#do not under any circumstances go and make soup

[aphvanity]

my best study tip is to drink four cups of tea minimum, block yourself away from everyone you love, and sing the internationale whenever youre distracted

[felinecyan]

Untouchable

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When a classmate breaks a well-known rule within the dorm, you decide to take it upon yourself to “fix” the issue.

WC: 2863

Category: Mega Fluff, Kindhearted!Reader, Todoroki being an icon (like always 💅)

I don’t know about you guys, but writing for Bakugo is the single hardest thing I have ever done. He is SUCH a difficult character to get right 😭

I believe I did him justice, though 🙏🙏

『••✎••』

Kaminari had a death wish. That was the only logical explanation for why the electric blonde was currently in the common room with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, along with a bowl of ramen that just so happened to belong to one Katsuki Bakugo.

Food was the one thing the explosive hero didn't joke around with, and the rest of Class 1-A was painfully aware of that fact. It was like a rule that had been ingrained into everyone's minds after spending any amount of time around the temperamental blonde.

Do not, under any circumstances, mess with Bakugo's food. Ever.

So the moment you had walked out of the kitchen and saw the familiar spice-infused soup in Kaminari's hands, you knew there was about to be a disaster. And that disaster was going to happen at the cost of the boy's life.

You were about to warn Kaminari when a familiar voice stopped you, its monotone quality giving away that it belonged to the heterochromatic hero. "Don't."

Todoroki shook his head at your concerned expression, a sigh leaving his lips. "It's not worth the effort; he'll learn the hard way. I would suggest standing back unless you want to get hit."

As if on cue, the sound of a bowl shattering against the floor echoed through the common room, and you flinched as bits of ramen and broth splattered your pants and shoes. You could only imagine what kind of mess it would have made if you had been standing any closer.

At the same time, Jiro sighed, plugging her ears as she muttered, "So much for getting some peace and quiet today."

Kaminari stood a few feet away from the mess, his entire body trembling in fear. He was too scared to move, frozen to the spot. His golden eyes were glued to the blonde standing before him, a murderous aura surrounding the ash-blonde.

"Bakugo, look, I can explain—"

The blonde's crimson eyes flashed in anger, and his face contorted into a feral snarl as he cut the electric user off. You couldn't stop the flinch that shook your body at the tone. "You... you..."

"It's just one bowl of ramen, dude! I'm sure you could easily make another one!" Kaminari exclaimed, waving his hands in front of his chest frantically. "I mean, come on, I know you love spicy food, but surely you're not that much of a monster that you'd kill me over it! Especially with something so mild as that!"

The room went silent, and Kaminari's words echoed in everyone's ears, but it only took Todoroki’s comment for the tension to change from fearful to downright chaotic.

"That was his last packet."

It was almost comical how fast the blood drained from Kaminari's face and how fast it returned a second later. The electric blonde gulped, a nervous laugh escaping him.

"B-Bakugo, listen—"

He was cut off again, this time by an explosion, which had been aimed right at his face. Thankfully, Bakugo missed on purpose, but the sound had been enough to startle everyone.

"You're so dead, Spark Plug!"

And thus began the chase, with Kaminari being chased around the room by an enraged Bakugo. Kaminari's screams of terror and Bakugo's threats and explosions filled the air, and everyone watched on in amusement.

Well, everyone except for Iida. He was chasing Bakugo, trying to calm the blonde down and yelling at him for using his quirk indoors, but his efforts were fruitless.

"Stop running around the room! You're going to destroy the furniture and break something!"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, DUNCE FACE! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!"

Typical afternoon in the U.A. dorms.

After what felt like forever, the chaos eventually died down, with Bakugo calming down enough to sit and stew in his anger and Kaminari passing out from his quirk short-circuiting. You helped Iida clean up the mess that had been left behind, and everyone else returned to their activities.

But you felt bad for Bakugo. Yes, the blonde was a little intense and downright mean sometimes, but you knew what it felt like to crave something you didn't have. Especially when you physically buy that ‘something.' So, you decided to go out and get the angry Pomeranian a replacement packet.

Of course, given the fact that being empathetic was a common occurrence for you, the explosive hero wasn't at all surprised to see you walking toward the doors of the dorms with nothing but your wallet and a smile.

And he was not pleased.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the blonde, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, you were still shocked that he was still in his uniform, given he usually changes the moment he walks through the dorms. Not to mention, he even started wearing it properly, which was a feat in itself.

"Umm..."

"If you're about to say the damn store, I'll blow your ass to the moon," he threatened, and you couldn't help the frown that tugged at your lips.

"I'm just going to get you some more packets, okay? It's not a big deal," you said, your eyes softening. "I don't like seeing people upset, especially not over things that can easily be solved."

"Like hell, I'm upset!" He snapped, but the lack of bite in his voice gave him away.

You raised an eyebrow but kept your mouth shut. After knowing Bakugo for as long as you have, you've learned that the best way to deal with him is to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself—at least, all thoughts and opinions about him.

"I'll be back in an hour, okay?" You said, offering him a kind smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

Something about the look in your eyes and the kindness in your voice was enough to make the blonde falter, his resolve slipping. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face.

But, since he didn't respond, you figured that was all you were going to get from him. So, you turned back around and headed for the doors, intent on leaving.

You hadn't gotten very far, however, when the sound of the couch squeaking alerted you. You turned your head just in time to see Bakugo jump over the back of the sofa, his slacks making a thud sound as he landed, snatching his phone off the coffee table before he headed in your direction.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, causing you to tilt your head, but before you could say anything, your wrist was being grabbed, and the front door was opening.

"If we're gonna get the damn ramen, then I'm coming with. It's annoying when people come back with the wrong shit, so it's better to go myself."

"Oh," you hummed, not expecting him to follow you. You smiled up at him, and the scowl on his face deepened. "Well, alright, then. The more, the merrier."

Bakugo grunted in response, dropping his grip on your wrist so he could shove his hands into his pockets. "Just keep up, alright? I don't want to wait for your slow ass."

With that, the blonde walked out of the dorms, and you were quick to follow.

For those twenty minutes, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how quiet the walk to the store was. Normally, Bakugo was yelling at someone for one reason or another. Whether it was because they were stupid, slow, or a bunch of other reasons that seemed to only make sense in his head, he was never silent.

But, currently, it was different. Bakugo wasn't talking, or yelling, or grumbling, or doing any of the things he normally does. He wasn't even walking fast, keeping his pace slow just enough so you could keep up.

He didn’t have a scowl on his face, either. He wasn’t smiling, of course, which would actually terrify you if he was, but there also wasn’t a sign of irritation or anger on his face.

In fact, he was the most relaxed you had ever seen him, his muscles not as tense as usual, and his posture was straight, yet not rigid. And his crimson eyes seemed to have a hint of softness in them, something that you had never noticed before.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even realized that the two of you had arrived at the store until the ash-blonde had started walking through the automatic doors, not waiting for you to catch up.

Shaking your head, you hurried inside, quickly scanning the store for a sign that pointed to the aisle where the ramen packets were. Bakugo was a couple of feet ahead of you, with a look of indifference on his face as he followed the sign. However, he stopped once he reached the right aisle and turned around to look at you.

"Hurry it up, nerd," he growled, his impatience getting the better of him.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile on your face. "I'm going, I'm going."

Bakugo didn't say anything as he turned back around and started walking through the aisles, and you were hot on his heels. Believe it or not, you were on a side mission, determined to not just grab the ramen for him.

He got distracted, and the two of you weren't in a hurry, so you went around and grabbed a few things that you knew your classmates had mentioned wanting. If you were going to take the time to go to the store, you might as well make it count.

After a few minutes, you ran into Bakugo, who had his arms full of different flavors of the ramen brand he liked. He took one singular glance at the contents of your basket and rolled his eyes.

"The hell are you getting all that shit for? I ain’t helping you carry anything."

"Well," you huffed, a pout on your face. He seemed to realize you were about to give him an entire speech because he immediately let out the most dramatic groan you had ever heard from him and began walking away.

You didn't care, though, and continued speaking, following him around the store.

"Well, I was just going to get the ramen and be done with it, but then I ran into Mina, who told me she was craving some 'chocolatey goodness,' which are her words, not mine," you explained, pulling out the package of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Anyway, so, then I ran into Kirishima, who was complaining that there were no manly snacks in the pantry, and the last of his protein bars were eaten the other day, ironically also by Kaminari," you added, showing him the small box of protein bars. "So, I figured I'd get him some more and make sure Kaminari has his own snacks."

Bakugo groaned once more, still refusing to look at you. And, again, you ignored him and kept speaking.

"Also, Sero wanted more chips, and Koda was asking for some extra treats for the animals," you continued, showing him the chips and animal treats. "I didn't run into Midoriya, but he’s been awfully kind with his notes, so I'm pretty sure he would appreciate some gummies and pocky."

"Alright, I get it," Bakugo grumbled, a grimace on his face.

"Mineta also asked if I could grab him a new bag of limes, but I figured, after that little stunt he pulled in the changing room, that he doesn't deserve to have his gross habits indulged." You scoffed, trying to make a dramatic gesture but failing, given the items in your arms.

Bakugo paused in the middle of the aisle, turning around to finally face you, his arms still full. "You done?"

"Hey, you asked." You shrugged, a smile on your face. "I wasn't finished, though. Jiro wants more popcorn, Ojiro needs some more protein powder, Hagakure needs—"

"Is any of that shit even for you?" He cut you off, narrowing his eyes at you.

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "No. Why?"

"You came all this way, wasting money on everyone else's crap, and didn't even think about grabbing shit for yourself?" He asked, his eyes narrowing further. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Um, well, no?" You answered although it came out as more of a question. "It's not a big deal. I was already going here, anyway."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He walked forward and, without a word, dropped his armful of ramen onto your own. "Hold these."

Before you could protest, the ash-blonde walked past you and disappeared from view. Confused, you spun around and tried to follow him, but the sudden weight in your arms made it hard to move.

"Bakugo, wait up! I can't move!"

"Then stop moving, idiot." His voice was muffled by the shelves, and you couldn't tell where exactly he was. But, as if he had a sixth sense for things like this, Bakugo returned to the aisle, his arms full of random snack foods and drinks.

"What are you—"

"Shut up and follow me," he said, not letting you finish your sentence. You opened your mouth to speak, but a sharp glare from the blonde made you close it.

Bakugo led you through the aisles and dropped the items onto the conveyor belt, much to the surprise of the cashier. The young girl didn't dare comment on the large pile of utter junk food, however, and merely rang it all up, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Once the total came up, you pulled out your wallet to hand the girl the money, not wanting Bakugo to waste any of his own money on you, but the blonde snatched the bills from your fingers before you could pay.

"Hey, what—"

"I said, shut up." He clicked his tongue and turned away, his back facing you. You could hear the rustle of his pockets as he fished out his own wallet, and you were quick to shake your head.

"Bakugo, the whole point of me coming here was so I could pay. You were the one who got his last packet stolen, so I was supposed to be paying for the new one, and—"

"Do you ever shut the hell up?" Bakugo interrupted, his voice gruff. He didn't turn around to face you, but his tone was enough for you to shut up. "I don't give a shit about the money. It's my own damn fault for letting that dunce face near my food, anyway."

"But—"

"And it's not like I need the money," he added, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet and handing them to the cashier. "My parents are loaded. It's not a big deal."

Way to show off, Blasty.

But you knew better than to say that. Instead, you closed your mouth, your eyes softening. It didn't make sense to you, though, because not only was he buying his own replacement ramen, but he was also buying an abundance of junk food, which, while tasty, wasn't for him or you.

It's always about repaying the favor with him, but this was just... unnecessary.

"Thank you," you said instead, knowing that he would only get irritated if you kept protesting. "That was... unexpectedly nice of you."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," he grumbled, picking up a few of the bags. He handed them to you, and you struggled to balance the weight, but you didn't complain. "It was your fault for being too damn nice."

