food. When it was his turn at last, he drew up and paid. He took the paper bag and the tray of drinks and handed it to you. He tipped, well, and thanked the server before pulling away.

"You don't understand. You're right." He said stiffly. "You can't but you can at least try. A baby... do you know what that means to me? Especially now, after everything. I never really put much faith in God but it feels like... a sign."

You lowered your head and shifted the paper bag on your leg as its warmth seeped through your pants. You felt bad. You were so concerned with what you were going to do, you hadn't really thought about him or his feelings. Sure, he was bossy, angry, but could you blame him? After a tragedy so uncontrollable how could you not be desperate for an ounce of control?

"Thank you," You said quietly. "For buying me dinner. For... letting me stay with you."

"You don't have to thank me for that. Decent people do those things." He stared at the road grimly. "I'm... sorry I've been so angry."

"It's alright. I haven't really been easy to deal with." You chuckled darkly. "I'd blame the hormones but I think it's just me."

"No, it's not," He turned down his street. "I'll be home late tomorrow night. There's lots of food in the fridge. You working?"

"Closing." You answered. "I'll be late too."

He nodded as he pulled into his driveway.

"Alright," He killed the engine. "I still want that schedule. It'll make things a lot easier."

You wanted to slap yourself. He came around as you managed to open your door and took the bag from you as he left you the tray of drinks. You followed him to the door, shaking your head at your own idiocy. He might be decent but it didn't make him any less overbearing.

🌙

Your days continued on a tightrope. You did your best to balance between Andy's irritability and your own misery. He might have apologized but there was something about the man that just kept you on edge.

And it was difficult to adjust to living with a man that was barely more than a strangers. To live in the shell of his former life. Even when you were alone, you stayed in the guest room, kept to yourself. It felt wrong to be there.

When Monday came, you woke to ready for your appointment. You dressed and went downstairs to find Andy awake and put together as always. The smell of his coffee made your mouth water.

"Any left in the pot?" You asked.

He shook his head as he blew the steam away from the rim.

"You can't have coffee. Too much caffeine." He said. "I'll buy you some decaf if you want. There's a gourmet place in the market."

"Don't worry about it," You grumbled. "I'll just have some orange juice."

"And some fruit, toast, yogurt..." He began as he set his mug down. "You should start writing down your meals. Keep track. You don't want to undereat." He opened the fridge and pulled out a basket of blueberries and a tub of yogurt. "We should also look into some supplements for you. Iron, probably." 

He grabbed a bowl and measured out the yogurt and then rinsed some berries to go on top. He slid the bowl across the island and put everything back in the fridge. He grabbed the loaf from the breadbox and shoved two slices in the toaster.

"They should be able to let us know what after today," He continued. "I was reading up. They're gonna take some blood, probably some urine, and you might even have an ultrasound."

"Reading?" You narrowed your eyes. "Did you do all this with... before?"

He pressed his lips together and cracked his neck.

"I was younger then. Naive," He said. "Nine months is a long time. A lot can go wrong."

You were quiet. You scooped yogurt into your mouth and tried not to scowl. You didn't need to walk into the doctor's in a mood. The whole thing was stressful enough.

He finished making your toast and offered you peanut butter. You took butter and accepted the dry dark rye. He tapped his fingers on the counter and reached for a book on the end. He slid it over and flipped it open just as you read the title; 'What to Expect When You're Expecting'. You wanted to laugh. You chewed instead.

"That's your research?" You asked.

"You should read it," He said without looking up, crossing his arms atop the counter as he bent over it. "You'd learn a lot."

"Oh yeah?" You swallowed. "I'll see if I can fit it on my reading list."

"Huh," He looked up at last. "I saw that you had quite a few hours next week. Thirty-three."

"You said I couldn't work two jobs," You shrugged. "So I have one."

"I thought we were getting somewhere," He stood straight. "I really did."

"What else am I supposed to do? I can't just sit around and wait for the baby."

"You can," He snapped and rubbed his beard, feeling the bristle of his beard. "Jesus, I just-- I'm trying to do what's right."

"For you? Me? The baby?" You wondered.

"For us," He said pointedly. 

"Us?" You echoed and set down the last crust. "What do you think is going to happen when the baby is here?"

His brows crinkled and took a breath.

