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cocoreallylovesraiden · 3 months

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MK1 characters and sick! reader

(johnny cage, bi-han, smoke +liu kang & shang tsung)

not proof read not thought out not nothing i am SICK and this is my OUTLET (again this is not serious, just goofy stuff)

Johnny Cage

- sick equivalent of “it’s not uterus it’s uterUS”

- Especially if he doesn’t have much going on in his schedule? It’s like there’s two sick people in the house

- He has ZERO issues laying in bed all day with you- until he decides on a group excursion to the living room couch where you will… continue to lay there! Exciting.

- Depending on how sick you are he’d be more serious, if it was just a little cold and nothing to worry about, expect to have some movies in the back while you doze in and out of his incessant chatting

- (I personally think he can’t cook well) so your favourite takeout is ordered and put into one of those fancy ass bowls to make it look like a home cooked meal. Bless him.

- Wearing matching ugly pjs like the worlds bleakest slumber party

- Says he doesn’t care about getting sick from being close to you, but makes jokes about your ‘heebies’ getting all over him if you ask for any physical contact (he will over enthusiastically oblige)

- If you’re seriously ill, he would be at a loss, especially when his usual demeanour can’t seem to cheer you up.

- Since i imagine his relationship with his parents isn’t the best, he’d probably call one of your family members to ask how to best care of you, and take it from there

- He wouldn’t treat you like a glass vase though, still cracking jokes while he attends to your needs; but in a way where you can tell he’s trying to mask how vulnerable he feels in his care for you.

- Calls you his sicky wicky honey boo boo sugar tits pumpkin pie

- Definitely gets the man flu once you recover no question about it

- As you lay in bed, sweating from your fever with this huge piece of man meat hugging up on you, all you can hear in the back of your head is “BAAAAYBBUHHHHH…. IT HUUURTTSS…” (congratulations! You can see into the future!)

- Also would call his assistant to ask for help. What are they going to know? They just do his accounting!

Bi Han

- You are sick? Have fun not being allowed to do ANYTHING. No chores, no training, no oily food, no Netflix- NO NETFLIX?

- He claims that extended screen time will only agitate your condition.

- He takes it upon himself to care for you; making easy to digest food, offering to help you shower when you feel physically weak, buying all sorts of medicines, etc.

- it would be easier to send someone to do some of these tasks (aside from the showering.) but no. Out of the kindness of his heart? Yes, of course. He loves you dearly. But also because he does not trust anyone to be as competent as he is.

- As the grandmaster gives you several containers of traditional Chinese medicine, you can only wonder if some pharmacist is sponsoring him. If you dare complain they taste horrible, he will GLADLY take a pill or a bit of powder just to show you were being a wuss

- Nags you for not being careful, and at first it’s annoying but you figure out eventually it’s because he’s worried and this is how he shows his love and concern

- During the day he has to be off at work, and as the hours pass those around him see his shoulders tense higher and higher. You’ve eaten lunch, right? You’ve taken your medicine?

- But don’t worry! Once you show the SLIGHTEST signs of recovery, it’s back to the grind.

- You can sniffle and puppy eyes him all you want, but once he deems you fit for daily life, we are back for business! No more Mr Marginally Nicer Bi Han!

- That being said, once you’re back to smiling and laughing, he will admit that it’s nice to see you back to your usual self.

Smoke

- feels horrible that you’re sick, but secretly proud of his immune system for staying strong; now he has an excuse to show off his hospitality skills!

- sort of like bi-han, expect instead of professional fussing you get excited pampering, gets to the point where you have to ask whether or not he should be at work instead of here

- “Work? Taking care of you is my work!”

- Uses this as a chance to freshen up memory on his hometown; making foods, remedies and tricks he remembers his mother doing for him as a sick child.

- If you ask him more about it, he will gladly go into detail- telling wonderful stories even if he occasionally gets emotional through them

- Cleans your face with a damp cloth and uses it as an excuse to get all close with you- again! He has a strong immune system, so nothing to worry about.

- While he’s off at work, he leaves you notes around the house to remind you that he’s thinking of you and hopes you feel better soon- if you collect all the notes, he becomes embarrassed and acts like he doesn’t know who wrote them

- Comes home and snuggles with you, mentioning even if you did have a fever, it was nice because outside was so cold and you were so warm.

- A little tone deaf, but he’s… got the spirit?

- Secretly upset once you get better because you’re less accommodating to his needy/ clingy behaviour, but it’s also great that you can communicate with words and not pained groans!

- You are WAITING for the day he gets sick. There’s no way you’ve gotten the flu 4 times, and he hasn’t. He sleeps in the same bed as you when you’re sick! Kisses you!

- How did they raise kids to be so strong where he’s from?

BONUS

Liu Kang

- you don’t get sick.

- flu season? he makes you take traditional medicine to prevent it.

- cold? you’re funny. around him? Liu “Set Off Fire Alarms With His Flaming Biceps” Kang? Haha.

- food poisoning? he Knows if the food is off, and won’t let you get the chance to eat it.

- Papa is going to make sure influenza season hits a new low this year

- Seriously, medical insurance companies are terrified of him.

Shang Tsung

- very creepily offers you an elixir and asks you to drink it.

- (Here is the part where I say: but you know he won’t hurt you, so you take it. But, you don’t know. He’s looking at you reeeaaalll funny)

- Notices your glare and takes a moment to re-do his sales pitch, this time a lot less devil-binding-contract and more… human…like?

- turns out, the elixir was just a failed experiment on shape-shifting. he sheepishly offers practical medicine while you roll your eyes.

Kung Lao

- is also sick.

- You both are idiots.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

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Twenty Songs Challenge, written after being so lovingly inducted by the powerhouse that is sweet Mey, @the-ugly-swan . Challenge being to choose twenty favorited songs and write one shots based off of them with any pairing or fandom of my choosing. Being a weirdo and a little burned out in my own created universes beyond the fics already in works, I chose what currently inspired me most, obscure as it is.

Pairing: Henry “Hotspur” Percy and Lady “Kate” Mortimer Percy -early 15th century

Fandom: RPF, Shakespeare? Tom Glynn-Carney’s 5 magnificent minutes of a performance as Hotspur in <The King 2019> the armor alone was amply inspiring. The Hollow Crown fans feel free to imagine whoever, as you like. I love this historical pairing in about any iteration and the plot is drawn from both Shakespeare’s play and real history, the timeline, plot and politics being pretty self explanatory through the incorporated dialogue. NOTE- wordplay ahead with “cur” and “Kerr”, the latter being a Scottish clan holding great enmity with the Percy Family and charged with holding the Scottish side of the border. Also I kept Lady Percy’s name as “Kate” even though it was technically Elizabeth in the records.

Dynamic: a rough northern lord and his too good for him lady -a lady who has, through years of an arranged marriage gone horribly well, come to find his homespun gallantry and blunt ways more than a little intoxicating when knelt before her in amused deference. She could almost find it in herself to be gentle with him -if he hadn’t just started a rebellion whilst away from her at the Capitol.

Dedicated to my wifey @prompted-wordsmith who I did proselytize into the Percy cult one fevered evening with inestimable results, including her contribution of a few choice lines herein.

🕯As it Was ~ Hozier

“There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved

Never I'd had life enough

My heart is screaming out

And in a few days I would be there, love

Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was”

Warnings: 18+ to be safe. a small amount of sexual content, flirtations, a husband and wife touching in public, verbal sparring and talk of making children and use of the word “bred”, swearing, use of the words “cock” and “cunt.”

The sound of hooves in the courtyard rouses Kate from her anxious stupor by the hearth, toilsome grain list forgotten on her lap. The scroll swishes to the floor at her abrupt standing, wafting out of her path as she rushes to the window.

First the clatter of a single, foremost, over-eager rider, followed at a lag by his retinue, skilled riders all and armored as befits the guard of a nobleman. They make such a clatter in the yard when they come in after him. Some petty part of her briefly considers the tactic of staying here in their chambers in protest, a quiet sign of disapproval with his errand, of discontent with his brusque leave taking two weeks agone.

Her Harry would find her anyway, and like it better that she were in their chambers. He would like it well she were so near the bed and like it ill she slighted him in her dutiful welcome -but he would not speak of that. Not one for speaking much, her husband, not on matters that plague her these days, weeks, months. Kate might have it out with him in the old way and slap him about and toss cold quips and get from him little more than the same benign aggravation and good humored laughs between, a couple dozen kisses to her neck and a grapple in the sheets.

That is what talk they would undertake were she to stay up here.

It is that lone, eager, forerunning clatter of his horse that speaks to her, speaks for him. Just as his sword and his reputation and his gruff graciousness has spoken well of him across these northern lands, his eagerness to return to her, to outstrip his men in haste to be back from his fool’s errand and into her embrace -it is all the declaration of devotion she may expect from him. It is the truest form, without jape lacing his tone or tonic of lust clouding his confessions.

Harry Hotspur, as fast to return to his wife as he is to meet a fight.