You blinked, not sure if you were supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult. Either way, you didn't say anything and merely nodded. Bakugo didn't spare you a second glance as he grabbed the rest of the bags and began walking toward the exit.

"You coming, or what?" He called out, not looking back at you.

A smile grew on your face, and despite him not even looking at you, something told you he could sense the happiness radiating from you. You hurried forward, struggling a bit to balance the bags in your arms and keep up with Mr. Grumps, but the smile didn't leave your face.

"So... does this mean we're friends now?"

"The hell? No!"

"I think we are, Blasty."

"Don't call me that." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you merely giggled.

"Would you rather it be Kacchan? Kaminari's been using that one a lot lately."

"Call me that, and I'll blast you into the fucking sun."

"Blasty it shall be, then."

Needless to say, the walk back to the dorms was the complete opposite of the walk to the store. But, just as the silence between the two of you was comfortable then, the bickering and teasing and overall playful nature of the conversation was comfortable now.

Bakugo would never admit it, and you knew better than to ask, but he didn't have a problem with the nickname or the new friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

And you didn't have a problem, either.

[slttygeto]

helloooo i've been reading your work and i really like how you write so i was wondering if you could please write about toji taking care of the reader whos in/just go out of the hospital?? feel free to make any changes ^^ im excited to see how it turns out!!

༉‧₊˚. wisdom tooth removal ! FUSHIGURO Toji

content warning: mention of bl00d, anesthesia.

genre: fluff.

word count: 475

note: this was so cute and so refreshing to write. thank you for the request cutie!!!! hope you dont mind the small changes that I made!!

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

"Eat."

Normally, Toji's stern voice would elicit a gasp out of you. A pout would make its way to your lips and Toji would have the time of his life poking fun at you for it, calling you a spoiled brat and ruffling your hair in an affectionate manner. The lack of reaction was making his heart break.

"Doll," you hear his voice and it sounds defeated, you look up from your bowl of soup with tears coating your lashes. "You have to eat it."

"I don't like soup..."

"Yes, you do. It's pumpkin soup."

"But...the seeds, they're drowning," under normal circumstances, Toji would say 'what the fuck'. He would then give you the most confused look and go on about his day. But this wasn't normal. And you weren't exactly sober.

You had just gotten your widsom tooth out, and so the anesthesia was still kicking in your system, making you a little too delirious. So your words were jumbled, lacked any sense and you were far more emotional than usual.

"Baby, the seeds aren't drowning because they're not people."

"How could you--" you almost choke on your saliva, your tongue still swollen. "How could you say that about them?"

"What can I say, I like to be political."

"You'll... go to jail for this."

"Jail doesn't scare me, doll." He sits on the chair next to your shared bed, staring at you with a fond expression. He would've never thought that he would find himself in a position where he would be taking care of another person. Not when he thought he needed the help more than anyone else.

Life had been rough to him up until recently--until he met you. A breath of fresh air, the personification of warmth. A second chance at life gifted to him through your soul getting intertwined. You held out your hand to the man from the day you met him, there was no hesitance on your face when you locked eyes with him, flashing him a gentle smile. The glimmer of worry in your eyes when you caught a glimpse of his scar, eyebrows furrowing so cutely that Toji wanted nothing more than to brush his thumb over your forehead to ease the tension there.

You meant a lot more to him than he let on.

A loud sob pulls him out of his train of thoughts, and he panicks when he sees that you were struggling to breathe.

"Hey--hey, hey, breathe or else you'll choke."

"You'll go to jail?" you ask through sobs and Toji has to hold it together as he wipes the blood that trickles down your chin.

"Wha--no? why would I?"

"'cause you killed the seeds!" he chuckles, leaning in to peck your swollen and bloodied lips, your nose then finally your forehead.

"I know a good lawyer."

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[starvingxxxsiren]

ִ ࣪𖤐 vicious hedonistic nymph diet ִ ࣪𖤐

(inspired by @honey-diet 's gorgeous diet plans)

"you might look like the other mortals around you, but you're different.

you have a dark secret, one so controversial that you must only whisper about it to the other beings like you who lurk in the dark corners of the internet.

but just because you have certain "odd" habits that normal people lack doesn't mean you don't live your life to the fullest..."

the basics!

you're not a human. you're a nymph. so you tend to feel out of place in this mortal-designed world.

mortals eat so much more than your kind...nymphs only eat about 500-1000 calories a day!

humans tend to be scared, stupid, and uneducated. they follow the herd. you do whatever the hell you please. why? well, why not?

never allow yourself to be disrespected by someone. especially concerning your "special habits". don't be afraid to retort their cruel quips with an even crueler one.

on the other hand, nymphs do love their special genuine connections with important people.

ִ ࣪𖤐

diet rules

nymphs eat whatever they want. they dine on whatever pleases them in the moment.

however, this is vastly different from what mortals do. nymphs naturally have a smaller appetite, so they never eat in excess.

nymphs NEVER eat anything they don't want to, or anything mediocre or subpar. never settle for anything other than immense pleasure.

why overindulge on food? it will always be there. you can always have a little more later. you get full fast anyways.

NEVER go over 1500 calories. under any circumstances. nymph bodies are too tiny to handle this much food, and will cease to perform correctly!!

ִ ࣪𖤐

inspo moodboard

ִ ࣪𖤐

diet example

you wake up in the morning, wishing you could return to sleep. alas, humans prioritize being busy rather than lounging in bed all day. much to your hedonistic dismay, you have responsibilities to do.

you pull yourself out of bed and brew yourself a fresh cup of tea or coffee, whichever you prefer that day. if you have a sweet tooth, you sweeten it with 0cal sweetener of choice. if you're feeling especially famished, you grab a piece of fruit or toast to munch on your way to work/school. (~100-300cal)

throughout the day, you drink various 0cal drinks, which keep you sustained perfectly. it always feels good to be a little hungry after all! if you are hungrier than usual, you may indulge in a light snack. nothing more than 100cals though, you'll get too full!

ִ ࣪𖤐

after a long day of nymph shenanigans, you are ready for dinner. you settle down and prepare yourself a meal of your choice. maybe a sandwich, a bowl of noodles, some home made soup, or you can experiment with some human foods that sound appealing. whatever you may choose, make sure it's a nymph-like portion. you are not a human. so don't pig out like one! (~400-700cal)

total cals = ~500-1000

ִ ࣪𖤐

[mizading]

Taking Care of Sick JJK Men

╰┈➤ {Characters} : Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto.

╰┈➤ {Warnings} : None

Satoru Gojo:

With a sick Satoru, you’ll be greeted with his sniffles and strong arms clinging to your waist as soon as the sun rises. Little groans and complaints would leave his lips to get your attention. (He’s an attention whore.)

Satoru would whine endlessly about how sick he felt, pleading for you to miraculously make him feel better. A little pout is permanent on Satoru’s face. He’s always excessively moody when he feels sick.

As if his complaints weren't enough, Satoru has no shame, clinging and kissing all over you as if he won't get you ill as well. It’s Satoru’s way of self-soothing when he’s grumpy and feeling under the weather.

No matter how much you complain or push him off, Satoru will come right back, holding you tighter than before. It’s not like he wants to get you sick; he just can't keep his hands to himself to save his life.

Like the big baby he is, Satoru will beg and beg for you to make him homemade soup. Be prepared to spoon it to him if you make some.

Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles. Most of the day will be spent in different cuddling positions. Satoru doesn’t care how hot or sweaty you two eventually get; he refuses to let go. Big spoon or little spoon, he doesn’t care as long as he gets his cuddles.

Despite how high his fever is, Satoru insists on taking at least one bath. Baths with you always soothe him. Telling him no is useless; Satoru always gets what he wants.

Nothing in this world could ever make Satoru happier than sitting in the bath between your legs with you washing and massaging his hair. He loves how delicate you are when you scrub his sick body.

Satoru likes to be sung to softly once back in bed with you. He doesn’t care what you sound like; you sound beautiful to him regardless. Satoru feels safe when he’s able to nuzzle his head into your chest and listen to your gentle voice.

Satoru feels at ease being vulnerable and treated like a human being after spending his entire life being treated as nothing more than the strongest.

Sick days with Satoru aren’t easy, but you’ll do anything and everything for him because he’ll do the exact same and more for you.

Kento Nanami:

Much like Geto, Nanami keeps to himself when he’s sick. He doesn’t believe that it's your responsibility to take care of him, no matter the circumstances.

It’s quite hard to tell when Nanami is sick; he refuses to let a “minor bug” hinder his performance. Unfortunately for Nanami, this “minor bug” forced him to call out of work early.

Nanami shuts you out when he comes home, constantly reminding you to stay away for your own good. You’re stubborn, and of course you weren’t going to let your husband suffer sick alone.

You still respect Nanami’s wishes and manage to keep a small distance between you two while taking care of him simultaneously. When you help Nanami take his work uniform off and pepper his bare back with kisses, he wanted to marry you all over again.

A hot shower with you is a must. All Nanami wants is to hug your body close and let the droplets of hot water patter on you two. A little back massage in the process would melt his poor heart. Nanami knows that he’s not keeping a safe distance, but he can’t seem to care at the moment. He’s more than willing to take days off of work just to care for you if you get sick as well.

Getting Nanami to lay down or sit down is quite hard. He has a hard time giving his body a break. The only way that you can get him to lay down is if you offer him cuddles. At this point, any attempts at keeping distance are thrown out the window.

Nanami becomes extra soft when he’s sick. He’ll spend hours on end laying in bed with his eyes closed, telling you why he loves you. Even after hours of him explaining, he still can’t tell you every reason why you’re the only woman he’ll ever love.

Nanami considers being sick a perfect time to simply catch up and talk. The conversations will range from his high school days to what he thinks happens after death. He might even throw in a random book from his collection to read to you.

Being in such a weak state reminds Nanami that a full life isn’t guaranteed. He’ll bring up his plans for the future with you once he retires. Even if living a full life isn’t guaranteed, he’ll do everything in his power to guarantee a future in Malaysia with you before it’s too late.

Suguru Geto:

Suguru has a bad habit of keeping quiet when he’s sick. He doesn’t want you to risk getting sick yourself while taking care of him. Suguru would much rather suffer in silence if it meant keeping you safe and healthy. This poor boy will hide from you in the house, purposely looking down when you’re near.

You only notice that Suguru is sick when you catch him slugging around the house with a red nose and tired eyes when he thinks you’re gone. That would explain why the full tissue box was almost empty within 2 hours. He’ll refuse to admit that he’s sick, but you know better.

Without question, you immediately come to the rescue, dragging Suguru back to the bed with a thermometer and water bottle in your hand. He knows that he’s been caught and won't be able to keep you from getting sick now.

As much as Suguru doesn’t want you to risk getting sick, he absolutely loves your gentle care. It’ll take a few hours of convincing for Suguru to finally let you care for him without pushing you away. His weak state makes it easier for you to force him to comply.

Due to how soft Suguru's voice naturally is, he loses his voice 9/10 times when he gets sick. It melts your heart to hear him ask for favors in a little whisper. He finds it embarrassing, but you convince him otherwise. Suguru thinks it's so sweet and strange that you find almost everything about him in his sick state cute.

Suguru doesn’t ask for much out of fear of burning you out. He tends to keep to himself. With enough harassment, you’ll eventually get him to tell you his needs. Lucky for him, you always give him what he needs and more without him having to ask. He can’t believe how lucky he is sometimes. What did a man like him do to deserve such an angel?

He wouldn’t dare ask you for affection in the state he’s in, even if he wanted it so so badly. His eyes scanning your body constantly, unfortunately, gave him away. Without hesitation, you'll give Suguru more love than he can handle.

You can’t help but smother Suguru with your affection. You have no concern about getting sick yourself. Your priority is making your baby feel better.

Suguru is an adorable mess when he’s sick. He’ll never take your love and care for granted.