"Well, I hope to have the nursery set up by then. Some clothes ready. No surprises, we'll need to know the sex so that we're ready." He slowly smiled as he spoke. "And maybe a pump for you, just in case. And I can take some days off to help out. It can be exhausting--"

"Andy!" You spat. "Andy, do you think-- do you think I'm going to stay here... forever?"

"You gonna pop this thing out and just go?" He asked. 

"I never said I'd stay. Why would I--?"

"Because we're gonna be parents. Together." He hissed. "Because I won't have my child bouncing back and forth like volleyball."

"I'm not doing that." You said. "No, I'm not--" You stood and rounded the counter. "I'll find my own way to the appointment. There's no reason you need to be there."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" He stepped in front of you and blocked you. "I wasn't asking."

"You can't make me--"

"I can do whatever I want," His voice grew deeper as he backed you against the island. "I can tell the police you abandoned your child. I can sue you for support. I can have you arrested for neglect."

"Prove it," You snarled.

"Won't be hard. I got buddies in the PD. I don't even have to plant the evidence," He smirked. "I just gotta give them the go ahead."

"No," You tried to push past him and he grabbed your sides, pushing you back against the counter.

"Let me tell you something, sweetheart," He leaned in to whispered in your ear. "You're gonna do a lot of things you think you don't wanna do." 

His hand slipped to your hip and you caught his wrist, grasping his chunky watched. He stood straight and looked down at you nonchalantly. 

"You're right," He wrenched his arm away and looked at his watch. "We're gonna be late."

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #fic #series #one night #dark fic #dark!fic #defending jacob

[annakie]

Warning, pet illness and sadness within.  This is for me to pour out my emotions somewhere.

Friday, everything was fine.

Leela demanded pets all throughout the day, to the point where I had to ask her to quiet down a time or two while I was trying to work. She ran and jumped onto the counters in the kitchen and bathroom when I went, yelling at me to turn the water on so she could, and did, drink out of the faucets.  She demanded dinner at dinnertime, and a day or two before that, she asked for extra dinner when the bowl she and Pemily share most nights ran out.

When it was time for treats, she purred up a storm, excited, as always, for her treats.  She gets extras, she always does.  She starts with four before Pemily and Fry get any, and if she catches up to me while all three of them are getting their first five treats, round-robin, one at a time, I’ll usually give her two. She gobbled them up. 

Yesterday, I noted late in the day that she hadn’t run into the bathroom or kitchen with me during the day, but that’s OK, she doesn’t always.  But then she didn’t care about dinner, even though they were having the flaked tuna, which they all love.  Not long after, she puked, and it was all water.  Then, I started to worry.

She pooped right next to her bed... which she has done occasionally, but rarely.  She had puked earlier in the week, necessitating me to wash her bed, but that wasn’t extremely unusual.  But several non-hairball, non-food pukes later, I was very concerned.

Then she didn’t eat treats.

It wasn’t the first time she’s gone a day or so not wanting food, but got better after maybe a hairball or something.  So I decided to sleep in the living room, close enough that I could hear if anything went terribly wrong.  I tried moving her bed into the living room but she was having none of it, she only likes being in Her Spot on the desk in the office.  Right within arms reach of me all day while I work from home and all night when I game, scroll tumblr/twitter, chat... or whatever else.

I have loved always having her this close since in early 2018 I made what most people would use as their living room into my office and moved my huge desk from work into my house when they let us take the now-unwanted office furniture home.  Immediately after this desk was set up, she jumped into that spot... and just stayed.  She staked her territory.  I put a small blanket down for a day or two until that weekend when I went and got two more cat beds to supplement the one we already had.  Leela’s was the smallest, perfectly Leela-sized for the tiniest cat.  I’ve never seen her so expressively happy than the first time she got into it.  Purrs and biscuit making, and she has spent nearly all her non-eating/drinking/bodily function time right there in that bed ever since.  Occasionally she’d come hang with Fry, Pemily and I in the living room while we were watching TV, but rarely.

But anyway, I digress.

I woke up several times during the night and each time she was a little more listless.  I’d called the emergency vets near me and they said I could bring her in but it’d be several hours for her to wait unless it was critical, they’d gotten slammed and one had to do emergency surgery and was sending all the patients to the other one.  So I decided to wake up early and take her in.  I called ahead and they said they were not backed up anymore.