It is love, of the sort she has grown to be grateful for, and it is that and fear of losing it besides, that rushes her out from their chambers and down the polished steps, out to the great hall and past the giant outer doors, cursing a lousy servant or five and ordering a bath and commissioning supper and refreshments as she goes. The torch flames bend from her flight, a whoosh and a shadow stalking Alnwick Castle’s stone passageways until the gray light of evening pours into her sight from the opened great doors. Squires and stable boys clutter her path but they part as she dashes, nay, only a dignified hasten now, out into the courtyard where nearly all of this fool’s troup have dismounted.

There are doffed helms to the Lady Percy, the jangle of chain mail crinkling with bows and scraps of deference all around them, but she sees only him, with mist dripping on his nose and a face too boyish for the insolence he has returned from discharging.

“Kate.” he utters.

Will ever he say her name lazily? She hopes not, for that alone she will endure the unwarranted cheerfulness with which he greets her on this dire occasion. She has heard it said in anger, in jest and in passion, vows and quips, praise and warning. And now in cheerful pleasure as evening mist soaks her gown and the heavy clunk of her husband's footsteps clang ever near her on the paving stones.

“Lord husband.” she greets, hands folded over her freshly healed womb.

His stride falters and he rocks back on his spurred heels, an arms length away, an embrace so tangible she can see his jaw tick from the watering of his mouth. “Lord husband is it?” he repeats thoughtfully, eyes drifting down to the paving stones for a brief moment as if to recollect some forgotten crime, they flick up soon and in them is jesting scrutiny, “My lady wife rushed all this way, down five corridors and a furlong of Keep only to greet me thus?”

Did her rising breath betray her eagerness? Could he see her in the hall despite his business dismounting?

“Your cheeks are red.” he shows her mercy, some form of it. His form. “But -Lord husband, it is, nevertheless?”

“Unless you would prefer ought else?” she inquires, he had once thought this smile quite chilling, he had admitted after their first babe, now he finds it rousing, he has admitted after their third.

“If it please you.” his shifting stance is noisy, his tabard and sword and still clutched helm a racket of accouterments in the pattering rain.

“I have any number to offer,” she concedes, stepping nearer, a lady’s step, covering one third of the ground between them that he might vanquish in a single stride. Still, he waits. “Knucklehead.” she whispers, her breath a fog and her insult as lost as vapor in the ears of his watching men, her bearing alone must satisfy their curiosity, as must his growing smirk and rising color, “Jackenape.” Another step until each little scar on his face is visible and the little canyons each raindrop make of them. She saw his finger twitching where it grasped his visor “Cur.”

There was the slightest flinch between his brows at that, a furrow that smoothed as his mirthful lips flattened out. “Careful now, lady wife, with words like Kerr* thrown about, my men might think you presumptuous, their lady gone and married to some other, a Scottish laird at that. So sure of my death already, sweet Kate, that you must speak of Kerrs in mine own yard? Ha, ‘pon my word you are qu-“

“Hush!” Her hand, fresh warmed as it was by recent hearthside and rich velvets pressed frimly to his lips, a tingle shooting straight to her toes at touching him at last. He was silent then, only the puff of breath against her fast chilling fingertips. “Tease me not so,” she begged, her own mirth gone out in her eyes, her arch look turned to grief, “not when you are just returned from an errand all but ensuring such an end. It is too cruel, even of you. Handle me kindly, Percy, as you always have, in words this time, if not in embrace.”

He seemed to ponder this before raising that hand not occupied with his helm, clumsy and clad in gauntlet as it was, to her wrist, wrapping the chilled and layered steel round her pale flesh and gently tugging her hand from his lips, only so far as to press it to his cheek instead, their audience of men at arms unheeded. “I betook myself to London,” he enunciated, as if it were their first night all over again and his thick borderland drawl too strong for her courtly ears to decipher, “to remind a king of his debts.”

“And tell me!” she cried fiercely, a choked, barely quieted protest as her hands dug into the wet leather of his jerkin, wrist twisted from the steel grasp, “What errand is that but a fool’s? Have you no fear at all left in this bruised carcass? Do I patch up an animated corpse time and again from your wars only for it never to have soul and feeling and wisdom in it? Do I, Harry? Gone to remind a king? How do you dare such?”

“It is he who has dared too much!” he cried back, loudly where her’s had been choked, a ringing and rebauld defense, worthy of a man who would chastise his monarch in full view of council. “First his debts, and now my son’s land! We did not make children so as to watch like blithe cowards as their birthright is bequeathed out from under our feet -piecemeal!- to a courtly cunt whose only recommendation is his alacrity to pucker and bow.”

Kate glanced about her at the men making show of industry, piddling at harnesses and armaments, walking horses in circles. Her husband's words could be no worse than what he had said to the King’s own face, anyone without stomach to become a rebel would have stayed behind in the Capitol, sensing dissension brewing. Lady Percy could perceive none missing from his number. So, a war it was to be, then.

“So, a new generation of Percys is to play at kingmaking.” she summarized.

“We make no boast of it.” Harry protested in turn.

“No,” said she, “why would you with how poorly your last choice has served you?”

That caused a start from him, a step forward that was neither gallant nor eager but angry as man to man. Kate, still with hands fisted in the crooks of his armor, stepped with him, backwards to his hall. “It is your brother with the better claim.” he showed his plan at last, a slow and conniving admission, one not common for his brash ways and straightforward mind.

Kate gasped at the implication. “Edmund?”

“He was proper heir, all along.”

“Your father-“ she chose her wording carefully, “-did not agree.”

“My father’s preference is not law.”

“It is mistaken for such, often.” Kate smirked in reply. “And Edmund is not suited-“

“-Edmund is not the turd now stealing from his vassals!” her Harry rejoined, his helmet pressed to her chest, “Edmund will do.” he reiterated once more.

Kate stared at his temper, the signs of it in his flaring nose and his wild eyes, the cure was between her thighs but watching mist drops fall from unblinking lashes was sweet prelude indeed. “Edmund,” she replied quietly and in a manner to be heeded, “is not willing or suited, he prefers instead to listen to welsh bards and lay upon the lap of his savage wife.”

Her Harry rolled his eyes at her truth, an admission, or the closest to one, she would ever receive. As if battling some great inner turmoil she watched him purse his lips and heave out a sigh before in a sudden movement the helm was tossed to the ground -much to the scramble and reaction of a half a dozen squires who ran to pick it up from its puddle- and suddenly steel hands were upon her hips, tugging her near to him even as she shied away, her face turned in a pantomime of demureness. “Strange,” he said and his tone suggested he still pondered her report of her brother's amorous preoccupations, “-and her lap so less Devine than mine own wife’s.”

“Then why do you haste from it so often?” she whined, delivering a smack against his belted tabard, right where the lions paraded across his right breast.

“Only a man dying of thirst appreciates that water has a flavor.” he reasoned and Kate allowed the open mouthed kisses that crept down her neck, her face turned stubbornly still to the south wall. The blacksmith's roof will be in need of new thatching soon, before spring. Before war.

She feels stubble against her tender skin, bracketing those pretty lips she once derided him for. No warrior ought to have lips like that, it was not seemly, not when maidens were denied such richness, such fullness, such rosy hue. But there is roughness about his lips and on his jaw as it tucks into the juncture at her shoulder, that show of clavicle her dress allows drawing him in like a siren’s song. He must’ve rode hard the entire way, no inns or refreshment, no shaving or baths, straight to her as from a battlefield. The King’s city is just as loathsome as any field of carnage, but he went to free her brother, to get a ransom, to reclaim their stolen land, to remind a king.

He did it for her, and the babes she gave him.

Kate turns her face from the blacksmith's thatch and raises her hand to his face, tenderly stroking the three days' beard that's grown as he's been on the road, riding hard to get to her. They have backed nearly to the hall’s mouth, the drip of rain off the gutter patters behind her on the threshold, Kate knows he can smell supper and hear the clatter of their children racing to meet him on still chubby legs. How different is the love of home, man to woman, Harry would sooner fight for it and she would cower within. Her thumb swipes at the raindrops making farce of tears upon his cheek.

"Princess," he breathes against her palm as he crushes her into his chest, still half armored and agonized for it as he cannot feel her softness with the cuirass, the leather, the chainmail. There are curves and bosoms and soft flesh he knows too well just on the other side of this awful barrier.

Princess will be her title if his treason succeeds, if her brother wears that cursed crown. “Princess”. It sours her mouth, but it is kind of him to wish it for her.

"You will come back, Harry.” she commands of him, she declares the outcome of this brewing war, “Soaked in the blood of feckless scum, you will come back and put another babe in me. A little prince or princess," she hisses in his ear, and she can tell he freezes at that, her concession to his treason, still as stone in his metal casings.

His eyes are ever so blue as they search hers.