Banner Credits: Cafekitsune

[starsinmylatte]

Maybe Silco with a motherly Fem!Reader who adores Jinx? Something with breeding & pregnancy? Domestic bliss please?

Soft

Oooh, I do love some good domestic bliss... and I've always loved the idea of Silco's lover being a motherly figure for Jinx. Tbh, it would've solved so many problems in the show....

Rating: Explicit. 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Pairing: Silco x Afab!reader.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Breeding kink, sliiiiight degradation, Silco fantasizes about pregnant reader, cockwarming, y'all already know what's up

Join my taglist here!

(By clicking read more, you agree that you are 18+. Minors DNI)

You were by far the softest thing in Silco’s life. The Eye of Zaun -the most feared kingpin in all of the Undercity- was not a man who usually enjoyed life's softer, sweeter things, but you were the one exception.  

He could still vividly remember the day you showed up at his door, demanding to see Powder. Silco had wanted nothing more than to laugh. It was ridiculous, the way you showed up alone and completely unarmed to The Last Drop and demanded things from him of all people. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve never gotten past his bouncers at the door, but he could barely get Jinx to eat or respond to him. Her door was locked, and the lock was reinforced from the inside…. he was worried about his new daughter, and you seemed to know her. So, against his better judgment, Silco took one look at the motherly concern you seemed to show for Jinx and brought you to her door. 

He watched carefully as you knelt in front of the door and took a deep, calming breath. “Darling, I know it’s been so hard, and you’ve been so brave… could you please come out and eat something? For me?” The door flew open in a blinding flash of unkempt, neon blue hair, and Jinx was in your arms. The small girl was sobbing and clutching you so tightly, almost like she was afraid you’d disappear at any second. She was trying to say something, but her sobs distorted her words to the point they were unrecognizable. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, picking her up as she buried her face into the crook of your neck. Silco watched in shock as you stood and turned to face him calmly. “What are your thoughts on soup?.” 

In the span of five minutes, you had nearly kicked his door in to see Jinx, gotten her to come out of her room for the first time in a few days, and now you were asking him about…. soup??

“Excuse me?” He managed to say, a look of pure bewilderment still plastered on his usually smug face. 

“She likes it, so I’m going to make some. You don’t look like you’ve eaten recently either, so I want to know if I need to make enough for three.” Your tone was soft but completely matter-of-fact as you stroked the young girl’s hair. 

Silco nodded slowly. “Soup would be…. fine.” 

Without another word, you simply turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen, murmuring words of comfort to the child in your arms. 

_______

You were the brutally soft woman who had invaded Silco’s life and turned it upside down in the best way possible…. Which is how the Kingpin found himself in his current position: buried deep inside you, biting your shoulder as the thick, swollen head of his cock kissed your cervix. 

The pain-tinged pleasure was almost blinding, but fuck, it was exactly what you wanted. It was enough to have you desperately moaning his name and your back arching. The Eye of Zaun kissed the column of your neck hungrily, trailing his lips all the way up to your ear. Silco’s warm breath caressed the shell of your ear as he nipped at the delicate skin before murmuring. “You’re sure about this, my lovely?” 

“Silco, please.” You whined, voice barely audible over the sound of him fucking you. “W-we talked about this. I want a baby…. I want you to get me pregnant.” 

Silco growled in response, reaching up to palm the swell of your soft, generously curved breasts. He had you pressed back across the smooth wood of his desk, all of his papers and work carelessly thrown to the side as he took you roughly, with an almost singular purpose. The gold-trimmed bottom hem of the dress you favored had been roughly shoved up around the curves of your hips to allow him more room between your thighs. He leaned over to kiss you hungrily.

“Such a dirty girl,” he purred, sliding one of his fingers into your mouth for you to suck on. Your tongue laved around it, eyelids fluttering shut in bliss as he pressed it in further. 

Silco hissed at the sight, trailing his other hand up to caress the soft skin of your lower abdomen. He pressed down with the flat of his palm, making you cry out at the sudden pressure before following it with another gentle massage. “Wanting me to fuck you raw like this…. Such a pretty thing, and you want to carry my child.” 

The thought of you pregnant was nearly enough to make him cum instantly. Your body would change… swell with the life he put inside you. Everyone would know it… Everyone would see his claim on you. Yes, Jinx would be getting a sibling, and Silco would be glad about that alone, but his true desires were much more selfish.

You whimpered as his clever fingers found their next target: one of your overly-sensitive nipples. Silco bit back a moan of his own, imagining your breasts swollen and heavy with milk. “Let me hear it again, lovely. Say my name.” 

A particularly delicious thrust of his hips punctuated each word, and Silco’s name fell from your kiss-swollen lips. Your orgasm burned through your body as you fell apart beneath him, whimpering and begging him to finish, to give you what you craved most. 

Silco’s beautiful green eye rolled back in bliss as his fingers forcefully dug into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises as he chased his own climax. His hips snapped into yours lewdly, and with one last strangled groan, the Eye of Zaun joined you in pure euphoria. The movement of his hips slowed, and you felt his warm seed fill you completely. 

Your head dropped back against the desk with a soft thunk, your energy completely and utterly spent. Silco caressed your temple, raising one of your hands to his lips to kiss it gently. 

“Beautiful…” he murmured, letting his gaze wash over you unashamedly and making no move to leave your warmth.  You shifted your hips slightly, drawing a short, sharp hiss from your lover as you sighed contentedly, completely relaxed beneath him.  

Silco dipped down to press more reverent kisses against your skin, his smooth, deep voice intensely comforting. “We are going to stay just like this for a few more minutes. It wouldn’t do for any of our hard work to go to waste.”

____________

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @eriseffigy @ashotofspotchka @thebeardedmoon @dont-mess-with-my-fandom @redflamesbaku @My-awakened-ghost @agatemermaid @shadow-pancake9 @zaunsin @warpedbands @kemeso25 @ironandglass @nyx2021 @amyroswell @tinybookworm16 @dendrophileunsated @cassandrablacker @aikoiya @lemmielem

(If you are on my tag list and your name is crossed out, then the info I have for you either needs updating, or Tumblr is being strange)

[amethystfairy1]

we're BACK!

the sun-burned beauty updates we've been waiting to read were... certainly NOT what we were expecting, but... i mean... i'm not complaining!

also DESERT DUO??? the desert duo content has finally arrived! and im already SO excited!!!

but now i'm home, and i can create all the fanart i want! ...hopefully. my motivation is as bad as ever.

for the rest of this ask, a bit random, but here are my silly thoughts about what would happen if the TTSBC pairings (and some extra friends) went kayaking together!

Desert Duo: Naturally, the obvious way would be for Scar to sit in the back. And at first, they tried that, but he kept getting distracted and losing rhythm over and over again. Eventually, Grian got mad and moved him to the front. Apart from that... hurdle, I think they would do really well at this type of exercise. Scar wouldn't have to use his braces, and both probably have great muscles and condition from their side hustle. That is, if they can stay awake from how little sleep they get.

Flower Husbands: Scott really didn't want Jimmy to do this with his back pain, but he insisted he would be fine, and Scott eventually relented. He still wouldn't let him sit in the back, though. I think they would be one of the most coordinated pairings in here - when Scott is not trying to splash Martyn, which he totally takes the chance at every time they get near.

Zedango: Tango SHOULD NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, be on a kayak. But it sounded so fun, and Zed really wanted to try kayaking for the first time, and if he stayed he would've drowned himself in work again, so they just wrapped him up in waterproof clothing and rowed very, VERY carefully. He ended up getting wet multiple times, underplaying the damage EVERY SINGLE TIME. They're dead last, and Tango's hands are water-burned all over by the time they get to the end, but they insist it was still a fun time. Zed's in the back - yes, it's his first time, but he quickly figured it out.

Treebark: Ren's got it. He totally can push the kayak on his own, Martyn doesn't have to do anything. But he still wanted to feel helpful, so he got an oar himself. It still got used mostly for the arbitrary splash war between him and Scott, and not for actual rowing.

Jizzie: Joel sits in the back, if only to satiate his own ego. Lizzie would probably be more competent than him, hunting clan and all. But they both are putting in the work, and enjoying the break from running a bakery as much as they can. Of course, Joel had to get some modifications made. The kayak is not butterfly friendly. 0/10.

Doctho: Unlike Martyn, Etho doesn't bother with false illusions of actually contributing anything. Doc's biotech can do it just fine, no sweat, so Etho's just going to enjoy the ride. They're closer to the back, keeping an eye on all of their 'little ones' - ESPECIALLY Tango.

Nature Wives: I like to think Katherine is the one who came up with the whole kayaking idea. She invited everyone, got the kayaks sorted, and found a suitable place (surely there are decent lakes in the under-city - Katherine herself fell in one). She's probably also sitting in the back and teaching Shelby how to row.

Gem & Pearl: My Shiny Duo heart wants to put them on a kayak so bad! They're not together, but would totally make short work of all these couples and their coordination. I can see them both in the back or front, but I'll put Pearl in the back just because as an avian, she definitely has a lot of back and arm strength. They're menaces, going in circles and splashing everyone. Nobody's safe from them! (Except Zedango)

Impulse: What's a kayaking trip without a nice lunch at the end? And for that to happen, someone has to give up one space on their kayak just for the supplies. I think Impulse would be great here. He's got the stamina needed to push a kayak on his own. As for the supplies... him, Gem and Pearl volunteered, so it may be just soup. (It totally is just soup.)

If someone wants to draw this, be my guest!

A bonus thought: isn't it wild how TTSBC!Scar would most likely be a Gryffindor, but TT!Scar a Slytherin?

I perhaps spent a little too long rolling around laughing about this 😆

Especially the image of Martyn getting paddled along faster than a speedboat because REN and meanwhile Zed and Tango are like going as slow as possible and Tango just keep going 'ouch! ow! ah!' because of the little droplets hitting him 😅 And Impulse just paddling along by himself with the big old picnic baskets stacked up in his boat, that's so cute! What a lovely outing for the group!

So glad you're back and enjoyed the end of Sun-Burned Beauty!

[arkieve]

June 12 - Challenge | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 898

Regulus doesn’t notice him at first. He rarely ever notices what goes on in his train car when he has his earbuds in and the music blends with the scenery outside the window. But his airpods make their familiar noise of despondent beeping, warning him of their inevitable death, and pull him away from his usual daydreaming.

While rummaging through his bag and placing the earbuds in their case, he gets this odd feeling in his stomach, and then, he hears him. 

With his heartbeat in sudden uptick, he follows the voice that’s slightly obscured by the din of the car and sees him. And oh, that odd feeling is familiarity. Familiarity like he hasn’t known for the past two years.

James. 

He’s in the middle of a phone call, tucked into the corner of a four-seater, and the person on the other line must be funny because James throws his head back, molars on display and his hand comes up to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle his laughter. It booms all the same. 

For a second there, he’s the boy Regulus once knew, and Regulus can’t help the instinctive pull of his lips into a smile.

Hello there, you.

He could easily walk up to him on stiff legs and say hello. James would remove the bag he’s put beside himself and make room, not because it’s Regulus, but because James is accommodating like that.

Regulus would ask James about his mother and casually mention the time he ran into her at the supermarket eight months ago. He’d conveniently leave out the part where he ducked behind a stack of discount soup. Or how he sprinted out of the building and got caught running out with a pack of toothpaste he didn’t pay for. 

James would ask about his job and Regulus would give a noncommittal shrug and say “You know how it is,” and of course James would know. 

James would probably lean back against his seat, bottom lip between his teeth, a smile pulling at the ends. He’d look at Regulus contemplatively before something in his mind goes ‘fuck it’ and he’d ask Regulus if he wants to go grab a drink. Regulus, with prior engagements he cannot break under any circumstances, would probably say yes.

They’d find themselves at a nondescript café nursing respective drinks and letting the ambiance cut away at some of the awkward gaps in their conversation. James would pick at the sugar sachets and create his famous sugar mountains, he’s sure of it; that’s the one thing he can bet on James still doing. 