So Leela’s favorite blanket and Leela went into the carrier.  She was strong enough to put up a little fight and complain about it.  I told her I loved her and the doctor would make her feel better as we drove.  I hated that I couldn’t even take her to my vet, the vet she’d seen her entire life, but they’re closed Sundays and I knew waiting longer would be bad.

Due to COVID, they wouldn’t let me go inside with her.  Sensible.  I waited in the parking lot for an hour and a half as they took her in, called me to take her history, ask what’s wrong, and eventually the vet called, and asked permission to do labwork, and that I should go home if I was still in the parking lot.

I did.  I laid down with Fry and Pemily and tried not to worry.  An hour later they called and said her labwork looked bad.  Her kidneys are failing.  They want to admit her for 24 - 48 hours.  I held it together through the labwork results and the vet asking for permission.  A few minutes later they called back to get a deposit on the payment ($2000.... so grateful I haven’t been spending money for the last year, money isn’t yet an issue.) and then asked me the question I was dreading and not prepared to answer.  Do I want a DNR?

She’s sixteen.  She’s frail.  She’s already traumatized from all this, I’m sure.  Do I want them to take extreme measures to save her life?  My breath hitched as I said what I felt was the better answer -- No.  I lost it, barely making my way through the rest of the call.

Cried for the last couple of hours.  Just went to bed and sat there and sobbed, rehersing in my mind... what if they call and she died suddenly and I wasn’t there?  Am I sure I made the right decision?  What if she doesn’t get better and I have to make the call to put her to sleep?  Will they let me even be there then? 

She’s my Itty Bitty Leela Kitty.  She’s the one who will always take affection, who begs for it like no other to the point where I have to ask her to stop.  She cries for love.  She’s been a pain in the ass since day 1 because of bathroom issues, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything, especially since I figured out the compromise to keep us both happy with it.  She’s sweet, and just the cutest little thing.  She’s the bravest of all my cats, nothing phases her.  She’s fearless of strangers, accepting pets from all and sometimes even asking for them from those she doesn’t know.  She just wants to chill out in her bed and get loved on.  She’s great at telling time.  She weights less than 5 pounds and she’s 80% lungs. 

She’s bullied by Fry and Pemily but they’ll miss her too, and always respected that her bed is her space, and she’s allowed on countertops to eat and drink, too.  Just, you know, not on the floor.

I’d been thinking the last few weeks that one time when she WOULD have her once-daily run around the house and scream time, late morning when Fry and Pemily were settled in for daytime naps, I needed to record it because as annoying as it could be when I’m in work meetings, I knew someday I’d desperately want to hear it again.  And I never did, and now I’m terrified I will never hear it again. 

There’s nothing to do now but wait and hope.  I so badly want her to come home and have just a little more time.  Hear her mewl for attention.  Just a few more treat times.  Just a few more times to hear her yell at me to turn on the faucet for her to drink.  wrap her in my arms in her bed and listen to her breathe and kiss her head and tell her I love her.     I did that a lot last night but I should have done it more this morning.  And if it is her time, please just let me be there next to her as she goes.

#personal post tag thingy #pet illness tw #my pets

[byroots]

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[novembermurray]

Patient Evil Haunts Your Steps

Read on AO3

Rating: General

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Summary: Jedi!Omera AU - When Din returns to Sorgan he brings something of the Dark Side with him. It drags up a past that Omera has tried to forget and threatens a future they both long for.

For @mandomeraweek Day 5

It was a subtle sensation of wrong that Omera tried to ignore. It nagged at the back of her mind, from the shuttered abandoned place within her memory she tried to forget. But that feeling of wrong didn’t go away. It came with the Mandalorian when he returned, and it hung around him, not a part of him but never apart from him. 

The Mandalorian himself was changed. 

When the unknown craft had landed just outside their village the people had been terrified; were these new bandits? Pirates? Conquering warlords? Slavers? But only the familiar figure of the Mandalorian they knew had emerged. Alone.

The ship took off again, leaving the silver armored man behind with a spear and a jetpack and no other luggage or company. He had been a silent tumult of grief, relief, regret, hope, pain, love… but mostly just exhaustion. 

“I… I needed a place to…”

“To rest,” Omera finished his sentence. There was no need for any other greeting. 

She showed him to the barn. He thanked her quietly and no one saw him for a whole day afterward. 

That was a month ago. 