"So I forbid any recklessness, my Lord Husband. Because I want this - " and her hand slips beneath his jerkin and the hem of mail to squeeze his cockstand most assuredly, as assuredly as she was that he would be sporting one for her, gripping it as one might grasp a chalice of wine during a toast "- and the rest of you, in one piece." Harry slumps against her shoulder, panting into the chilled hair and too heavy for her little frame. "Or so help me God." she intones, sharper than any steel he wields. "Swear it, Harry." She gives him another punishing squeeze, and he groans, agonized, as his mouth meets with the softness of her bound bosom, his knees the hardness of the stone cobbles. If she hadn't promised a use for his cock, he'd think she was liable to geld him herself at his presumption to seat and unseat a king, but now that he is out of her grip, for a moment, and looks up at her with such longing he fears his soul has left his chest for hers.

"So help me God." he agrees, it is in providence’s hands, after all, and in Kate’s clasped one’s atop his head.

“Fool.” she says once more as she bends over him, gently pressing a hand to the back of his head, pressing his face to her belly and her chilled fingers to his sopping hair, “It is not my brother these men fight for, nor for me. Not when it is you that calls them to it.”

“For what then?” He mumbles into her womb, hands heavy on her hips, the courtyard’s occupants dispersed into the shadows of the eaves, but a couple dozen peering eyes twinkle towards them in the twilight’s gloom.

“How often have I heard it said here, in this very courtyard.” Kate scoffs, observing the strength knelt so adoringly before her, “Have I dreamed each cry of ‘no prince save he be a Percy?’ Ha, to think they fight for a Mortimer, indeed. Ha!”

Harry staggers to his feet at this poke, it is, as are so many of his Kate’s wounds, half torment, half praise. His blood pounds with the elixir of her acknowledgment of his capability. “It is well then, Kate Mortimer,” he recites, daring now to put his lips very near her own, to nuzzle his strong nose with her hawkish one, to tip a chin and bat an eyelash against her wet cheek, “it is well that you are Percy now yourself, through and through, wed-“ his lips meet hers in a brush she chases after, “-and bred.”

🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯

Hope all five of you who read that enjoyed it. 😆 I know it’s a fragment but as I’m nothing but hyper fixated when some interests resurrects in me, I’ll probably be back with more of them. Drop a note below if you’d like to be on a taglist for such developments.

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en-chi-la-da · 1 month

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general animal death talk below

last night my dog sissy finally passed away

when i say finally i don't mean it like "god FINALLY i've been WAITING for her to GO already", i mean it like, i've been expecting it. "she's a tiny elder dog so i shouldn't be surprised when it happens", it's happening > it happened > time goes on. she's lived a long life, a solid 21 years (her birthday is in january) which was way longer than i was expecting her to go to be honest (although it is the estimated lifespan for the chihuahua breed WHATEVER) she was a strong little geezer. never broke a bone, rarely got sick, it felt like she was indestructible, looking back on it all.

unfortunately, she did get sick once again, so it actually wasn't from her old age catching up to her (again, that's what i expected to happen). she became lethargic and weak, very hot, was not eating/drinking or getting up to use the bathroom, when she did it was only to pee, and lots of sleeping. when we got her checked out she was dehydrated, ran over 103-degree F fever, and they told us that after an ultrasound they had found some cysts that had developed in her lower body (her digestive tract i believe). they said her body was trying to fight off an infection, most likely from the cysts, but they couldn't tell if they were cancerous or not or if one of them had popped or something. in the end, she wasn't looking good.

long term, we would've had to pay for numerous tests and surgeries for them to figure out what exactly was affecting her and try to treat her, although with her current state and how old she was, the vet estimated that most likely, her body wouldn't be able to handle all of that. short term, the quality of life route, we administer painkillers for a predetermined amount of time until she passes on her own or we run out. or, euthanization right there in the clinic. i saw no point in the medicine, why try to keep her around, just so we could watch her continue to suffer in her own bed? so she could keep not drinking or eating? so the infection could keep spreading? so i could end up one day coming home to find her dead body? horrible and ugly and the last thing i want to remember her by.

it felt like the best course of action, all things considered. she gets to pass painlessly, and i get to say goodbye and hold her in my arms one last time. honestly, i hadn't even started crying until it was over. when i felt her stop breathing and the vet confirmed that her heart had stopped. sure, at this point i had already accepted the fact that she was dying, there's not much we could do about it without hurting her more, it's the cycle of life, it was her time to go, i knew it was going to happen eventually - still, despite everything i was telling myself, to just get through it, for her sake - all my feelings in that moment still hit me like a truck. never before had she felt so small.

her life and her death will remain with me for the rest of mine, and i can only hope to see her again one day, but not for a long, long time.

i'm okay now, for the moment. honestly, ive just been rewatching all the videos i have of her, continuing to think of her and remembering her life with me. all that's left is to let the grieving process pass, i suppose. this is the last pic i got of sissy - this was from only a day before she started getting sick, can you believe that? i have others of her obviously, but this one i'm more comfortable with sharing.

on 4-15-2024 i said goodbye to the strongest chihuahua i've ever known and had the pleasure of raising 💖 may she rest in peace! :')

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stardew-otter · 2 years

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Stardew Valley Incorrect Quotes but it's mostly the elder trio (Harvey, Elliott, Shane) having one shared brain cell (plus farmer and the others making Harvey panic)

This is so damn long...

Cw for mentions of alcohol and blood

•─────✧─────•

Farmer: So you're sure?

Harvey: Yes, I'm sure.

Farmer: Are you SURE?

Harvey: Yes Farmer, I'm very sure of this.

Farmer: Proof?

Harvey: Well anyone who had common sense knows that getting attacked by several flying lizards while breathing in green smog is very unhealthy and can possibly kill you-

Farmer already pulling our an Oasis Totem: Not convinced *teleports*

Harvey: I- I... Maru get the surgical tools preped again...

─────────────────────

Shane: So let me get this straight.

Shane: You went to medical school for like, 20 years or something

Shane: Just to tell me I need to stop drinking so damn much?

Harvey: Short answer, yes. Long answer, if you stopped drinking you'd be able to stay conscious and coherent enough to remember it.

─────────────────────

Harvey: *just trying to vibe at the Stardrop Saloon*

Shane: *almost unconscious in the corner*

Elliott: *dancing on a table*

Farmer: *is covered in blood and rock dust*

Harvey: ...

Harvey: Gus, cancel the coffee, I'll take vodka instead...

─────────────────────

Harvey: I have passed the transitional stage of being a complete geek.

Harvey: I was entering some thing on the computer at work today, and was putting in the order code for some medications, which is 4040. For some reason the 0 key doesn't work this well, so I punched it in wrong, and the screen flashed up "Item Not Found: 404".

Harvey: And I wheezed so loud that Maru throught I got hurt.

─────────────────────

Harvey: Pardon the intrusion, but-

Shane: On this moment or just my life in general?

─────────────────────

Shane, seeing Harvey standing above him in the Clinic: Well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

Marnie: *stands next to Harvey*

Shane: Oh shit.

─────────────────────

Harvey: Shane got into another fight...

Elliott: Why, that's horrible!

Elliott: ...

Elliott: Did he at least win?

Shane walking in covered in chicken feathers: DAMN RIGHT I DID!!

─────────────────────

Harvey, sitting on his bed after a long day: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

─────────────────────

Harvey: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli.

Elliott, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

Shane with cauliflower tied to a string and stick: Hehe-

─────────────────────

Shane: I think I need a hug...

Elliott: Then it's a good thing I'm hug shaped!

*45 minutes later*

Shane: You uh, you can let go now.

Elliott: No, I absolutely can not.

─────────────────────

Shane: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really fucking ugly.

Elliott on the bottom bunk: Screw off Shane.

─────────────────────

Farmer: Every zoo is technically a petting zoo unless you’re a coward.

Harvey: I’m VERY worried about you.

Shane: Hey, that lion looks pretty friendly and like they need a good pat.

Elliott: Shane no-

─────────────────────

Elliott: I'm hot, I’m tall, I'm gay, and I'm on my theatre kid arc once again.

─────────────────────

Anyone who meets Shane: Are you this rude to everyone?!

Shane: Yes.

Shane: Don't think you're special because of it, now leave me alone.

─────────────────────

Elliott: *stands in the middle of the ocean with his clothing on*

Harvey: *visibility cringing inwards on the ground*

Shane: ...

Shane: I'm joining him-

Harvey: DON'T YOU DARE-

─────────────────────

Elliott: Hello doctor! I've come to ask for for one of your Fever tests.

Harvey slowly turning around: Fever... test...?

Maru: *audibly laughing from another room*

─────────────────────

Elliott: You know, I learned that urinating on a jellyfish sting can help alleviate the pain it causes!

Shane: So, piss on the jellyfish?

Harvey, who is struggling to not go on a rant about how incorrect that is and why is wouldn't work: Don't piss on the jellyfish please...

─────────────────────

Shane: The doctors can small fear...

─────────────────────

Elliott: You know, chlorine is just pool spice...

Shane:

Shane: Ok that's enough for today-

•─────✧─────•

You can tell I wrote this with very little sleep lol

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv incorrect quotes #stardew valley incorrect quotes #incorrect stardew valley quotes #sdv harvey #sdv elliott #sdv shane #sdv farmer #sdv marnie #sdv maru

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star-girl69 · 1 year

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Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: so fun fact it’s actually my birthday today!! and as a little gift for all of you, here’s finally some more adult reader and nat!!!! i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: blackmail, death, mentions of suicide, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Thirteen - Wild Side

—-

2021-

As soon as you got the postcard, you though of Natalie. Then you cried and screamed and wondered for days what to about it.