He’d hold himself back from mentioning how he still makes his tea the way James taught him, how he uses the same obscure phrases James picked up from his favorite cult tv shows – except nobody ever gets it, and it always comes out too stilted. 

He has shaken most other habits; he no longer reaches for James’ favorite brand of juice while grocery shopping and he no longer looks to his side when somebody does something particularly stupid to share a look with James. The thing with James, for all his sunshine exterior, is that he could be a little mean when he thought he could get away with it, and he could always get away with it when in Regulus’ presence.

At some point Regulus would remember how much he loved James. He’d have to bite his lips to stop himself from asking if James had taken the chunky, knitted blanket with him when he left because he couldn't find it last winter, and he’d always wondered. It was his after all.

James would huff, pause his fiddling with the sachets, and look up at him in challenge. The familiar argument of who bought what would arise, and it’d be as if two years never passed. Like they still had their little apartment downtown, Friday night movie marathons, and late nights under the glow-in-the-dark star stickers they put up on their bedroom ceiling. If the nights were long enough, James would spiral into an existential crisis and land on the topic of past lives.

“Do you think we’ve met before?” He’d ask. “Will we meet again?”

Now all they’ve got is a collection of seats between them. That, and ten tentative, awkward steps to break the distance of two years’ worth of nothingness. 

Regulus would concede the challenge, because easy bickering with James would feel like turning a rusty cog, and he doesn’t want James to discover the awkward tone he’s developed during their time apart.

Their meeting would probably end not long after that. They’d go their separate ways with fragile reassurance from both parties to meet again sometime soon– soon being between next week and never.

And that would be it.

He’s had his fair share of breakups. They always leave something behind. But James, oh, James, he took something. Regulus is more than convinced now that he has James in front of him again. 

He looks back at James, who is now preoccupied with his phone, smiling stupidly at the screen.

Yeah, he took something, alright. 

He could. Walk up to him, that is. It’d be so easy. 

So, so easy because it’s James.

Instead, he grabs his bag, adjusts his scarf, nuzzling into it to fight off the oncoming cold, and gets off at the next stop.

[goodday-goodmorn]

Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

[honoviadakai]

Rating the Hazbin crew based on how well they’ll take care of you when you’re sick 🤒

Charlie🎶🏨:

8/10

So letting Charlie know you’re sick might actually be a bigger health concern for her than it is for you

She’s gonna act like you’re dying

She legitimately might make Razzle and Dazzle plan for a funeral

You are now gonna be on house arrest

No

Scratch that

You’re on bed arrest!

No getting up under any circumstances! 😤

She’s wait on you hand and foot till you’re 1000% better

She’s gonna be overbearing but in her defense, she REALLY doesn’t want you to suffer/die so please just bare with her

She just wants you to recover asap ;3;

Vaggie🗡️🦋:

7/10

Ok so on one hand…her chicken soup is pretty good

On the other hand…she’s a very “tough love” kinda gal to anyone who isn’t named Charlie Morningstar

It dose not help that she’s canonically Latina…

All my fellow Latinos know, if you get sick…you get the vaporub

And that is probably something Vaggie still firmly believes in

“Just rub some raporub on your chest and nose and walk it off, you’ll be good in no time!”

Said every Latino parent in history….

She’s probably never had to take care of many sick people in her human life, let alone her afterlife in hell

Cut her a bit of slack and just use the vaporub, she’s trying damn it!

Alastor🦌📻:

-12/10

N O

WHY WOULD YOU EVER COME TO THIS MAN FOR MEDICAL HELP!?!

Do you have a death wish or something!?

Best case scenario, he’ll help you but your soul is gonna be on the line for a while!

Worst case scenario, he’s just gonna let you suffer

And I don’t mean that he’s just gonna leave you to sleep in your room

No no no, that too boring

He’s gonna make sure no one else in the hotel knows of your predicament and he’s gonna watch you struggle and laugh at your misery…

For the love of all that is good in the universe…don’t let him know you’re sick…ever.

Angel Dust🕷️💕:

6/10

Ok

Listen…he’s not the worst option….but you do have better options

The problem asking Angel to help you when you’re sick is that you’re sick…

You’re gross…he doesn’t want not on his fluff

But if y’all are very close…

Like besties or lovers? That changes the game

He’ll cuddle you, no questions asked

So it really depends on who you are to him how much effort he’s gonna put in

He’s also kinda forgetful

For example, if you ask him for a cup of tea, he’ll absolutely go brew a cup for you

But you better pray that nothing and no one distracts him!

Cuz otherwise just forget about having hot tea or tea in general…

He’s pretty shit at remembering to take medication at certain times too so I’d set multiple reminders

Even then…might not help much…

He is a pretty good cook though so rest assured, you will be very well fed during your recovery period

Husk🐈‍⬛🥃:

10/10

Will this crusty old man complain about having to help you? Yes.

Will he bitch and moan every time you ask him for another cup of tea? Absolutely.

Will he curse under his breath while holding your hair back as you puke your brains out for the 10th time in the past 24 hours? Without question.

But he’s still fucking helping you

He can say whatever the hell he wants, he’s waiting on you hand and foot till you’re better of his own volition

He’s out here making some of the best damn soup you’ve ever had he’s gonna make sure you finish every last spoonful god damn it!

If you gotta take medication on a schedule, best believe he’s setting multiple timers

You’re also taking all the naps you need, no arguments! 😤

If you ask, he will cuddle you, but he will make you swear on your mother’s grave that you won’t tell a soul he did that for you

He’d rather chop his arms off than admit this, but he is genuinely worried for you and just wants you to recover

You did not hear that from me though 🤐

Niffty🪡🐞:

5/10

Oh she makes some of the best soup! 🥣

Her home cooked meals are delicious

Honestly the best part of having Niffty taking care of you is just how well fed you’re gonna be 🥰

But this is Nifty we’re talking about…

So she’s gonna be….Nifty….

She’s gonna hover uncomfortably close to the bed while you rest…

Just…watching you…

She’s not even trying to be creepy or anything

She’s just making sure you’re ok

But like…she’s starting a little too intensely at you…not blinking even once…

She’s just waiting to see if you want tea or something tbh

She just forgot you’re supposed to blink

She’ll also just watch you sleep

Not sure why…she just does

If she’s feeling ✨spicy✨…she miiight give you some questionable medicine…

Like, medicine she found in Alastor’s room….

Please get an actual doctor 🙏

Sir Pentious🐍🥚:

2/10

No

Just…no

Get an actual doctor

Please!

He means well

He really does!

But this man died in the Victorian era!

Don’t let a man with medical knowledge form the Victorian era help you!

He will use leeches on you!

And that’s the best case scenario for you!

And for the love of all that is good in the world, do NOT let the egg boys help!

They all share a brain cell between them and I don’t think any of them is ever fully away of where it is at any given moment

They’re likely to take one look at you and think the best way to reduce your fever is to stick you in an ice bath…for hours….

Go to an actual doctor if you wanna keep your ability to breathe. Please.🙏

[lorelune]

good soup

|| childe x reader || M || yandere tartaglia + force feeding || wc: 2.9k  || ao3 ||

Tartaglia brings you a meal and you must choose if you'll yield.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: sometimes. sometimes you title a google doc ‘good soup’ and the rest comes after <3 💕 i don't think i've ever posted a fic quite this dark so tread carefully and enjoy!!

CW: dark content, yandere tartaglia, force feeding, force drinking, restraints, threats of suffocation, violence, kidnapping, references to non-con

Tartaglia stares at you like he wants to eat you whole. Swallow you down, grinding bones with his molars and clawing you until you’re nothing but a bloody heap. It’s in his stare, the lack of light that reflects in his eyes. There are pools of something worse than human behind his irises, and around you, he has no reason to mask it.

He’s something awful, incarnate in flesh and all yours.

“Eat,” He urges, crouched down in front of you. He nods to a steaming bowl between you on the floor. A deep, wooden spoon rests on the edge. “I can practically hear your stomach growling.”

He gives you a smile that’s all teeth. You curb the urge to flinch forward and knock a few of them out. 

You are hungry. Famished and parched, you can see a flask of water tucked into Tartaglia’s waistband. The thought of a proper, hot meal and a full mouthful of water feels too indulgent, despite the reality that’s laid before you on the dirt.

You adjust, trying to prop yourself up higher against the wall you rest on. Your hands and forearms are bound in leather and chain, held against your lower back. It forces you to keep your spine straight, and rag-covered chest bared but doesn’t restrict your blood flow and you still have ample room to squirm. You hate him for it, Tartaglia’s uncanny ability to keep you on the edge of discomfort and pure suffering. You know he revels in it.

You swallow your dry tongue, refusing to look at him, and instead fix your gaze on the thick soup. You can see chunks of carrot and fowl, topped with Snezhnayan snow pepper. You know it's his mother’s recipe and will warm you up from the inside out.

It’s horribly tempting, and you jerk against your binds without thinking.

“Careful there,” You can hear the smirk in his voice. Tartaglia snatches up the bowl and stirs. “I’m sure you don’t want to get any more bruised up, do you?”

You bite your lip, holding back a quip that you’re sure will end any chance at a peaceful mealtime. He’s not wrong— there are abrasions and deep, dark wounds on your wrists. They’ve been there since Tartaglia first took you, though the chill tends to help with the ache of it.

You’re aware of your circumstances— not even the cold can chase that away.

You know there are two options in your situation. Go hungry, or ask Tartaglia for help eating. He relishes the opportunity, and you hate giving it to him, but it’s been far too long since you’ve last eaten. At least a day or two. Despite that, the idea of debasing yourself further, even in your bound (and kept, and stolen) state makes your skin crawl.

You can feel Tartaglia’s stare. He plays with the soup idly, humming under his breath. 

“You know how this works, sweetheart,” He finally says.”There’s an easy way or a hard way.”

“I’m aware,” You reply through clenched teeth. “I’d prefer if you’d, I don’t know, untie me and allow me to feed myself.”

He laughs and shakes his head, and you want to punch him. Knock him to the ground and bust his skull on the pavement. 

“Maybe one day! That’s a privilege you gotta earn,” He laughs, scooting even closer; your knees touch. “And you’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant any favors, my dear.”

You mean to curse at him, but you don’t get a chance to. Tartaglia’s gloved hand grabs your jaw, rough and hard, and holds you steady. You jerk against your binds, and strain your neck. Anything to get away from his touch. 

“Tartaglia—”

He cuts you off, swiftly and easily, “You had your chance. Now eat, and enjoy, I made this, especially for you.”

His thumb hooks on your lower teeth, and pulls. You know better than to bite him, or snarl, or do anything other than shoot him the most venomous glare you can muster. 

There had been a learning curve when Tartaglia had first stolen you away. You’d only known him as a charming patron of the tea house you had been employed at. He’d always leave a generous tip and good words with you. In retrospect, far too much flattery, but you’d always justified it. ‘He was like that with all of the servers,’ you had told yourself. His easy smiles and lingering chats were just unfamiliar Snezhnayan niceties and nothing more. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

You have too much time to think about it, really. You’re rotting in some tiny cabin in the bitter tundra and your only company is your captor. You’ve had an obscene amount of stew. Lamenting with your regret. Guilt, even. 

Maybe, if you listened to your coworkers when they said Child was getting too friendly.

Maybe, if you declined his advances more firmly—.

Maybe, if you never got into the habit of letting him walk you home.

Maybe, if you never went out for those drinks. 

Maybe, if you knew that the sedatives he slipped into your drink had the slightest, salty taste, you would’ve been able to do something—

Tears begin to bead at your water line, and your squeeze them shut and try to force yourself to relax as Tartaglia heaps the spoon with soup.

A moment later, he presses it past your lips, hard against your tongue and brushing the back of your throat. You gag for just a moment, before he lets you close your mouth around the spoon and swallow down the soup. 