The Mandalorian had become something of a shadow in their midst, at the edges of their lives but never integrated with them. He wandered the forests, dissuaded any bandits that strayed closer than he was comfortable with, hunted birds to supplement the village’s aquatic food source — once even using his jetpack to retrieve medicine from the nearest town in a quarter of the time it would have taken anyone else. He enriched their lives, but he didn’t join them. There was still a barrier—something more impenetrable than beskar—that kept him separated from everyone else. Omera knew that only time would wear it down, so she waited. 

The wrongness waited too.

It waited.

Until now.

Omera put down the bowl of krill she had been shelling for their dinner, eyes wide and looking around for the source of a sensation that had no sound, or smell, or touch, or visual. But she felt it all the same. Wiping her hands on her apron absently she got up and left the kitchen, following that feeling through the village, between the krill ponds, and into the forest. It wasn’t far away, just far enough that the sounds and sight of the village were lost in the trees. There was a clearing, she had brought Winta there on quiet evenings before. That’s where she found him and the pulsing sense of  wrong  that grew with every step. 

The Mandalorian’s armor gleamed in the afternoon sun, flashing as he stepped through a controlled series of prescribed movements; slash, block, uppercut, spin, parry, parry, block, lunge. Turn. Repeat. They were the motions of sword drills that were familiar as a childhood dream. He moved through each form with a fluidity of practice yet the hesitation of long disuse. Everything about him channeled focus and calm. He was rigorous in all his crafts; this was no exception. His dedication and intensity was neutral, neither joy nor fear; only  right .

The wrongness was in the blade. It had gleaming white edges that crackled in the shadows and disappeared in the direct sunlight while its center was a stark black void deeper than the darkness between stars. It seemed to suck in the sunlight and offered absolutely nothing back: hungry, greedy, demanding. Wrong.

“Omera,” the Mandalorian had stopped his practice when he saw her. “Is everything alright?”

“What is that?” She asked him.

“A laser sword. It’s called the Darksaber,” he lifted it, horizontal and out towards her in a relaxed grip. There was nothing threatening about the motion, but when he stepped forward to offer her a closer look she took an instinctive step back. He paused, reading the fear on her face and thumbed a switch on the blade. The void, the light, the wrongness slithered back into the handle with a hiss. But it wasn’t gone, just dormant. 

Waiting.

Omera shivered.

“It is… not a pleasant weapon,” the Mandalorian explained. “I didn’t want it to unnerve anyone in the village.”

She felt herself nodding.

“You were looking for me?”

Omera shook herself out of her shock and confusion, scrambling for a lie to dispel his suspicions. Suspicions meant death. Two decades of running and hiding had beaten that lesson into her.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Perhaps we could eat a little early, take Winta up the hill for some stargazing; she likes the stories you tell.”

“That sounds nice,” he agreed. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.”

Omera nodded and backed away. She forced herself to turn around and walk towards the village. She flinched when the wrongness flared behind her, released once more. Something about it felt like vicious satisfaction, and she shivered again.

Over the following week the Mandalorian spent more and more time with the blade—the Darksaber. He found time to practice with it usually once a day. Omera tried to find reasons to keep him from it: something she needed help with, someone who wanted his opinion, a broken machine, a missing child wandered off… but it didn’t always work. She thought he might be seeing through her as the days wore on. Her excuses grew thinner and her desperation grew stronger. 

He took to practicing at night, when there was nothing to distract him or keep him from his task. It was all together worse because there was nothing to distract Omera either. She lay in her bed feeling the pulsing sensation ebb and flow from beyond the village and bit her lip against the helpless tears of fear. When she would finally find sleep she would dream: nightmares. Usually they were of war, sometimes of assassinations, of armored warriors cheering her as she held the black blade aloft, of cutting down her foes with its impossible sharpness… of the hundreds  and hundreds of dead it had claimed… of the rivers of blood it had spilled… of the darkness… and the wrongness.

On the third night she couldn’t stand it any more. She heard his footsteps on the path outside and rose from her bed. She caught up with the Mandalorian as he passed between the krill ponds toward the edge of the forest, his beskar edged in moonlight. 

“That blade is evil.”

He stopped dead at her words though he gave no indication he was surprised at being followed. She saw his hands flexing at his sides. He turned towards her tensely.

“It’s just a weapon,” he replied.

“No,” Omera shook her head, “It isn’t. It remembers. It remembers centuries of blood and ambition and greed.”