Until you finally realized who it could be from. You took a sick day off of work, faking a fever, waking up early in the morning to drive over to New Jersey from the city. You kept the postcard bunched up in your fist the entire drive.

When you get the hotel room Misty had told you about, you’ve worked yourself up into a wild rage, a storm, the very picture of violence- you bang harshly on the motel door.

You can hear muttering from inside, but Natalie opens the door, dressed in a white t-shirt, her hair pulled back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you shout, barging into the cheap and messy motel room.

She can only stare at you in shock.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You hold up the postcard. “This! You obsessive, stalker freak!”

She rips it out of your hands, staring at it, the cursive “wish you were here!” and that stupid fucking symbol.

“Oh,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” you shout, putting your hand on your hip. “So, what? You just want me back and decided the best way to do was to try and and scare me? Have you ever heard about taking a girl out on a date, Natalie?”

“Jesus Christ.”

You turn toward Taissa, not even bothering to hide your groan.

She smiles. “Nice to see you too, Y/N. Lover’s quarrel? Want me to step outside?”

You roll your eyes and turn back to Natalie.

“Well? Have anything to say for yourself?”

She sighs. “I didn’t send you the postcard. I got one. Tai and Misty got one. I don’t know why you just got one now, but-”

“She’s not lying, crazy. I got one too.”

Taissa has never been a liar. And even after everything that happened- you believe her.

“If anything, I think you’re the stalker freak.”

“What the fuck-”

Natalie groans.

“Please, Y/N.” You want to storm out, your cheeks heated from embarrassment, but you stay where you are. Natalie shuts the door behind you. She gestures to a pile of pictures on a small table. “Look.”

“What is that?” Taissa asks, any remnant of amusement from your temporary psychosis gone.

“It’s the floor of the barn where they found Travis’s body. The police are saying it’s a suicide, but there were candles underneath him arranged like that. Someone burned them and took them away.

You take a step closer, and that ugly symbol rears its head again.

“Who would do that?” Tai whispers.

Natalie’s phone dings.

Taissa’s does too.

And after a moment, yours does as well.

All you can focus on is the symbol, sketched out in dashes and dots on your screen.

“Gather 50k cash and away further instructions. Do not discuss this with your teammates, I will know,” Natalie reads.

You sigh and sit on her bed. “Fuck this.”

“I’m calling Shauna,” Tai says, and you watch as she makes the call.

“Hey. I’m with Natalie, you need to get here, Travis is dead and- she says she already knows.”

“What? How?” Natalie asks.

“Misty called her.”

Natalie rubs her temples.

“That conniving, poodle-haired little fucking freak.”

“Shauna, get here now!” Nat shouts into Tai’s phone. “We’ve got a big problem.”

You sigh and fall back against the bed.

—-

The three of you stay cooped up in Natalie’s motel room until Shauna comes, which consists of you lying on the bed, feeling sick and horrible, until Shauna finally knocks.

Tai has long since taken out a cigarette.

“Y/N,” Shauna says when she sees you.

“Shauna,” you say, smiling softly. She laughs and little and hugs you- years apart feeling odd, falling right back into before.

“You look like shit,” Natalie says after you and Shauna pull apart.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, rolling your eyes.

“Back at you,” Shauna says.

“How’s Jeff? Is he still hocking futons?

“Okay, no. No. No. We’re not doing this, okay? Not after all the shit we’ve been through.”

You sigh. “Taissa always knows how to scold us.”

She ignores you. “We’ve got a situation here. We’re gonna deal with it. Together.”

“Okay, fine. What’s- what’s going on?” Shauna asks. The room is silent for a moment, until Natalie gestures to the pictures that you had spent hours looking at, trying to find another explanation. But it was the symbol. “Is that Travis?”

No one speaks, and Shauna has her answer. She sits down at the table, sighing.

“Someone strung him up and then tried to cover the tracks.”

“We think it’s the same person who’s blackmailing us.”

“What? Blackmail?”

“You didn’t get one?” you frown. Taking out the postcard from your purse. “I mean, at first I thought it was Natalie-” Tai mutters under her breath, “But then I got the text message asking for 50k. We all did, I thought.”

“What?” Shauna studies the cars you hand her. “No. What do they want? 50k?”

“Yes, then they’ll keep their mouths shut.” Taissa says. “We’re not exactly sure what they know, but… I sure as hell don’t wanna find out.”

“You all got one?”

“Misty did, too.” Natalie says.

“I mean, it’s gotta be someone from the team, right? Like, who else would know about this?”

“That reporter.”

“Jessica Roberts?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Natalie nods.

“Wait. I told you to take care of her,” Shauna says to Tai.

“I threatened a lawsuit. I told her to back off.

“Fuck this,” Natalie says, the drink in her hand swishing. She laughs slightly, grabbing something from her bedside table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna bring Jessica Roberts- great fake name, by the way- to us. And I’ll just say, ‘Oh, I’m ready to tell my story.’”

“No, because then if it is not her, then we are just handing her the exact kind of story she’s looking for.”

“Yeah, Shauna’s right, Nat. Please. Just put the phone down. Stop it. Stop it!” Tai shouts.

“Natalie!”

Nat smiles, and you throw your head back, reaching forward to grab her arm- but you can’t.

“Natalie,” you say. She barely spares you a glance.

“Fucking put the phone down!”

“You know I don’t like it when you yell at me.” But, she puts the phone down.

“Can you get the money?” Shauna sighs.

“I’m working on it.”

“Once you do, we put a GPS tracker in with the cash, and that way we can follow it, and see who, what we’re-we’re dealing with. Together.”

Natalie smiles.

“I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but should we loop Misty in?”

“No. She could be part of this.” Tai dismisses.

“ Well, she did take me to see Travis. And Y/N. But first she fucked with my car. Still, she’s been helping me to figure it all out.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause naturally. Um, is there anything else I should know about? Or does the blackmail, Travis maybe being murdered, and this one playing buddy cop with Misty fucking Quigley just about cover it?”

Tai let’s out a sharp breath.

“Okay, well. I’m gonna go see if there’s any vacancies,” you sigh.

“I don’t think there are any-”

“Shut up, Natalie.”

—-

You knock on the door twenty minutes later, everyone left. Natalie opens the door, smiling smugly.

“Need a place to stay?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s no way to talk to your savior.”

You roll your eyes. “Natalie.”

She opens the door wider, and motions for you to walk in. You sit on the bed, taking a pillow and putting it in the middle of the bed, before starting to shrug off your jacket.

“Seriously?” Nat asks, tugging off her shorts, slipping into the already unmade bed.

“Yes,” you say, providing no other explanation.

You’ve shared motel rooms with Natalie before, slept in her arms before, but seeing her drink today reminded you of why you left in the first place. In a world where all you knew was violence, you had chosen more. But now- in the modern, the real world- love wasn’t suffering. Love wasn’t watching her die.

You slip off your bra from under your t-shirt, imagining this is just your bed, just your bed at home, repeating it to yourself as you switch off the lamp and climb into bed.

Natalie turns on a talk show, so the voices in the background muter quietly.

“Can you not?” you groan, eager for silence.

She doesn’t speak for a moment.

“There’s a tree by the window, uh, it sometimes scratches against it.”

“Oh.” You stare up at the ceiling. You weren’t expecting her to forget it, but, still.

“We’re in New Jersey.”

“I know.”

And besides for the talk show, no one speaks for the rest of the night.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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johannestevans · 4 months

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My Top 6 Films of 2023

Just some recommendations for my favourite new releases of last year!

Originally published on Cinemania.

2023 had a few knock-out hits as far as the cinema goes — obviously, people were very excited about the respective releases of Barbie and Oppenheimer, but my top films of the year were a bit different.

One thing I do think unites a lot of these — and a trend I hope to see from more films in the next few years — is a trend toward more earnestness and sincerity in scripts and plot lines, and I’m hoping that trend continues!

Without further ado, my top films of 2023:

They Cloned Tyrone (dir. Juel Taylor)

They Cloned Tyrone is a fucking triumph, and hands-down had my favourite costume design of the year — it at the same time feels very vintage in places, calling heavily on the Blaxploitation movies of the 1970s and their aesthetics while at the same time dragging in more modern— and dystopian — futuristic elements throughout. Teyonah Parris is a particular triumph as Yo-Yo, but the whole cast really rocks this whole flick.

This film feels in so many ways like a fever dream, layering disparate elements and tones, and for that is all the more hard-hitting with the horror and painful realism of its cynical central plot.

If you watch a single of the films recommended on this list, make it this one.

Down Low (dir. Rightor Doyle)

This film is weird as fuck, and it makes a lot out of leaning into that. Delving into the ugly reality of down-low hook-ups on gay dating apps and dialing the chaos that can arise from them up to the max, this is a surprisingly heartfelt look at gay loneliness and isolation in the white middle-class US.