It’s delicious. It’s warm and spiced. Creamy and thick with small chunks of meat and veg, you can tell it’s been simmered for some time. It heats you from the inside out and it’ll keep you full for hours. 

You lick your lips as Tartaglia pulls away. He beams you a smitten smile, scooting closer and stirring the steaming contents of the bowl.

“See? That’s not too hard.” His tone curls against you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It is hard to give in to him, it’s as uncomfortable as the binds on your arms do, but you find yourself crumbling. 

Cold and hunger will do things to anyone, you suppose.

He taps your chin with the spoon, and you open up with only brief hesitation. 

How many times have you shared this song and dance? How many meals have you had in this little cabin, cold and near-starving, fighting so hard, and breaking regardless? You feel haunted by the questions. 

You’re tired. Maybe. 

Tartaglia feeds you another mouthful, just as intrusive as the last. You only swallow once he’s pulled away, horribly aware of the tears beginning to spill over your waterline. Despite all of the times Tartaglia has fed you in such a way, your body refuses to become accustomed to his methods. The prodding at your throat always yields tears and a broken voice for a few hours. Sometimes, Tartaglia brings you ginger tea and honey to soothe it, but only if you’re good.

You hate smiling for him and pretending that what you’re going through is anything other than torture. But to act like what you’re experiencing is torture, you only suffer more. Tartaglia likes seeing you put on a show. You’re sure he knows you’re lying when you speak sweetly to him and show any softness to him. But, that doesn’t seem to matter. The sentiment is hollow, what he really enjoys is when you squirm in your own skin, rife with discomfort. 

Thinking about it, all of it, too lucidly makes your head spin. Wires crossing, eyes burning. 

So, you quiet your thoughts. You focus on the action of opening your mouth, swallowing, and fixating on the dusty, wooden floorboards of the cabin. Tartaglia speaks, now and then, as he finishes feeding you your meal. Perhaps it’s praise, with the saccharine smile he still wears. With such an expression, it’s just as likely he’s being cruel. He loves his thinly veiled insults, crafted specifically to get under your skin and make you writhe. 

Regardless, you don’t listen to him. Can’t, even. His words sound like static and aether. Everything other than the thick soup in your mouth feels fuzzy. 

You fixate on the food. It’s a meal. A communion. Something you used to enjoy sharing with others. It’s one of the reasons you enjoyed your work at the teahouse. You didn’t mind the service aspect of it; seeing patrons enjoy tea and cakes while indulging with loved ones, companions, and acquaintances alike had made you so happy. 

(It had been so nice to be invited to tea yourself, back then. ‘Childe’s invitation had been a welcomed surprise, and your first meeting over sweet breads and black tea on the docks of Liyue harbor had been nothing but pleasant.)

(It’s a bitter, poisonous memory.)

“All done!” Tartaglia exclaims as he shoves the last bite into your mouth. You feel warm and full, and you try to sit with the feeling as he fiddles with a clasp on his belt. The sound makes you freeze, going taut in your shoulders and drawing back against the wall. 

Tartaglia raises an eyebrow. 

“Sweetheart, settle down,” He pulls the flask from his belt and settles on his knees in front of you. Without any distractions, you feel forced to fully regard him, disgust swirling in your gut. He gives you a toothy, sly smile. “You don’t have to get anywhere near my cock if you can indulge me a bit.”

“... Indulge you how?” You ask, voice cracking, rough from its earlier treatment. Your cheeks heat. 

Tartaglia tilts his head, “Well, Dottore was going on about something he tried with one of his little lab rats and it sounded like fun. Nothing painful, nothing that will bruise your knees... well, any worse than they already are.”

Tartaglia uncaps the flask of water and swishes the liquid, side to side.

You glare at him, still back against the wall.

“You’re thirsty,” Tartaglia muses. “And I’ll be giving you some water. Don’t bite me or I’ll ‘forget’ to bring firewood for the next week, ‘kay?”

You want to question him, but don’t get a chance to. He grabs your jaw in a calloused palm and holds you steady. You bare your teeth, flinching, but there’s no room for you to back up farther. Your knees press against Tartaglia, who widens his own position to cage you with his thighs. You’re trapped. And you don’t know what the fuck is spinning around in this fucker’s head.

“Don’t look so scared,” Tartaglia pokes your ribs. You wince. “Maybe, you’ll even like this.”

Tartaglia takes a swig of water, going fat in the cheeks. You open your mouth to question him, but what his ‘fun idea’ is dawns on you at that moment. Your thrash against your binds fruitlessly.

Tartaglia slams his mouth into yours, rough and with enough force to pin your skull to the brick behind you. He tugs at your jaw, forcing your jaw to unlock and lips to part just barely. He takes the opportunity and hooks a few fingers over your bottom teeth, holding your mouth wide.

And he spits the mouthful of water into your own.

Oh, the fucker. 

Though Tartaglia’s forced you to eat every meal he’s brought you in the same way, he’s never tried this shit. Water was something he tipped into your mouth from his flagon or made you lap out of a bowl if he was in a particularly vile mood. Fucking demoralizing, sure, but this? This—

You gag, choke on the liquid and try to spit. 

Tartaglia doesn’t give you the chance, he’s fast and predicts your reaction perfectly. He shuts your mouth with a snap of your teeth that rattles in your skull. He slaps his hand over your mouth, wrapping his grip around the lower half of your face.

“Swallow, dearest.”

Archons, you hate him. 

Bile builds in the back of your throat. You don’t swallow. Rather, you meet Tartaglia’s gaze, level with him, and refuse to look away. It’s a stupid decision, you know, it’s fucking fruitless to go toe-to-toe with him. But you can’t swallow either. Your pride has been in shambles for as long as you’ve been in this cabin since Tartaglia dragged you from Liyue by your scruff, but all the same, you can’t let him have this—

(You have to try, don’t you? Just to say that you did. Even if you know how much easier it would be to give in.)

It’s uncomfortable to be this close to him and see him. More than uncomfortable, even. Revolting, maybe. Like this, you can’t avoid examining your captor. You hate sinking into the color of him. A blue so deep and vast that it feels almost void. 

(You noticed it back at the tea house too. The first time you really looked at him as he walked you back to your apartment. You stood on your stoop to thank him and your words died in your throat.)

(You saw something so hollow about him. Like he’d been carved out and replaced with something eerie and wrong. He hid such a condition with a charming smile, glowing personality, and more mora than you thought an individual person could conceivably have.)

(At the time, you dismissed the feeling. It was too uncanny to indulge. An error in your intuition, perhaps. You were just paranoid, right?)

Tartaglia pinches your nose shut and his smile goes dull and his words grow sharper, “You’re not breathing until you swallow.”

(Your move.)

When you’re unbound, you’re going to maim him. You’re going to shove Tartaglia into a snow bank and give his broken body to the Snezhnayan tundra. You’re going to ruin him, and then you’ll back to Liyue, see your family, friends—

(You feel light-headed, fuzzy around your edges. Your body aches from strain. A sob cracks from your throat and you choke on it.) 

And you fucking break. 

You swallow, gasping as Tartaglia removes his hands from your face. Tears bubble over your water line and you cough around lungfuls of air. Tartaglia croons something sweet to you — “deep breaths now, go slow”—

Every time this happens, that you yield to him, you feel something in you shatter. Over and over again you squirm and thrash under Tartaglia’s thumb but the outcome is always the same. It’s humiliating and inescapable. 

You wilt over Tartaglia’s lap. 

You fall into your captive and can’t bring yourself to fight the gentle hand that begins to stroke along the back of your neck and shoulders. You don’t resist your restraints. You fall into them, and let them hold you up despite the pain that tears up your arms and back. A cry rips from your throat and tears dribble down your cheeks to your jaw. Snot bubbles at your nose, but Tartaglia doesn’t seem to mind. 

Tartaglia is patient as you fight your own cracks and wounds, letting you cry and half-wretch in his lap. He remains silent, only petting you like a house cat. 

You have half a mind to bite his thigh and tear out a chunk.

(You don’t.)

(You’re so tired.)

Your chest aches with each sob. Your back is painfully arched so you can smother your face into Tartaglia’s pants. You’re uncomfortably close to his half-chub bulge and you swear it twitches when your breath hitches with sobs. You should move or at least try to, but you can’t make yourself. 

You wallow. 

Eventually, Tartaglia loosens one or two of your restraints to give you more slack. He pulls you to rest against his chest, tucked under his chin and with your cheek nestled against his collarbone. He runs his nails along your jaw, squeezing the nape of your neck between your hitched breaths. It’s comforting, it’s comforting— and recognizing that only makes you feel dirty. He radiates heat that sinks into you, and god, you despise how much you relish it. 

(Even more, you hate how you need it.)

The familiarity of your thoughts almost physically hurts, and you muffle another wail into his skin. If you could use your hands, you’d be clutching at his shirt and trying to drag him closer despite it all. 

(How many times must you shatter? When will he be satisfied? When will you give up?)

Tartaglia hushes you. He whispers another sweet nothing like the sentiment is real. 

He lets you rest against him until your breathing evens out. With enough petting and placating, you’re nothing but a tear-dampened lump against his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind. He coos and keeps you close, lets you settle and you know that if you dared to look at him, you’d see nothing but adoration in his eyes. 

(This is the moment he covets.)

He eventually disturbs your brief ‘peace’, as he always does. 

“Dear,” He says gently, like a lover. He kisses your forehead. “You have to drink the rest of the bottle just like that. Then you can sleep, and I’ll hold you. How does that sound?”

(Awful. Revolting. You don’t want any more of him near you, let alone in you. You can’t—)

You fight back something between a scream and another round of wailing. You give him a misty nod.

You suppose, the warmth of him and the soup in your belly will make the experience tolerable. Biting the hand that feeds you when there’s not another meal on the way seems like a poor decision. 

You give in, and let yourself sink into the depths with Tartaglia. And, ever dutifully, he catches you.

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

Weekly Tag Wednesdayyy

Hi @energievie @mmmichyyy @spookygingerr @lingy910y @jrooc and @mickeym4ndy !

name: gigi

your time zone: est

favorite food: ive truly never met a soup i didn't like, but my favorite is pho. the absolute artistry behind creating a piping hot soup designed for a warm climate that actually cools you down with the power of herbs alone? stunning

your eye color: brown + green

do you have curly, wavy, or straight hair? bone straight and very stubborn about it

coffee or tea? coffee

you can only listen to one album for the rest of your life. which album is it? im going to say illinoise by sufjan stevens, i saw the play version last month and i highly highly recommend it its so beautiful

how many countries have you visited? korea, india, japan, mexico and canada next week if the canucks make it to round 7 (fingers crossed)

favorite social media platform (other than tumblr): instagram? I guess? I used to like chatting on reddit but the vibes are less than ideal so i chat with people here :)

if you had to be reincarnated as an animal, what animal would you want to be? a tiny, colorful bird on an island. no predators, just flitting around a forest

relationship status: very recently single :,( really tragic circumstances but ultimately amicable so we will remain great friends. i have had some pretty ridiculous breakups tho so maybe ill work those into a fic someday

did you go to college? if so, what did you study? yes, I went to an arts institute which i adored and studied architecture and morphology

you’ve just made a letterboxd account. what are your top 4 films? bones and all, princess Mononoke, midsommar, and julie and julia

what’s one of your pet peeves? when people start walking onto the train before people get out, oh that grinds my gears, I take three trains to and from work so a lot of my pet peeves are pubic transit related (still couldn't catch me in a car tho)

what’s one of your guilty pleasures? im going to change this to creature comfort: I love love love cooking and eating homecooked meals

and finally, if you could learn any skill, what skill would you want to learn? any instrument. literally any. i've tried hard over and over with different instruments and the best i can get to is like barely passible not quite good or god forbid innovative.

tagging under the cut!