“You didn’t even know what it was until a week ago,” he snapped, taking a step towards her.

“I don’t need to know what it's called to know it is corrupted,” she argued back just as sharply, matching his step with one of her own and refusing to be intimidated. “You should get rid of it, throw it away.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head and turned away from her.

“You must,” she knew she sounded desperate, “before it destroys you.”

“You don’t understand,” he spun around, ripping the handle off his belt and shaking it at her angrily. “I can’t get rid of it because it isn’t mine to discard. I shouldn’t have it. I don’t want it. But I need to know how to use it well enough to lose against another Mandalorian and relinquish it with honor. So I  must  train with it. Don’t try to stop me again.” The  wrongness  thrummed in the night air and even the insects fell quiet under its heavy presence, but Omera would not be quelled so easily.

“If you fight with that blade it will only be a fight to the death!” 

The Mandalorian shook his head, ignoring her warning. “Bo-Katan doesn’t want to kill me. She just wants to win the Darksaber properly and reclaim her homeworld, reclaim Mandalore. It isn’t about me.”

“Maybe that is how it will start,” Omera softened her voice and dared to take a step closer, “but that weapon can twist the intentions of weak willed minds, and it will demand blood. That is its nature. Do not fight with that blade, please. It will only end in more tragedy.”

“Then why didn’t I kill Gideon?” He demanded angrily. “I won it from him, after he stole the child— nearly killed my-my son with his demagolyc experiments— and I spared his life. Explain that!”

Omera was brought up short and drew a sharp breath. Of course he wouldn’t have given in, she thought. He has carried it so long, and still it has not overwhelmed him.

“Because there is nothing of the Dark Side in you,” she said tenderly. “Because you are strong and kind despite everything that has happened to you, all the horrors you have seen. Everything you have done, you do out of selfless love. But the longer you carry that and the more you wield it the darkness will find ways to bend you to it’s will, take advantage of your grief and your pain to make you covet, and fear, and hate. I couldn’t bear to see that, to lose you to the Dark Side. Please, get rid of it.” She begged him through the lump forming in her throat and the hot liquid pooling in her eyes.

“The Dark Side?” His helmet tipped, questioningly. “The Jedi said something about that too.”

“You met a Jedi?” Omera barely managed to breath the question.

“Two. Ahsoka Tano and another; Cara told me he’s called Luke Skywalker. He… The kid, Grogu…” The Mandalorian’s helmet dipped as his gaze dropped to the ground, arms limp at his sides. “I let the kid go with Skywalker to be trained… to be safe.”

He took a deep breath, he looked up at the stars spreading overhead. 

“I’m…. tired, Omera.” He admitted to the night sky. “I did what I was tasked to do and it cost me everything: every home I have ever known is gone, my people dead or scattered, my Creed broken, my child…” His voice failed him and he paused to swallow painfully. “I need to learn to wield this blade so I can pass it on. Until I do I can’t take this armor off for good. I want that. I want what you offered me the last time I left. But I can’t until I find a way to give up this weapon. I didn’t come here to disturb the peaceful life you have made.” His tone took on the pall of defeat. “I will leave, return when it is done.” His visor was turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze.

“Ok,” Omera breathed, the short agreement coming out shaky.

The Mandalorian nodded before she could explain and started to turn away again.

“No,” Omera rushed forward the last of the distance between them to grab his hand. He looked back, shock practically vibrating off him. “I meant…” Omera took a deep breath. “Ok, until you can take this armor off for the last time, I will help you.” 

She dropped his hand and lifted her own over the pond beside her. She closed her eyes and mentally stepped into the long abandoned place at the back of her mind. It felt like coming home, like opening the windows to a bright summer day and feeling the warm breeze on her face. The world was abuzz with life around her and a familiar presence called out from the bottom of the pool, where it had laid buried for seven years right where she had left it. That presence was easy to grasp now, rising at her command through soil, mud, and water. 

She opened her eyes to see the rippling surface of the pool break and the cylindrical handle lift into the air. Drops of water that fell from it caught sparks of twinkling moonlight. At her call the handle floated to her outstretched palm, and her fingers closed around it; right. She thumbed over the switch and the blade of blue plasma sprang to life between her and the Mandalorian.

His visor was bright with the reflected glow of her lightsaber when she met his gaze with determination.

“I will train you.”

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