It’s fast-paced and kooky with its dialogue — Lukas Gage, of Euphoria fame, co-wrote the script with Phoebe Fisher, and Gage’s particular style of verbose and down-right weird speeches are dotted through it — and while it ultimately ends in the death you know from the beginning is coming, it doesn’t feel like it’s wholly a tragedy.

Dungeons and Dragons: Honour Among Thieves (2023, dir. John Francis Daley & Jonathan Goldstein)

I don’t think I need to go into great detail about this one — Dungeons and Dragons’ newest addition to its array of canons here is a spellbinding and delightful watch. A lot of the problem with fantasy films and TV shows the past few years has been how painfully over-ironic they are, with none of them being able to just lean into their premise and accept that, yes, we’re being a bit silly, and that’s the point! But the DnD movie is just spectacularly earnest and gives itself entirely over to the wonder of its world, and that feels wonderful.

Every time I’ve watched it, which is a few times now, I’ve picked up on new fun world details or little in-jokes, and there are just so many things this film does right and has fun with, most of all making Xenk Yendar even more autistic than ever whilst also making him hot with the Regé-Jean Page casting.

And also, Hugh Grant is here playing a horrible, sleazy bastard of a wizard, and speaking of hot —

Cocaine Bear (dir. Elizabeth Banks)

Must a film be good?

Firstly, isn’t a coked-up horny female bear wreaking havoc and ripping people to shreds enough? And also, even if it wasn’t enough, aren’t so many queer characters going through the weirdest day out ever, girlbosses galore (I’m including the bear), funny as Hell dialogue, and even plot twists enough?

We saw this in the cinema on its release, and it was utterly glorious. Everyone should have the pleasure of seeing the feminist icon of 2023, the cocaine bear (sorry, Barbie), on the biggest screen imaginable, ripping into some hapless gay with full surround sound.

The Boogeyman (dir. Rob Savage)

I normally run along to see any new releases from Rob Savage as I loved Host, and The Boogeyman was so much more than I expected — bearing no resemblance at all to the original lacklustre Stephen King short story, this film really plays so creatively with light and shadow and has an honestly spine-tingling monster design that feels viscerally frightening from its introduction to its final boss battle.

I love it when a film plays with light sources, most of all when good horror does it, and this flick really delivers on that point — not knowing where light is going to come from adds extra tension when you’re trying to see into the shadowy corners, and whether it’s from the lunar nightlight, the videogame flashes, the camera, the fridge, or anywhere else, this film really has this holistic approach to light and shadow that just fucks.

The Pope’s Exorcist (dir. Julius Avery)

Again, must a film be good?

youtube

Isn’t it enough to have a coked-up bear —

Okay, I used that line already, but this time it’s Russell Crowe, and he’s doing an Italian accent, and he’s riding a little Vespa, and it’s the funniest and best thing in the world.

Much like the DnD movie, The Pope’s Exorcist really leans into its premise and just goes really earnest about it — it doesn’t take too much time to sardonically comment on the ridiculousness of its own universe, and that makes it feel really fresh compared to a lot of other big studio horror films. It’s silly and stupid and mixes more impressive scares in with the cheap ones, and it’s just a really fun movie to watch with friends.

#musings #movie recs #they cloned tyrone #cocaine bear #down low #Youtube

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the-kingofdoritos · 7 months

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Llwch ar yr aelwyd - mechanisms fanfiction

There were only the two of them left. Only two Mechanisms left. Just Brian and The Toy Soldier.

The others had all left, died or had gone missing without a trace. It had been horrible, but after a milenia Brian had gotten used to it. He had almost gotten used to the overwhelming loneliness that penetrated through his whole brass body. Even with the toy soldier as company, it just made him miss the others even more. He knew it was almost his time.

And so he had decided to land the Aurora on a small planet in the middle of nowhere. It was warm, there were flowers, and it was very pretty. And a nice place to spend his last day alive. The toy soldier had the good idea to go and watch the sunrise, as it seemed to realise what Brian was about to do.

And so they find an old battered blanket, it's covered in blood (Jonnys) and what seem to be a few other substances, and it smells familiar. They end up sitting down on that to watch the sunrise one last time.

“It's very beautiful isn't it, old chap?” the toy soldier pipes up. It's sitting cross legged, its wooden arms perched on either of its knees. The permanently painted smile seems much more downcast than usual.

“It is,” Brain agrees, though he doesn't look away from the sky to answer it’s question.

The sky is bathed in a bright orange, yellow, dark blue and a plethora of colours that seem too vibrant to be real. The sun peaks up from behind a dull mountain rage. He can't help but think that jonny and tim would complain about how boring it would be to watch a sunrise, but how they wouldn't move and would lay there in the grass next to him, small smiles on their faces.

How ashes would compare it to a raging fire.

How Marius would be playing his violin, one he would have pulled out of thin air.

How Raphaella would be trying to explain the scientific reason for a sunrise, and how the sky’s colours changed and other scientist things.

How ivy would be reading a book, not even listening or watching the others. But she would remark that the sky is incredibly pretty, and how she wished he had done something like this before.

Brian wished he could cry, but Carmilla hadn't given him tear ducts. At one time he was incredibly grateful for this, but now it just seems like a cruel joke. He can't even cry about his friend's family’s death.

He wishes they had more time. But he knows that would be cruel. None of them were ever truly happy, and they hadn't been since Nastya left. She almost seems like a fever dream now, and Brian can't say he even remembers much about her. And that hurts, stings and breaks his human heart.

“Toy soldier,” he speaks with a wavering voice, one of the only ways he can show emotion.

“Yes Brian?” it asks.

“Can… Can I have a hug?” he whispers it, because if he speaks any louder he will break down into ugly sobs. And then jonny would make fun of him because it would be a waste of a perfectly good morning.

“Of course you can,” its wooden arms wrap around his brass body, and he leans into it. Carmilla did put in nerves, and for that he is grateful. He cant feel temperature though, but if he could he knows the toy soldier is wooden and would be quite cold.

And there the two last Mechanisms stay, wrapped up in each other's arms.

The sun is gracing the sky with its brightness by the time either of them move.

Going back onto the cold and silent starship, back onto the Aurora who had stopped responding to them when Nastya had left. It almost feels like a deathwish, but Brian nor the Toy Soldier hesitate when entering the ship one last time. It feels like one last goodbye. And Brian knows it's the end.

That night, the airlock is open and waiting for him. A cup of tea on a table by it. His heart swells with joy for one last time as he drinks the warm beverage. He doesn't see the toy soldier, but he knows the tea is its way of saying goodbye. He can't think of what will happen to it when he’s gone, because that would be cruel.

The airlock is familiar, it's cold, and it's his death. And for one final time, he feels warm. And then it's gone as the coldness of space digs into his brass skin freezing him from the outside in as he completes the cycle. One last time.

The first mechanism died in space, and so did the last one. He became a mechanism in the vast coldness of space and ended his time as a mechanism in the vast coldness of space. The cycle is complete, one last time.

~He's not for heaven, nor yet for hell~

~Lost in the cosmos, Lonely~

#the mechanisms #drumbot brian #the toy soldier #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #angst #why did i write this #the mechanisms fanfic #death to the mechanisms #jonny d'ville #ashes o'reilly #gunpowder tim #tw death #all the characters are just mentioned (besides brian and ts)#i miss these fuckers soooo much

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necros-writing-stuff · 8 months

Note

It's been a really long time since I've been here, life has just been too busy and tiring. I haven't even been able to draw I'm so sorry. Can I ask for two?

PC with a flu or high fever with Eden and Trauma induced Eden insisting on going out to work or sell products to earn money to pay Bailey given that they're already permitted by Eden to go back to town every now and then and that Eden didn't directly buy PC from Bailey. Take your time imma just be here sick in bed.

Hey! So sorry this took so long! I hope you're doing much better now. And don't worry about not having done art! We all work at our own paces, don't push yourself to create when you don't have the will to.

I think I've already covered PC with a sickness, and how Eden is a stern but attentive caretaker. We can see this when there's pass out events at the cabin. They bring you in, put you to bed. After the pred/prey scene they even get you water. So Eden would likely work as normal, but come in to check on you every so often. Get you a drink or a snack. If you're well enough, you can do small indoor chores. If not, sleep as much as is needed.

As for traumatised Eden at the market? Mmmm that good. That's a yummy one. Note: when I say that it's often about horrible things, isn't it? Double note: Lynx would be Axe body spray to the 'Muricans.

Oh - warning for mentions of past non-con btw.

There's too much noise. It burrows into his brain, denying any attempts to drown out the calls of purveyors of goods around him. Calling out their produce, prices, how long they'd be there.

There's a baby crying. Wailing as it's father talks on the phone and half-asses shushing it by waving a toy in its face while he isn't even looking at the babe.

There's so many smells he swears they're causing him a headache. Food. Sweat. Some abhorrent chemical smell as a group of teenage boys pass. He remembers Lynx. Remembers the locker rooms at school.