@heymrspatel @doshiart @sirrudo @mickittotheman @mybrainismelted

@iansw0rld @especially-fuk-u @mickeysgaymom @softmick

@blue-disco-lights @gallawitchxx @solitarycreaturesthey @deathclassic

[straightupsickfics]

secret ingredient

can you believe it's december? i can't.

but i did manage to finish this little good omens soup fic that i'm going to use as day 2: bowls of soup for the 12 days of sickmas prompt list &lt;3

****

For a being that never needs to sleep, Aziraphale is sick enough that he looks like he’s on the verge of falling asleep on his feet, and Crowley cannot say he enjoys seeing his angel this way. Always so full of excited energy and quick, unexpectedly funny quips, Aziraphale can do little more than blink dazedly at him at the moment. 

“Did you hear me, angel?” Crowley asks gently. He’d asked if Aziraphale wanted to go upstairs for some lunch and a nap, but the angel hadn’t replied. Instead, he’d snuffled helplessly into his tartan handkerchief, seemingly on the cusp of a sneeze that kept backing off at the last second. 

Now, Aziraphale brings a hand to his face and rubs at his eyes, thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “Ah, not quite, sorry, dear,” he murmurs. 

He just looks sick and contagious at this point, what with how red his nose has gotten in the last few hours alone, the way the dim light in the bookshop draws attention to the dark shadows beneath his eyes… 

“hh’hDTISshhh’oo!” 

…And the near-constant sneezing. 

Aziraphale hardly looks relieved at finally having sneezed, though. No, he looks like his sinuses are giving him hell, like he knows there are plenty more where that came from. He gives his eyes another rub, this time to wipe away an irritated tear, and Crowley can’t help but move in and envelope him in his arms. The angel settles into the hug almost immediately, sighing with relief as he tucks his head into Crowley’s shoulder, the soft sound of sniffling muffled against the warm fabric of his turtleneck sweater. 

“Sorry, I’mb snf! Quite a sight today, I’m sure,” Aziraphale mumbles. 

“Mm, sight for sore eyes,” Crowley says, tucking a kiss against the top of his ear. “Alright, let’s get you settled then, shall we? A nap might do just the trick. Take it from me angel, there’s nothing that sleeping for a few decades won’t fix.”

“Surely not decades,” Aziraphale says with what can only be called a pout. 

“Well, no, ideally not. Think I’d miss you too much for that,” Crowley confesses, and smiles a little when he feels Aziraphale hug him just that much tighter. 

“And while you sleep, I’ll make us some soup.” 

This is enough to make Aziraphale release him from their embrace and fix him with as withering a look as he can manage, given the circumstances. “Soup? Do you actually know how to cook… well, anything?” He asks, frowning.

Crowley gives an offended little sniff. “Not as such,” he says. “But how hard can it be? Humans do it every day, multiple times a day. And there are plenty of cookbooks for me to reference,” he teases.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows lift in alarm. “Cookbooks?”

“Sure, our cookbooks. In our cooking section,” Crowley explains. 

“Our cookbooks,” Aziraphale repeats under his breath.

Crowley grins at him. “Right, bed. And soup. Don’t worry about a thing, angel, everything will turn out just tickety-boo.” 

The angel is apparently too exhausted to argue any further, because he lets Crowley lead him upstairs to the small, cozy apartment they’ve been sharing these last few months. It’s strange, seeing Aziraphale curling up under the blankets. Normally it’s just Crowley who makes use of the bed for sleeping, with Aziraphale tucked in snugly beside him with a book and a hot cup of tea. 

It’s almost too tempting to slip in beside him now, draw the curtains, and lay down for a nap of his own while Aziraphale sleeps away his cold, but… there’s something drawing him to the idea of making the angel soup. Something quietly romantic and domestic about making something with his own hands that will make his partner feel better. 

So, Crowley makes sure Aziraphale has no less than three blankets, ensures that his feet are properly covered, and presses a kiss to his forehead before he promises to be back soon. 

“Don’t spill anything on my books, please,” Aziraphale frets through a yawn. 

He’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes, Crowley knows, whatever winter virus he has is taking a toll on him enough to knock him out for a good few hours. 

“You can trust me, angel,” Crowley says from the doorway. 

And he can. 

*

In the kitchen, things fall apart pretty immediately. 

Crowley has no idea where Aziraphale keeps anything, or, for that matter, which kind of soup the angel would prefer. And exactly how small is “diced?”

He decides on chicken soup because that’s a classically human “sick day” soup according to everything he’s observed over the years, and it seems simple enough. He’s not sure they have “wild” rice, but surely regular rice will do the trick? 

Of course he could conjure up the soup with much less effort, but that defeats the purpose. So, he chops and boils and hopes for the best, and the kitchen soon smells quite delicious, if he says so himself. 

(He does). 

Crowley ladles the soup into a bowl, conjures up some bread (he’s not that good in the kitchen after this singular attempt), sets everything on one of Aziraphale’s ancient serving trays, and makes his way back to the bedroom. 

“Hh’iiishh! Iishh’oo! Oh, good l-lord…hUH’ieesshhh’oo!” Aziraphale is in the throes of a sneezing fit when he opens the door, though, his body pitching forward as he sneezes helplessly into the pile of blankets, too tired to do much else. 

“Sounds like I’m just in time,” Crowley says by way of greeting. He sets the tray down on the bedside table and leans over to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. He definitely sounds worse than he had before his nap, so it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to have a fever now, too. 

“You always are,” Aziraphale says, still sniffling. “Don’t do that, you’ll get sick too,” he says, a worried edge seeping into his voice. 

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Crowley muses. “Here, look, I didn’t even burn anything down. I’m sure you’ll tell me if it’s shit,” he says, offering the bowl out for Aziraphale to take. 

“I hope I can even taste it,” Aziraphale says sadly. “Thank you, though, for going to the trouble, my dear. You’ll have some, too, yes?” 

“‘Course,” Crowley says, “when have I ever made you eat alone? No, don’t tell me, I’m sure there’s a running list in that brain of yours.” He takes the second bowl and sits next to Aziraphale on the bed. 

Crowley largely ignores his own soup, though, too busy watching Aziraphale take a careful first bite. Something flickers over his face, there and gone too quickly even for Crowley and his 6,000 years of Angel experience to parse, and he can’t help but frown. Maybe it hadn’t gone to plan the way he’d thought. 

When Crowley looks up again, Aziraphale’s face is flushed a delicate shade of pink and his eyes are shining bright with just barely held back tears. 

“What’s happening, angel?” He asks, worried now that something really is wrong. He scoots himself over towards Aziraphale and runs a hand through the familiar, soft blond strands, though this only makes him shake his head and the tears fall in earnest. 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale sighs, swiping them away.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or should I start guessing?” Crowley says, deflecting as his face grows warm from the affection in Aziraphale’s voice. 

His angel gives him a smile so soft and fond that Crowley’s at risk of melting right there on the spot. “I can just...taste...how much love went into this,” Aziraphale finally explains, eyes still shining bright and not breaking eye contact.

“Ngk. I. Well, you know. I do…love you,” Crowley manages to croak, peering over the rims of his sunglasses so Aziraphale can see his eyes, too. 

Aziraphale beams at him. “I’ll be feeling as good as new after this, I think; thank you my love.” 

“S’nothing,” Crowley says, though he knows they both know it isn’t and has never been nothing when it comes to them. Aziraphale lets it go, though, just continues to smile at him as he sniffles through every few bites. 

When they’re done, Aziraphale curls himself up around Crowley, full and warm and ready for another nap, it would seem. 

“I really do appreciate you looking after me, you know,” he confesses as his eyes slip shut. 

Crowley smiles, feels his own face flush as he turns and drops a kiss to Azirphale’s forehead. “I know. Sleep now, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

[igotanidea]

Just an apple... <?> - a Sandman fanfiction

I dedicate this to @wickedly-grim who inspired the story by this post:

Can anyone do a fic or a fanart of a clueless reader tossing/handing Morpheus an apple and then Dream automatically thinking they are engaged now so he’s way more touchy and friendly with them (due to the fact that he thinks they are in a relationship now). All while the reader has no clue about anything, and is wondering why (maybe her boss) the scary king of nightmares is being kind and touchy with her?

If anyone doesn’t know, giving an apple to someone is basically a marriage proposal in Greece.

JUST AN APPLE

Ok. Let’s make thing crystal clear. Being human is hard. Being human who’s familiar with some supernatural power beings (yes, I mean the Endless) is ten times harder. Imagine riding the biggest rollercoaster in the theme park. And then add to it riding it after eating a really big dinner. It’s the greatest recipe for catastrophe. Or at least gastric catarrh. I mean, if you think about it – these being are eternal. They existed long before human race and will be around after any other living thing become extinct. They are powerful, knowledgeable, teasing and have undeniable effect on the human world. But then, it seems like it works the other way round too. No matter how smart the Endless may be one second, they are completely oblivious to customs and habits of people. And that can sometimes lead to some unexpected situations. Serious situations.

I’ve been around the Endless for quite a while now. No matter how crazy that may sound my best friend of them was actually Death herself. From the outside we must have seemed like an unusual besties but it worked quite well. I was rather quiet and observant with a bit of a snarky and sarcastic attitude while she was more of a motherly approach and love-for-live vibes. I suppose I was just telling myself we were complementary to one another. Then one day I get to meet her brother, Dream. Oh, god, what a meeting that was. At the time being I had a job as a waitress and their appearance out of nowhere almost caused me to drop the tray with the dishes.  

-What are u doing here? – I hissed as I spotted not one, but two of the Endless just casually sitting at the table.

-Just having fun, y/n – Death flashed me one of her widest smile.

-Fun? – I raised my eyebrow – you surely do, but your friend here seems like he is about to get crucified.

-He’s not my friend, he’s my brother Don’t mind his broody attitude, he’s going through a lot of things.

-Ok, well, ok. Nice to meet you….? What was your name again? Or more like what do you represent.

-I’m Dream of the Endless.

-His true name is Morpheus – his sister added – you can call him that.

-Under no circumstances ….

-Pleasure, Morpheus– I nodded and reached my hand towards him. For a second he was eyeing it with no intention of shaking so I just put it away awkwardly – right, is there anything I can get you two? We got delicious peas soup as a main course today.

-What is the purpose ….. – Dream started, lips pouted, still grumpy, but Death cut him off.

-We’d like that very much, thank you, y/n – she smiled again. As I left them to collect the order I was able to hear muted conversation.

-Behave Dream, be nice. She’s my friend and a really nice person to be honest. Besides, you are supposed to taste a bit of humanity to understand it better, so stop brooding.

-I am not brooding.

-Oh, come on, brother, you are scaring everyone here. Look around – she waved her hand and as a matter of fact all of the guest in the restaurant seemed a bit intimidated by Dream’s presence.

-They should be scared. I am the one who can give them nightmares after all. And trust me, some of them truly deserve them.

-Dream! – Death clipped him round the ear gently and got a sad and confused look in return – just observe. See how they enjoy their time together, please, for God’s sake just try to do the same.

-Here’s your soup. Enjoy it – I smiled returning and serving them their dishes.

-Thank you, y/n. This looks delicious. Dream? Is there something you’d like to say to our friend.

-She’s not … - he started but a cold glare from his sister made him change the sentence – thank you, I guess.

That was a year ago. Even since I was trying my best to warm Dream up to human race and show him that we are actually not that bad. Not of my own volition, but only because Death asked me too. She was worried about her sibling becoming some sort of eremite, detached from everyone and everything, denying any positive feelings that came his way. I couldn’t say no to her. So, I was balancing my job, crumbles of my social life and a relation with some certain Endless. If you can call it like that.

-Why are you always like that? – I asked him  one day while we were walking in the park.

-Like what?

-Distant. Cold. Black – I hesitated pointing towards his coat.

-Why should I be anything else?

-Because you are dream. Aren’t they supposed to be more vibrant? Emotional? Lively? What’s with the sad attire?

-I’d rather not speak about it.