There's eyes everywhere. Blue, green, brown. He thought he saw red at one point. No- no he definitely did. There's a group of goths wandering around. Probably one of them with contact lenses. Eden could swear he feels at least one pair of eyes on him each and every second.

Scant few customers come to his stall. Its mostly older patrons: elderly craftspeople who still practise their trades as the youth buy from companies; aspiring chefs excited to grill up some real game; this one old man who always shows up for the dried back-strap. Eden doesn't remember his name, but the man swears by the stuff. Says Eden comes with the best stock and those other hunters bring bare scraps. Not a surprise, he's seen the incompetence of others who come through the forest.

He swears he can hear laughter amongst the throngs of people. Swears that it must be directed at him. His ugly face. His huge body. His clothing, old and patched. But he has to stay. Has to do it for you. To keep you safe and out of Bailey's money machine.

He wished you were here. Wished you'd come bounding up to him with that smile of yours and drag him home. But you're also at work, coralling dogs at the pound for spare change to contribute to Eden's payments to Bailey. Apparently the mutts listen now that you smell like him. Funny thing, how he affects animals. Even dumbass chickens hate him. He'd considered getting some once, but they'd get so stressed around him they wouldn't be able to lay any eggs. Oh, and foxes could take them.

Best to stay there, in those inconsequential memories of the past. It's hard to when he sees a face that surges horrid memories to the front instead. The man looked to be about 70 by this point, wobbling around with a cane. He'd already been grey when they'd met.

"Got any boar meat, lad?" He wheezed, bug-like eyes pooring over the table. His voice was weaker than it had been. There's no flicker of recognition in the freaky eyes.

"A few cuts. Belly or back? I've got hooves, too." Eden's voice doesn't break. Doesn't show his rising panic.

A claw-like hand reaches out to where Eden directed his attention. A shiver goes down the hunter's spine. He remembers those hands. How clammy and cold they'd been. How... insistent and encompassing.

"Aye, this one's a good heavy steak. How much?"

Eden's eyes didn't leave the old man's face. "Freshest cut, got the beast last night. £5."

The old man licks his lips as he pries his wallet free, the appendage dried, cracked and pale. Just like the rest of him. He'd had a tan back then. A terrible, fake one. Fucker had been orange.

Teens ran past once more, barely missing the old man as they screamed. The crypt-bound bag of bones scoffed, disgust apparent. But his eyes linger too long on one of the older boys, with longer dark hair and a skinny frame, just about old enough to start drinking Eden thinks.

Attention soon returned to the hunter, the smile back. Oh look, he'd kept half of his teeth. Impressive for someone his age. They were rotted, though. More so than they had been when he'd visited the orphanage. Probably time for dentures. Eden could still remember the smell of his breath.

"£5, a good price for a good steak. My wife will fry this up well." He's laughing. Eden grants him a polite smile as he wraps up the meat and hands it over.

He tracks the old man as he leaves, watching as his thumb strokes over the paper bill in his hand. He doesn't take a deep breath until he knows he's gone. He can't take a deep breath until he knows, for sure, that he's gone.

£2.50 was what he'd payed for Eden back then.

#spill your guts #zeozzo #eden the hunter #cw noncon mention #gn reader #cw paranoia

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etherealbelphie · 2 years

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More Than Just A Pretty Face (Ft. Asmodeus and GN!MC)

Warnings: Sick character, dizziness, lack of appetite, self depreciating thoughts, pain killers, romance is sort of implied.

Length: 1.8k words

Genre: Angst, hurt, fluff, comfort

Summary: Asmodeus comes down with something, leaving him less than glamorous. You stick around anyways.

A/N: I know I should probably be working on the 'Selfish' series of oneshots (that aren't really oneshots anymore) but this fic has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for so long, I figured I'd finally get it done and out. This is adding on to the 'When He Knew He Loved You' series, for which I've already written: Mammon's version.

Anyways, this is a sickfic, and I hoped I tagged all the right warnings. If you think I should add some, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

-Ethereal (✿◡‿◡)

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Asmodeus hadn’t looked in the mirror today, and he didn’t intend to any time soon.

His head hurt, his nose was running, and his throat was scratchy and dry. He was exhausted, even though he had just woken up, and his whole body ached.

He was pretty sure that if he had looked in a mirror, it would’ve shattered.

There was no way he was making it to RAD that day.

He had spent the morning in bed, whining to no one about how awful he felt, and part afternoon posting photos he’d taken earlier before immediately falling back asleep.

You hadn’t been that concerned when Asmo missed breakfast that morning. In a household that large, people missing now and then wasn’t that unusual. You also didn’t have any classes with him that day, so you didn’t notice he wasn’t at RAD.

You did, however, notice that he wasn’t there to walk you home like the two of you had originally planned.

Asmodeus woke up to a string of messages from you.

You: Hey, where are you? 3:40pm

You: Did you leave without me? 3:45pm

You: Okay…well, Satan offered to walk me back, so I’m going to go with him. 4:00pm

You: Hope you’re alright. 4:00pm

He woke up the rest of the way pretty quickly and texted you back.

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry sweetie! 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’ve been feeling a little under the weather today, I didn’t even make it to RAD. 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry, I should’ve arranged for someone else to walk you home. 5:38pm seen

He waited one, two, five minutes.

No reply.

He turned his phone face down, rolling over. He tugged the sheets over his head.

He already felt physically awful, and now he’d upset you. Even worse, he didn’t have the energy to try and fix it right now. Honestly, in the state he was in, he would probably end up making it worse.

Great. Now he was crying. As if his nose wasn’t stuffed up enough.

Groaning, he sat up. He reached for the tissue box, only to realize he’d already used the last one. He let out a frustrated whine, flopping back against the pillows.

Why?

Why was nothing going right today?

This is what I get for leaving them to fend for themselves, he thought.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, wincing at both the pain and the raspiness of his voice.

A second later, the door swung open. It was the last person he’d expected to see: You.

“Hey,” you whispered, balancing a tray as you shut the door behind you. “How’re you feeling?”

He didn’t answer, opting to bury himself further into the sheets instead. He'd upset you enough without making you look at his ugly face.

“T-terrible,” he said, shivering as a chill ran through him.

“Are you cold?” You asked him.

He nodded, then realized you probably couldn’t see him. “Freezing.”

“Hm.” He heard you come closer, then put something on his bedside table. The tray, most likely. “Do you mind if I check you for a fever?” You asked.

He laughed, regretting it when his throat started to burn. "Honey, you can't see me like this."

"I can't?" You asked genuinely. "I don't think I can catch whatever you have, so that can't be it."

"It's not that. It's that I look horrible right now," he said.

"Well, of course you do. No one looks good when they're sick," you said matter-of-factly. "So, can I check you for a fever?" You repeat.

"You..." he trailed off. You didn't care?

But everyone cared!

Asmodeus was the most beautiful being in the three realms, second to none! They didn't call him the Jewel of the Heavens for nothing.

"Huh?" was the only response he could come up with.

"I want to check you for a fever," you repeated for the third time. "Can you roll over please?"

Still unable to form a proper response, he obliged.

You pressed a hand to his forehead, your brow crinkling slightly. "You're really warm. We should try and get your fever down," you said, mostly to yourself.

"Now, have you eaten anything yet today?" You already knew the answer, but sighed anyways when he shook his head.

"Okay. I brought you some soup, do you want some?" You asked.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not hungry."

"You probably don't feel hungry," you said. "But you should still try and eat something. Can you have a few bites, please?"

"I don't wanna," he said, sounding more like a bratty toddler than one of the most powerful demons in Hell.

"Come on, please?" You asked. You weren't going to force him, but having nutrients in his body would help him fight off whatever he had. "I made it just for you."

He sighed, but he sat up. "A little. But only because you made it," he said.

"Alright, good." You grabbed the bowl off the tray and started to pass it to him.

He stopped you. "My hands are shaking." He held them out to prove his point. "I'm going to spill everywhere."

He paused a second, then a sly smile slid onto his face. "Would you be a dear and feed me?" He asked, batting his eyes.

He didn't really need to ask you twice; you were the one who wanted him to eat in the first place.

You nodded, taking a seat in the space beside him. You stirred the broth a second, holding your hand just over the surface,

"It won't be too hot," he assured you. "Demon, remember?"

"Oh, right." Even so, you stirred it another few seconds before you fed him a bite.

The soup was warm and delicious, and he wound up finishing the whole bowl. Turns out he was more hungry than he thought.

You smiled, placing the empty dish back on the tray. "Good job. I also brought you some painkillers, did you want to take them?"

He nodded quickly, holding his hand out for the two pills you had.

He popped them into his mouth, then glanced to the water glass on the table, then back to you expectantly.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, retrieving the glass and bringing it to his lips.

You slowly tilted the glass upwards until he gave you the signal to stop.

"Do you feel a little better?" You asked him.

He nodded, going to lay back down. This was the longest he'd been awake all day, and he was really starting to feel it. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

"That's good," you said. "Now, let's see what we can do about that fever, hm?"