-Of course not – I sighed. – But fine, let’s not talk. How about we get some ice cream instead.

-Ice cream? – he was dumbfounded

-Yes. Come on – I grabbed his hand and draw him towards the ice cream stall. I only stopped when I reached it, and then noticed the inexplicable expression on his face.

-Dream? Are you all right?

-You touched my hand.

-I guess I did….?

-Why?

-Why? – I repeated not quite understanding what he meant by that – Oh, you’re seriously asking me that. Well, I suppose I was just trying to … make you move?

-And taking my hand was necessary for that?

-I… - God, he was really hard to be around sometimes. – I guess not. I’m sorry.

-Don’t ever do this again. It’s courtesy enough that I tolerate you and your presence.

-I’m sorry? – his simple sentence stroke a nerve in me. – tolerate my presence? Believe me if it wasn’t for the promise I made to Death….. – I shook my head – unbelievable – it’s not like I kissed you or something – Dream eyed me when I said that – whatever. Can we just get those damn ice cream and move on with our lives?

-I would accept that offer.

So, yeah, it was that kind of relation. We would meet every week to introduce Dream to every other human attraction. Sometimes it was something simple, like hiking sometimes something more complex (in Dream’s own words) like a visit to the cinema (which only happened once as we were kicked out of the movie theater). However, he was still pretty hesitant when it came to forming a bond. I felt him warm up a little but it was taking him literal ages. After all, what is time if you are an eternal being? Sometimes, if she was not busy, Death would join us. And since she was a foodie those meetings usually took places in my restaurant. Ironically, the place where me and Morpheus met.

-What can I get you today, my friends? – I asked and pretended like I didn’t notice Dream shudder at the words

-Surprise us, y/n. I’d like something new. And Dream will take the same thing as I.

-I am fully capable of deciding for myself.

-So what can I get you then, Dream? – I turned towards him

-I… I will get whatever my sister gets- he looked down almost shyly.

-Delightful. I got something special coming for you two right away.

If only I knew what kind of situation I would get myself involved in… I suspected nothing when I gave the Endless apple dessert. It was a hollowed-out fruit filled with creamy and a bit sour stuffing.

-Bon appetite – I obliviously smiled but it quickly faded away as I saw Dream’s face. – Is something wrong?

Death was quick to catch up on the situation but obviously she said nothing just sitting there trying to suppress her laugh.  

-Is that really what you’re giving me?

-Yeah, you said you wanted whatever your sister takes. Don’t you like it? I can take it back if…

-No. Thank you. I understand the message.

-What message? – I was confused beyond recognition but decided to let it go since it was Dream. – You know what, I don’t want to know. Enjoy your meal.

-Did she really just… ? – Morpheus asked his sister when the girl was out of sight.

-I know nothing. I do not interfere in your affairs dear brother. You go and figure this out on yourself – she answered with her mouth full with the dessert.

To say the next couple of day were crazy would be a serious understatement. Dream, who was unapproachable for the past year suddenly became more touchy. Wherever we were going he found every possible excuse to brush his hand against mine or stand closer than usual or even trying to grab my waist when we were walking. Not that I was complaining but that was highly confusing. One day when we were sitting on the bench he awkwardly moved so our thighs were touching and that was the breaking point.

-What the hell, Dream? – I jumped from the bench – what do you think you’re doing?

-I don’t understand what you mean, y/n.

-You’ve been acting bizzare for the last week. All that touchy-feely? All the affection? This is not you. I would risk saying you’re making fun out of me, but again… it’s you, so what is this about?

-Is this not how I should behave?

-Should behave?  Why?

-We are betrothed now, so the situation would require a bit of closeness.

-Come again? We are what?

-Betrothed.

-Where on Earth did you get that idea?!

-From you.

-Dream, I swear to God, elaborate on your sentences or I’m going to explode – I was rubbing my forehead in pure frustration.

-You gave me an apple and I accepted.

-I gave you…. Oh my god, do not tell me I got myself in some sort of Persephone situation here.

-In Greece giving one an apple means a proposal.

-IT MAY HAVE SUCH MEANING IN SOME ANCIENT TIMES! – I yelled but quickly calmed myself after receiving some damning look from the pedestrians. – Damn it, Dream. I don’t know what century you’re living in, but I;m definitely a XXI century girl. No fruit, vegetable or plant means engagement here. Do you understand me?

-But…

-Do. You Understand. Me? – I grabbed his coat and looked him straight into the eyes. – Do you?

-I do. Now, you might want to let go of my cloak – here it is again.

-Great.  I missed your warning tone. We are not and will never be engaged. Betrothed, if you like. But I got to admit that was a great development. Last Monday you wouldn’t even say we were friends and now this. However irrational it seems, I’m proud of you, Morpheus. You are growing.

-Maybe you are the reason of it – he smirked and for the first time it actually made me blush. Perhaps there was something new coming for this relation after all.

[spctrsgf]

Hello. I have this idea for a fic, you don't have to write ofc if don't want.

So, reader is a bounty hunter, so on a mission they run into Din, who is also on one. They help each other, and go their ways. After some time they again run into each other, and it happens a few times. But this time, they get job, but don't know much about the person they have to get, and it turns out they have to get eachother. When they realise that, they kinda start fighting but don't really want, so when one say it, they stop. They like sit and talk it through, realise that for some reason (I can't think of any) they have to kill their boss. And they start their journey together. They get into his ship and theres Grogu, and reader's like wtf is that, and he explains it, so after they deal with the boss, they kinda 'have' to take Grogu to jedi together (definitely not cuz they like eachother) so they continue to work together. Also reader kind of wears a helmet/mask to hide most of their face, and they are gn.

I'm so sorry this is so long. Idk if it even makes sense. Thank you so much if you do write this, and if not, thank you anyway.

bounties and hunters • the first encounter

next

word count: 3k

warnings: language, canon type violence, kind of slow at first im trying my best to set up the scene for the fics to progress on my apologies (i also have never written a series before!!! kind of nervous)

a/n: when i tell you, anon, that you are a genius, i mean GENIUS. i love love LOVE this idea, so i decided to make this a series!!! updates might be slow with everything i have going on in life rn, but tune in for that if you'd like:)

The first time you met Din, it was under the weirdest circumstances. The meeting was sheer coincidence, really— if you had waited one more minute in your bed, you would have missed him entirely. If Grogu hadn’t simmered as long as he did eating his soup, Din wouldn’t have bumped you either. If you both hadn’t had a bounty to catch, the interaction wouldn’t even have been possible. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the circumstances weren’t weird at all. In fact, they were just perfect.

—------—

“How much does it pay?” You question, barely tilting your head to further accentuate the words. The man sitting in front of you, Atla Vyk, lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You always were about the credits, weren’t you?”

You opt to stay silent, holding the Vyk’s eye contact over the fabric of your mask. 

He sighs. “50 Socorran credits.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to do with Socorran credits, Vyk?”

“Use it on Socorro, I don’t know! You’re resourceful.” 

“I can’t be resourceful with Socorran credits!” You snarl at him. “Where’d you even come into contact with those?”

“Well actually—”

You hold up your hand. “I revoke my sentence. Just give me my damn pucks.”

Vyk sighs, grabbing the pucks from his pocket and sliding them across the table.

You snatch them immediately, the cold of the metal biting at your exposed fingertips. “Thank you.” You nod at him.

He chuckles drily. “Always a pleasure.”

Your loose pants boom a loud swish! as you stand up and turn around briskly, exiting the cantina as quick as you had entered it. As you walk, you flip and twist the pucks in your hand subconsciously, your brain already mapping out a way to meet all of your bounties on the least amount of fuel. 

When you reach your ship, all tuned up by the person who owns the landing dock, you toss them a few credits and walk up the ramp. The next few minutes are spent checking all of your hiding spots, just to make sure nothing was stolen. Once you satisfy that nag in your brain, you slide into the worn leather of the pilot seat, pressing buttons and flicking switches to plot coordinates to your next stop. Your ship's engine is sputtering awake in no time at all, and then you’re up and maneuvering the thing up and into hyperspace.

You settle back into your chair as soon as you're comfortable enough to take your hands off the controls, huffing out a breath and letting it settle in front of you. The heater had yet to kick in, causing you to shiver slightly in your thin attire— which was akin to the weather on Tatooine. The cushion of your chair hugs your frail body in a feeble attempt to help keep you warm, but yet you still rock with shivers. Your mind, disregarding this fact, decides to buckle up to begin its nightly wander.

Sometimes, you think, the serene silence of hyperspace is inviting. The way that the colors swirl in an insatiable, never ending twist is fascinating, and you could look at it for hours, wondering what planet you’re passing at the moment. Was that reddish brown streak Socorro? Was that icy blue one Hoth?

Other times, though, it feels as though it’s squeezing your head tight and pulling beads of sweat up and out of your skin. It’s painful to sit in the deafening silence, to even be able to hear the creak of your knee as you extend your leg to stand up. 

No matter which way you deem the endless tunnel to be swirling, it always forces you to think, to be stuck in your own head. It forces you to internalize, to feel effortlessly alone despite the epiphany of people and expanse of space to fill in front of you. 

And, just like the feeling of the silence around you, your reaction to it is also versatile. Sometimes, the silence harbors a lovely tune, rocking your tired body to sleep, but other times it’s like a mudhorn rearing its mighty horn straight into the side of your head. Which is, admittedly, not a lovely tune to fall asleep to.

Right now? It’s the latter.

The swirls of dancing light are no help to the persistent pounding in your brain, no help to the steady churn of anxiety in your stomach. The way the colors dance across your closed lids and the hum of the heater— that must’ve finally turned on— are no match for the powerful mechanics of your brain, leaving you at the mercy of nightmares in your own wicked head.

•••

When you wake, it’s not in cold sweat nor a swift jump from dream to reality in fear, no. It’s from a not so gentle jolt of the ship as it jumps from automatic hyperspace flight to manual maneuvering. Your fingers, while your brain is still groggy with sleep, leap to the controls and stabilize the ship in no time at all, the notion as natural as breathing. 

The subdued yet vibrant colors of Yavin VI’s body  greet you with a glare, shaking any lasting effects of sleep out of your head. Your grip tightens ever so slightly on the controls as you shoot through the outer atmosphere and into the puffy clouds below, mapping out a plan of action in your head. 

Get to the landing doc first. You tell yourself. One step at a time. You maneuver over to the landing pad covered partially by the dense forest, exactly where it had been when you had left it. You hum some foreign tune excitedly, happy that the bounty you’d picked up had chosen Yavin IV and inadvertently allowed you to visit an old friend. They slide out from underneath the overhang, surely after hearing the roar of your engines, a few maintenance droids barreling ahead to start with your ship as you touch down. 

You scramble to open the ramp and start walking down it before it’s even touched the ground, bouncing on your toes. Your friend stands a few feet away from the ramp, hands on their hips and a big grin hung from invisible strings on their face. “Hey— oof!” You slam into them before they can even exert the rest of their greeting, wrapping your arms around their torso.

Their body shakes with laughter, returning the gesture split seconds after you. “Nice to see you too, but did you have to toss all the air out of my lungs?”

“I missed you so much, El.”

“Missed ya too,” they release you and hold you at arm's length, doing a quick scan. “How you holdin’ up these days? It’s been a while.”

“Can’t complain. How about you?” 

“Same here,” El brushes past you, turning their expert gaze to the ship that had been swarmed by droids. “Business has been doing well, so that makes my heart happy.”

You tilt your head with a smile. “I’m glad.”

“You better n’ be smilin’ at me,” they call over their shoulder, the speech slurred from distraction. 

“Oh, I’m way too serious for that. I’m a bounty hunter, after all.”

“Even the high n’ mighty bounty hunters smile, an’ living thing does.”

“How do you know I’m alive?”

“Because if ya were dead I’d already have cried.”

“What if I’m not dead but not living,” You inquire, enjoying the banter. “What if I’m a droid?” 