You didn't wait for a response, heading into his lavish bathroom. It was easy to find a cloth --how many towels does one demon need, anyway?-- and didn't take long to soak it in cool water.

You wrung it out so it wasn't sopping wet, then headed back to him.

You gently laid it over his forehead. "Hopefully this will help a little...are you tired?"

"Mhm," he hummed.

"Okay, that's alright," you said. "Do you need anything else?"

His eyes flickered open, giving you a hopeful look. "Cuddles?"

You smiled but shook your head. "I'm sorry. Your fever is way too high for that."

He huffed, his lips pursed in a pout. "Fine."

"I'm going to leave you to rest for a while, did you want me to leave? Or stick around for a bit?"

At the mere suggestion of you leaving, he weakly reached to grab your wrist. "Don't go?"

"Okay, I won't." You adjusted to sit more comfortably on the bed. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll be here when you wake up."

He squeezed your hand, making you squeeze back. Then he fell silent, and you assumed he fell asleep.

A few minutes later, you were proved wrong when he said your name.

"Why did you stay?" He asked.

"Why did I...stay?" You repeated, confused. "What do you mean?"

He sniffled. "Here. With me. When I look like this." He vaguely gestured around himself with his free hand.

"Why did I stay with you while you're sick? And you look sick?" You asked, not sure if you were missing something.

He nodded.

"Well, you wanted me to stay, and I wanted to help you."

"Why would you want to help me when I look like this?" he pressed.

"Whether I want to help you has nothing to do with your looks." You sounded offended at the mere suggestion. "I don't care about you because you're pretty. You know that, don't you?" Your tone softened into genuine concern.

Blame his sleepy state, blame his fever, but he responded honestly. "That's usually why people do."

Your silence made him nervous, and your thumb had stopped caressing the back of his hand.

Any second now, you'd start laughing. Of course, being pretty was all he was good for.

"Oh, Asmo." Your heartbroken tone threw those thoughts out the window immediately. "You're so much more than being pretty," you whispered softly.

"I am?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed. He flinched at the sudden increase in volume. You resumed stroking the back of his hand as an apology, though no actions could've compared to what you said next.

"You're gorgeous. There's no denying that. But there's so much more to you than that. You're brilliant when it comes to fashion. You've had what, six of your fashion lines featured at Majolish?"

"Eight," he corrected, and you smiled.

"See? That's incredible! And you're so good with people too. You're great at making them like you, sure, but you're also just...good at being social. You've also got the most emotional intelligence I've ever seen. You always know how to tell when people are down, and you always know how to cheer them up. You've got the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, you give incredible cuddles and massages, and most importantly-!" You paused to take a breath.

"Most importantly, you're always you. Unapologetically yourself, no filter, no matter what anyone else thinks. You're not afraid to speak your mind, you're not afraid to laugh or cry. There's no filtering you, in the best way possible," you stressed, squeezing his hand tightly.

"You're not worth my time because you're pretty. You're worth my time because you're you."

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but he couldn't. All that escaped was a choked sob.

You recoiled, releasing his hand. "Did I say something? I-"

He cut you off, sitting up so quickly it made him dizzy, The wet cloth fell into his lap, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into your shoulder.

"You said everything," he said, squeezing you as tight as he thought would be safe.

"Thank you."

#obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me asmodeus x mc #obey me asmodeus/mc #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo/mc #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo x reader #venting about being tired warning #one of these days I will post a fic during normal hours instead of like..#many hours past midnight #that day is not today #or maybe the day wasn't yesterday?#idk anymore-

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seekingstars · 6 months

Text

letters - Rachel McKibbens

I. Letter From My Heart to My Brain

It's okay to hang upside-down like a bat, to swim into the deep end of silence, to swallow every key so you can’t get out. It’s okay to hear the ocean calling your fevered name

to say your sorrow is an opera of snakes, to flirt with sharp and heartless things. It’s okay to write, I deserve everything, to bow down to this rotten thing that understands you, to adore the red and ugly queen of it, to admire her calm and steady rowing.

It’s okay to lock yourself in the medicine cabinet, to drink all the wine, to do what it takes to stay without staying. It's okay to hate God today to change his name to yours, to want to ruin all that ruined you. It’s okay to feel like only a photograph of yourself, to need a stranger to pull your hair and pin you down, it’s okay to want your mother as you lie alone in bed. It’s okay to brick to fuck to flame to church to crush to knife to rock to rock to rock to rock to rock and rock.

It’s okay to wave good-bye to yourself in the mirror. To write, I don’t want anything. It’s okay to despise what you have inherited, to feel dead in a city of pulses. It’s okay to be the whale that never comes up for air, to love best the taste of your own blood.

II. Letter From My Brain To My Heart

This house is dirty, but comfortable. Behind each crooked door waits the angry weather of a forgiveless child. I cannot help but admire this horrible power of mine, how each small thing can become a death: the lost house key. A spoiled egg. A howling dog. There is no prayer or pill for this. It is a ruthless botany; I might as well be buried in the yard. I have no one to blame. Not the mother who sang to an empty cradle. Not the Dog of Spite who bit my hand, just this long-legged sorrow who trails my every joy like a dark perfume.

You have my permission not to love me; I am a cathedral of deadbolts and I’d rather burn myself down than change the locks.

#poetry #rachel mckibbens

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fallenwhumpee · 1 year

Text

Luck

• Masterlist •

Warnings: none! Just a sickfic with some fluff.

Whumpee was not free often. They always had something to do, a project to be completed, a problem to be solved. Everyone expected them to be on move every time. So they lived with everything rushed, things done for job and other people's wishes.

They couldn't take it anymore.

Maybe they wouldn't think like this if they weren't pathetically sniffling in their office with a fever that should have knocked them out. But the job was marked urgent, and their boss had nearly begged them to come and complete their work before the shift ended. So they cancelled their leave and came to work with an uncooperative body.

But seriously, they couldn't take any of the ridiculous excuses they had heard before the afternoon break. They were running between departments with heavy folders on their hands, staring at a too bright screen containing poorly written mails and gossiping coworkers.

Couldn't they just try to be more silent? It was as if they were shouting about the new celebrities next to their ears, yelling the newest couples in trends.

But that was just whispers, really. They knew, but it didn't make it any better. They let out a sigh and stood up, head spinning as the chair slid behind with their motion. They held onto the desk for a few second, and headed to the small kitchenette for some refuelling.

But they had never been lucky, and the kettle was drained until the last drop. They filled it and decided to wait instead of turning back, but as if the world was set against them, their phone rang loudly. They abondoned their mug on the counter and opened it.

The person on the other side of the phone was talking with a loud background noise, and their words weren't making any sense. Whumpee wanted to close the phone. Their eyes were watering with the customer's every word. But they didn't, for the sake of the company.

And before the kettle boiled, they turned back to their desk, burying themselves yet another urgent task.

When the afternoon break started, they let their head slam into the desk. Everyone was talking with each other, going somewhere, doing something. But they couldn't trust themselves to stand, let alone getting something to eat.

Smell of coffee brought them back to themselves. They had fallen asleep, in the middle of the day, between so many things to do. But they couldn't lift their head, and their neck was hurt after sleeping cramped on a chair. Their heart skipped a beat as they thought they overslept their break, and they pushed themselves up, their back popping.

"I'm sure this desk is not your bed," Caretaker smiled. Whumpee smiled, too. Caretaker's smile was contagious. They only hoped that whatever illness clinging to them was not. They opened their mouth to greet them, but they tried surprass a sneeze to only fail horribly. They turned the other side to shield Caretaker from this ugly sight and sniffled a few times to get themselves together.

"You shouldn't be working today," Caretaker said as they reached Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee flinched and shielded away from the touch because if Caretaker noticed their fever, they would be sent home. Then who was going to finish all these jobs?

"I'll be fine." They rubbed their arm. They were feeling cold, just like since the beginning of the day. But this time, they were worse, and they struggled to keep their chill under control. They wisely kept their mouth close after it because they feared their teeth would clang if they talked.

"Boss said you had a leave today." And they both knew Whumpee would never ask for a leave if it was just a cold. Caught. They cursed the day under their breaths.

"I divided your workload to the others, and we're going my home." They didn't– couldn't protest as Caretaker caught their one wrist to hold them and touched their forehead with the back of their other hand. Caretaker pulled back just as fast, not leaving Whumpee to lean on it and take comfort.

Whumpee whined as Caretaker guided them out of the workplace. Everything was spinning, and the smallest noises were enough to worsen their headache. They leaned on Caretaker all the way, feeling guilty as they mumbled apologies but couldn't sound coherent.

Caretaker laid them at the back seats, car coming to life with a loud motor sound.

"Still with me? Whumpee? I will drive to the hospital, alright?"

"No hospital, please." They didn't want to. They just wanted to sleep.

Caretaker looked back and bit their lip. Whumpee was already out of it. But they never could win an argument with Whumpee, they would have their way every time. After a resigned sigh, they drove to their home.