“Well that's n’ true because you’d be a shit droid even if you were trying. Hand me a wrench, please.”

“Even though I’m not a droid,” you grab the said tool from El’s basket. “I think I’d be a great one. You wouldn’t even be able to tell, contrary to popular belief.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve spent too much time with you not to be able to tell.” They grab the tool from your hand with a smirk, and this time your smile reaches your eyes as they roll playfully. 

“Maker, El, that was cheeky.” 

“Shoulda expected as much from me. Though we were close, guess not.”

“We are close, first of all,” You smack the back of their head in frustration, yet a laugh shoves its way out of your mouth to counter that notion. “But yeah, I guess I should’ve.”

More doses of laughter bubble up into the crisp air of the approaching night as the booming red of Yavin Prime descends further towards the swoops of trees, piercing through the light breeze. You’d missed this. You’d missed this so much. 

It was nice to be carefree, to not be watching your six with a hand on your blaster. You spend hours, even days on edge, constantly distrusting people and tracking any sign of movement. It’d been so long since you’d been able to visit El that you’d nearly forgotten how much you ached for this easy going, stress free life. You’d even forgotten how to live it.

You’d have to leave tomorrow morning, probably before dawn to meet your bounty before they woke up. The inn you assume the bounty is hiding in is a rough four or five hour walk away, two at least if you take El’s speeder. The thought is ever present in your head as you relax into the cool evening, blinking in and out of the front of your thoughts like a strobe light. 

You’re sure El is able to tell. The tell of your hands, which are wrung together almost painfully— not that you’re able to distinguish the pain at the moment— is evident even for someone who isn’t your closest friend. With that in mind, they do their best to distract you, even getting you underneath your almighty ship to “learn how to fix this old thing so you can do it yourself.” 

It’s nice, and it works, in due time. You let your shoulders lower and the coil in your stomach unravel to let the copious amount of tension you hold flow away and into the air that is now strung with quiet music and the offbeat hum of your companion next to you. 

And it goes. And it feels wonderful. It’s like there was beskar on your shoulders, encircling your head and infiltrating your lungs, and now it’s been released, and now you’re free to taste the crisp air and smell the sway of the trees. The feeling carries you effortlessly through your evening, letting you drift easily into a restful sleep, lulling the nightmares far away from the forefront of your mind. 

Yet, when you wake the next morning, from some sort of alarm clock you must’ve installed unintentionally after all the years of hunting, the beskar was back on your shoulders again. It pulls you efficiently to full consciousness and to an upright position. You then move with vigor, gathering the few things you needed on your trip: your pulse rifle, your trusty dagger (for when thungs go south), and an ounce of the calm from the room around you to center your thoughts and get you going. 

After a quick goodbye to El— which was more of a whispered ill be back soon from you and a slurred mhm from them— plus a trip to their dusty garage to grab the speeder, you’re off. The engine is loud and dodging trees and branches is hard at first, but you soon get the hang of it. Just like at any given moment of silence, your mind starts yet another wander. 

You’re surprised you still have stuff to think about that this point.

You’re thinking about it, actually considering it. Considering what it would be like to live with El, not hunting all the time. You liked the calm that it brought, and spending time with El sounded like the best thing ever, honestly. You could wake up every morning not worrying about raiders or bounties or anything. Hell, you could even have a normal sleep schedule! But the longer you let that thought simmer, the more you realize that you like the fast pace that your life moves at, you like the adrenaline boost and the way each bounty is like a new puzzle just waiting to be cracked. 

You’d never be happy with a calm life, at least not now. You’d be bored, you’d lose interest in the midst of all of the trees and monotone days. The way you live now, every day is a new adventure, a new world to conquer and a new bounty to find. And, you’re really fucking good at it, bounty hunting. You’re not one to say stuff like that about yourself often, but hunting was the one thing that you’d honed to near perfection, so to give it up would be like starting your life over again.

The calm life? Not a fucking chance. 

You’re so caught up in the swarm of your thoughts that you fail to see someone in front of you, despite the shiny beskar updo they wear. You manage to let out a loud yell of both surprise and warning before you steer the speeder sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding the mandalorian and the floating orb next to them. The edge of your speeder scratches against the bark of a tree as you yank it sharply again to the left, slowing the speeder to a stop in the small clearing you and the warrior reside in. 

As soon as you slow, you’re hopping off the bike and over to them in an unusual notion of worry. “Are you alright?” You offer a hand, and though you can’t tell because of their helmet, you assume they’re just staring at it. You teeter awkwardly there for a second, unsure of what’s going on, before the smooth leather of their glove is sliding into your hand and you’re yanking them up. They’re surprisingly light for someone who's wearing a shit ton of beskar, but you assume they must be pulling some of their own weight.

The mandalorian tilts their helmet at you, the only show that they’re actually alive and breathing at the moment. “I’m fine.” The smooth, modulated baritone lends you to believe that it's a man underneath the beskar, and the richness of his voice surprises you. “Good,” you swallow thickly. “Sorry about that, I should've been looking.” 

The helmet bobs up and down in agreement. 

You shuffle from one foot to the other, contemplating whether you want to continue the conversation. Something about the silence of the man in front of you told you he wasn’t one for chatting, but there was a mystique about him that intrigued you, it pulled you in like a magnet. 

“Are you lost?” “Me?” You ask dumbly, his voice catching you by surprise. “Oh, no, I know where I’m going. Are you?”

“No.” The firmness of your voice lends you to believe that your question hurt his feelings a little bit. 

“Okay,” You say slowly, as if savoring each word on your tongue before it leaves your mouth. “Good luck on your adventures.” 

You turn then, not really wanting to go but hating the way it felt like you could barely breathe under his gaze– and you couldn’t even see his fucking eyes. The intrigue that simmers in the back of your brain is urging you to turn around and offer him a ride, but your natural distrust of new beings keeps you placing one foot in front of the other. 

You’re already comfortably seated on your speeder before he speaks again. “Wait.” The one line punch has your fingers pulling abruptly away from the ignition and your head whipping towards him. “Yeah?” your voice punches through the fabric of your mask, awkwardly eager. 

“I…” The modulator accentuates the puff of frustration and how adamant his tone is as his voice trails off. “I actually am a little confused about where I am.”

You smile with a tilt of the head. “Well, where are you headed?”

“I have coordinates, is that helpful?” 

“I could try. Do you really not have the name though? Most people don’t give coordinates when they tell you where to lie low–”

“This is all I have,” He cuts you off, and his natural unwillingness to engage in conversation peeking through the words. “Can you make it work?”

“Yeah, but…” Your head tilts in confusion as you put the pieces together. “Wait. Are you a bounty hunter?”

“Why?”

You snort, getting the answer even without him explicitly giving it to you. “Because I’m another bounty hunter. Let me see your fob.”

He grabs the said thing, but doesn’t move. “I'll just tell you the coordinates.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.”

He gives them to you, and using your limited knowledge of the planet and your own coordinates, you're able to triangulate a certain direction. “Should be that way,” you point to your left, veering slightly off of your own path. “An hour or two tops, I think. I’ve been there before, but it was a long time ago.”

He nods, pressing a button on his vambrace to move the metal case closer to him. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be in your debt.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Call it even. I nearly ran you over, after all.”

The way he stops and turns around, tilting his head and clenching his hands together tells you that he might not actually listen to what you just said.

“It’s even.” You reiterate without even thinking, feeling compelled to repeat yourself just so the words would actually slip underneath the thick beskar that crowded around his head and embed themselves in his head. 

He just turns around and walks away, his cape swooshing aggressively despite the lack of wind in the dense forest. 

You stand there for a long moment, just watching his figure recede into the distance, never once faltering, never one looking back. The way he holds himself, with such confidence and rippling power, tells you that he’s an excellent bounty hunter, probably even better than yourself. It’s exciting. As you turn back to your speeder, a new sort of lightning lights up your veins, a new form of adrenaline.

You really do hope you’ll see him again. 

[elizabethrobertajones]

Frog Time

I'm so bad at tagging people so consider yourself tagged if you want to be :)

B A S I C S

Name: Bounding Frog (redacted roe language name because I forgor)

Nicknames: Frog

Age: 18-22 (ARR-EW)

Nameday: 23rd Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Hellsguard Roegadyn

Gender: cis woman

Sexuality: Bi

Profession: She has a summer job working with the hippo riders, although that doesn't pay as well as adventuring, so she's looking forward to Dawntrail and doing more than delivery runs.

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: maroon and light pink

Eyes: maroon and light pink

Skin: brown

Tattoos/scars: I headcanon the single choice of tattoos per face for roes are meaningful somehow - I chose coming of age, getting her Adventurer Name, and leaving home, so those were fresh porple swoops over her cheekbones in ARR :D I've only known her as long as she's been Frog and looked like this.

The scar on her nose is from being underhand punted like a rugby ball by an older brother back when she was an orb shaped child. Since adventuring the regular healing has stopped her getting too scarred up from any misadventures.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Notable members of their remote mountain community, maintaining an important set of Arcanima wards around an aetherically dangerous geological fault. Of course, they're good at their jobs so this wasn't very scary as an upbringing. They're a lovely couple and make a hell of a bowl of soup. All else I know about them is they're very supportive and Frog writes to them regularly.

Siblings: like six rowdy older brothers. She was very spoiled by this squad of bodyguards tbh. (Ignore the previous comment about one of them maiming her, they DO love her even if they saw her as a cannonball under other circumstances.) A couple of them left to be mercenaries, uncertain if for Garlemald - they don't write home as thoroughly.

Grandparents: Probably, tbh. We're getting out of my limited perception of Hellguard culture and history but I think I can say the remoteness of their village is an excuse for nothing too terrible to have happened to any of them :P

In-laws and other: She was sort of starting to think of Edmont as a potential in-law and he began acting like it after Events so she's acquired some without marrying. He DID also adopt Aymeric informally, so now she's courting him it's coming back around!

Pets: Multiple, even not counting animal sanctuary beasties. Some she drops by to visit where they're being looked after once she'd raised them or sheltered them for a while (the baby hippo was donated to the hippo riders thankfully before he got too large and hungry for example). Others live at the free company house getting spoiled by the staff. The free company is named after the baby tapir who is the best and cutest. :)

S K I L L S

Abilities: In character, she has yet to find something she isn't good at after a couple of false starts. (ooc is much more of a mess depending on my ability) As an all-jobs all-crafts all-gatherers weirdo she's genuinely alarming to contemplate.

Hobbies: crafting/gathering/fishing is more of a wind down respite than a career calling for her. Canonically she's finished the fishing log... ooc I haven't by a long shot :P She also loves visiting bars and pubs across the world that she's visited to drop in on old friends, or go on foodie tours of places she's liberated. They stole G'raha being a foodie traveller in the dawntrail trailer from her actually.

Kinda always wanted to do a in character review of all the drinking establishments in game.

T R A I T S

Most positive trait: determination and everything that went into being strong enough to do the end walk, which did feel like a culmination of all the positive things they ascribe to the WoL. Since she's living the life of box art Meteor with no plot deviations or alterations except what I can put into the downtime and spaces between cutscenes, I can't argue with times when they REALLY show the admirable heart of the WoL.

Most negative trait: She's not going to say no, so if you need a favour just stand near where she wanders by routinely and look forlorn and you WILL get helped to within an inch of your life.

L I K E S

Colors: royal purple, dark reds and deep blues

Smells: fresh baked anything. Probably also the fresh morning smell when she gets up at ass o'clock to do stretches or whatever gross things morning people do.

Textures: G'raha ears >:)

Drinks: black coffee, red wine, milky tea

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: tried it with the Vath and hated it. Still has no idea if Fogweed is a drug or not.

Drinks: socially and merrily with a bottomless liver.

Drugs: nothing harder than caffeine and alcohol.

Mount Issuance: her sweet blue chocobo is called Turbulence and threw off everyone who attempted to ride him before that.

Been Arrested: not outside MSQ run ins with the law