Carrying the sleeping Whumpee proved to be more difficult than they thought. But they succeed in laying the feverish form of Whumpee onto their couch. Whumpee opened their eyes for the first time, weakly catching Caretaker's wrist.

"W-water p-please?"

They brought a glass, but Whumpee couldn't stand by themselves to drink. Caretaker helped them, both to sit up and drink.

"You're too warm," They murmured to themselves and went to get some medicine– and another glass of water. Whumpee didn't even stir, and Caretaker found themselves counting seconds after they gave the medicine to Whumpee. Hours passed, and Whumpee was at least coherent, but their fever was still wearing Whumpee down.

"No luck?" Whumpee asked with a tired voice. Their eyes were nearly closed. They were sweating and in need of fresh clothes. Caretaker tossed a thin t-shirt and a short, giving some privacy to Whumpee to change. When they came back, Whumpee was laying with a frowned expression, head buried into the fluffy pillow on Caretaker's couch. It would be a cute sight if their body wasn't tense from resisting the urge to curl up to themselves because of the lack of warmth.

"Why don't you sleep a bit? I'm sure you could use a good rest."

Whumpee hummed in response, closing their eyes completely. Caretaker waited for a little more, comforting Whumpee silently before bringing cold water and some cloth.

Caretaked dipped the cloth into the cold water and carefully placed it on Whumpee's burning forehead after wiping the droplets appeared on Whumpee's neck. Whumpee whined, and Caretaker prepared themselves for a long night watch.

#whump #whump writing #sickfic #fever whump

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mosses-gate-3 · 5 months

Note

Given that Andis and Salix existed in our real world, do you think they would enjoy wearing "ugly" holiday sweaters? Why/why not? If they do, what kind of sweater do you think they'd go for? Bright and festive? Ironic? Lewd?

(Feel free to ignore this if you yourself don't celebrate anything and/or this question makes you uncomfortable)

Thank you so much for the ask!! Happy holidays

Andis-- oh my god okay the other day I saw this absolutely horrendous pair of overalls, they were really shitty quality FAKE VELVET, absolutely no substance to them, CLASHING COLORS, with this like really ugly Christmas tree pattern printed onto them in the lowest resolution I've ever seen in my life, and there were HORRIBLE PLUSH CAT FACES SEWN ON. THREE-DIMENSIONAL STUFFED CAT FACES. ON THE OVERALLS. Worst article of clothing I've ever seen in my entire fucking life and believe me I've seen some pretty ugly clothes. It looked like the physical manifestation of my fever dreams. I think one of the companions bought him those as a joke one year and he shows up to every function rocking the shitty overalls.

Salix wouldn't go out of her way to buy an ugly sweater but she absolutely lost a bet one time and had to wear one. She thinks the lewd ones are really funny. Maybe she'd give them as gifts.

And here's a wip of Salix in her fucked up siren form :D

#andis #salix #my tav #my ocs #bg3 tav

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nottrusttworthy · 2 months

Text

Letter From My Heart to My Brain

and

Letter From My Brain To My Heart

by Rachel McKibbens

I. Letter From My Heart to My Brain

It's okay to hang upside-down like a bat,

to swim into the deep end of silence,

to swallow every key so you can’t get out.

It’s okay to hear the ocean calling your fevered name

to say your sorrow is an opera of snakes,

to flirt with sharp and heartless things.

It’s okay to write, I deserve everything,

to bow down to this rotten thing

that understands you, to adore the red

and ugly queen of it, to admire

her calm and steady rowing.

It’s okay to lock yourself in the medicine cabinet,

to drink all the wine, to do what it takes to stay

without staying. It's okay to hate God today

to change his name to yours, to want to ruin all that ruined you.

It’s okay to feel like only a photograph of yourself,

to need a stranger to pull your hair and pin you down,

it’s okay to want your mother as you lie alone in bed.

It’s okay to brick to fuck to flame to church to crush to knife

to rock to rock to rock to rock to rock and rock.

It’s okay to wave good-bye to yourself in the mirror.

To write, I don’t want anything.

It’s okay to despise what you have inherited,

to feel dead in a city of pulses. It’s okay

to be the whale that never comes up for air,

to love best the taste of your own blood.

II. Letter From My Brain To My Heart

This house is dirty, but comfortable.

Behind each crooked door

waits the angry weather of a forgiveless child.

I cannot help but admire this horrible

power of mine, how each small thing

can become a death: the lost house key. A spoiled egg.

A howling dog. There is no prayer or pill for this.

It is a ruthless botany; I might as well

be buried in the yard. I have no one to blame.

Not the mother who sang to an empty cradle.

Not the Dog of Spite who bit my hand,

just this long-legged sorrow

who trails my every joy like a dark perfume.

You have my permission not to love me;

I am a cathedral of deadbolts

and I’d rather burn myself down

than change the locks.

#poetry #rachel mckibbens #writing #this is me #love this #THIS NEVER LEAVES MY HEAD #somemanywords

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chickchickee · 3 months

Text

I was offline on most of my socials for awhile, so I want to make a post about my disappearance. This is also an endometriosis awareness post, tw: surgery, medical talk. It really needs to be discussed more than it is because a lot of women have it and aren't aware of it.

And it can get real ugly.

I wasn't aware how sick I was until a tumor was found late in 2022. I had begged the doctor to do a MRI because I had horrible pain and was unable to walk without difficulty, and this scan finally uncovered the reason. It was in an area that wasn't supposed to have anything in it. After many additional scans and tests, I was scheduled for it to be removed and any possible endometriosis inside.

For over four years, I had been struggling with a sitting heart rate of 120 (walking, 140-160) and a perpetual mystery fever over 102. I had multiple infections that kept returning after the antibiotics ran their course. It took the large tumor to alarm my doctors into action.

My surgery went ten hours, and I woke up with an ileostomy, six scars and the news that I had polypoid endometriosis. It was everywhere BUT my uterus. That's the thing about endometriosis - I was always told it was contained in certain areas. My endometriosis had coated the outside of organs, nerves, and perforated my intestinal track. It had tied some organs together. Someone on the team estimated at my surgery that I was 2 months away from spontaneous bowel failure with how thin the intestinal wall was, which was what was causing the repeated infections. The feeling I had all of 2022 of feeling close to death, that prompted me to fill out my will before my surgery, had not just been a feeling - it had been an inkling of knowing that something was critically wrong with me. If I had listened to doctors and kept taking antibiotics and not requested a scan, things could have turned out drastically different for me.

Recovery was hard from this first surgery, I spent a week in the hospital. Living suddenly with an ileostomy was an abrupt change, and I had to make a lot of dietary changes and learn how to change the equipment. I couldn't eat any of my favorite foods, so a lot of my diet changed - but I was still riding a high from surviving my surgery, so this discomfort was easily tolerated. I was so thankful just to be alive. I remember the first time I came home and felt like I was cold - COLD! It turns out I was the one with a broken thermostat, not my house. It was like living as a new person, so I fell off of my social activities as I tried relearning how I used to live before all of my health problems began. It really felt like someone had given me another chance at life. I still think back on that time and I don't recognize the person I was, because every bad trait I had came out when I was struggling with how I was feeling.

After a few months, I had my ileostomy reversed - I had just enough tract left in the large colon to be able to do this. If I hadn't, I would have had a permanent ileostomy (this is still a concern for the future, if it reoccurs, but we'll get to that). The nerves around my bladder had to be cut during my first surgery because the endometriosis wrapped around it and they couldn't keep it from getting into my bladder unless they removed the nerve.

This led to my next two surgeries, to install a pacemaker for my bladder so it could work again. Again, I was thankful I had the option available, because the alternative is catheters for life.

Polypoid endometriosis does not stop growing once it's removed. There's medication to slow it down, but it will inevitably return, and in different places. I was told it was like cancer with the way it spreads, but it can't be treated like cancer. What usually kills people with endometriosis is repeated surgeries that create scarred tissue that builds up and makes it hard for organs to continue to function. The cause of death isn't noted as endometriosis, but the failure of those organs. The myth that people don't die of endometriosis is just that - a myth. Endometriosis is largely a mysterious disease still, and it's actively being studied, but there's so much we don't know about it.

I'm glad to be alive, despite knowing what is ahead. Everything has been a lot happier now, even though it's been rough - I have a map of scars on me, but they're my reminders I survived this and I'm going to keep doing my best with my diet, physical health and medicine to put time between my next surgeries. The pain will probably return, but I have methods to help with it (baths are a life savior!) There's more surgeries in my future, but it's a reminder to enjoy the time I have with my loved ones and live as happily as I can.

I've been trying to get into spreading endometriosis awareness where I can, because I know I'm not the only one dealing with mysterious symptoms - and I never want anyone to go through what I did.

I don't know what words of encouragement I can give those who are still trying to fight for their diagnosis, but know you should rely on your instincts. You know your body. If you think something is wrong, something is wrong. Keep searching, don't ever give up - you will thank yourself later. I hope something in my story can give you some insight if you've experienced similar, from the mental changes, to the physical - and I hope if you do find yourself being diagnosed with endometriosis, you find it earlier than I did.

#endometriosis #endometriosis awareness

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