#i am not immune to gingers

[rugwurm]

Fiecare familie nefericită este nefericită în felul său

[ducktracy]

i am literally so mad that i have waited years to write this review of Daffy’s Southern Exposure and when i finally do i get the worst cold i have had at least within the past 5 years and am too sick to write a substantial amount. like come on. COME ON! i would almost rather it be COVID because that’s at least a valid excuse!!!!! sorry this post nasal drip made me nauseous and then i got mad that i was nauseous because i also had a bad stomach bug two weeks ago that also prevented me from writing. needless to say i hope you all enjoy the review when it’s out because my goodness it is giving me a hard time. thank you for your patience again 😤🙏

[jugsjules]

Me: cure-alls don’t exist!

Also me: This ginger will cure all of my tummy troubles, definitely

[deliciouswastelandgoddess]

I may have fucked around and kinned Gideon

[mochinek0]

In Sickness and in Health

"Damian, I need you to work with the new student on this project." his history teacher stated.

"What new student?" the young Wayne questioned.

'There's no one new here. Has he finally lost it?'

"Stay after class, please." they replied.

Damian simply nodded.

'At least if the new person is all in his head, I can work by myself.'

"The new student isn't here today as she's sick. They're also a transfer student." The teacher spoke, "Here is her address."

"You want me to go there and become ill?" Damian speculated.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. All I am asking is that you, at least, speak to her about the project." the teacher sighed, "She'll know better than anyone how long she'll be absent. Get her to write a note saying, I don't know, she gives you full control on the project or something. I'll deal with it from there."

"I can do that." Damian accepted.

'At least I can still work by myself.'

Damian looked down at the address in his hand an then back at the seamstress shop. Confused, the young Wayne entered the store and looked around for someone his own age.

"Can I help you?" asked an elderly lady.

"I was given this address for a classmate of mine." Damian explained, "I believe they mixed it up. Excuse me."

"Are you looking for Marinette?" they questioned.

'Marinette? Is that her name? Not American; he did mention they were a transfer student.'

"Yes." he answered, still unsure.

"Go through the blue curtain in the far back." the lady smiled, "There's a set of stairs that will take you to the apartment above the store."

Damian nodded and went to the back of the store. There was blue cloth hung up on a shower rod that parted slightly.

'A door would be better suited.'

Damian walked up the stairs to the second story and found single door. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The door opened and he was shocked. There in the doorway was a girl with blue hair, up to his chest. She was wearing what seemed to be pajamas, had a blanket draped over her shoulders, a face mask, and a cooling cloth attached to her forehead.

'She is obviously seriously ill. How did she open the door? Why didn’t anyone else open it for her?'

"Who are you?" she questioned, hoarsely.

"Damian Wayne." he declared, "I was told to talk to you about a history project for school."

She moved away from the door and went stright to the kitchen.

"Sit anywhere you want. I haven't sat in the living room in three days. I'd offer you a beverage, but I don't want to get you sick and asking you to get it yourself, seems rude." the girl spoke.

'Polite; unexpected.'

"What are you doing?" Damian questioned, as he watched her stir a pot.

"Making soup for the week." Marinette answered.

"So, I should not expect you to return this week." he suggested.

"I usually eat soup when I'm sick and for the following days, to keep my immune system cleansed." she explained, "So, history? Leave me the details and I'll work on it."

"Mr. Hayes suggested you could write a note putting me in charge." Damian spoke.

"I can work, Damian." Mari remarked, "I don't need you coddling me because I'm sick."

'Coddle! I-The last thing I would do is….coddle her!'

Damian snapped, "I am giving you a way out! Get your rest and I will do it completely!"

"I'm on bedrest and as you can see, I'm functional." she growled back.

Marinette began to cough heavidly, enough to make her grip the kitchen counter. Damian watched as her breaths became labored, as if she had trouble inhaling.

'She calls this functional?'

Marinette grabbed a mug and poured hot water from a near by kettle. Damian watched as she spooned a small amount of tea leaves into a container and place it in the mug.

'Peppermint? She should try lemon, ginger, something citrus.'

"When are your parents getting back?" Damian asked, not moving from the doorway.

"I'm emancipated." she smiled.

'She's by herself?'

Damian looked around and noticed a small table with one chair. The living room had enough to seat up to three guests. There was also one door to the left, behind the living room.

"Leave the form and an email or something so I can send you my portion." Marinette called out, "If you don't like it, I can work in my room and you can work from out here."

Damian took out a pen and quickly wrote down his email at the top of the paper.

"I'll be back, tomorrow." he stated, leaving the apartment.

'Why is she so stubborn? She needs to rest. The simplest solution would be for her to rest this week while I work alone. What is she trying to accomplish?'

The moment she opened the door, Damian stared at Marinette annoyed. She had showed recently, but her hair was still wet. At the very least, she was wearing different clothes.

He scowled, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Oh, in my room, on your left." Marinette pointed out.

'Guess he really needed to go.'

Damian came back with a towel and threw it over her head, without notice. He quickly began to rub her head to get the moisture out.

"You're going to get worse with you hair looking like a wet mop." Damian stated, "Dry it completely."

Marinette remained silent and still. Damian stopped his movements.

"Marinette?" he asked, moving to face her.

'Shit!'

Marinette's eyes were wide and she was practially hyperventilating. She was clenching and unclenching her hands.

'She does not handle physical contact well. Is she going to be okay at school?'

Damian kneeled in front of her and showed his hands were raised in front of him.

"My apologies." Damian whispered, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Damian reached out and dragged his bag, next to the couch. He pulled out a small cylinder.

"I brought you some tea leaves. Citrus help you recover from illness." he began, "I don't believe peppermint will work." as he handed her the container.

Marinette took it and looked at it. She opened it and sniffed the tea leaves. There was lemon, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There was some other stuff she couldn't make out.

"You......made this?" Marinette questioned.

'Why would he give this to me?'

Damian remained silent, but nodded. He didn't think she would noticed he took his time to make her something.

"I make my own teas." he replied.

Mari smiled, "Thank you."

Damian watched as her expression softened. She got up from her seat, letting the towel fall from her head, and quickly began to get things ready to brew the tea. Once it was finished brewing, she took a sip.

"It’s delicious, Damian!" Mari smiled, happily, "Maybe I should go to you for all of my teas."

Before he could respond, Marinette took her tea and went into her room. Damian picked up his things and saw she had gotten comfortable in her bed with her laptop on a tray.

"Were we not working over there?" he questioned.

"I don't want to get you sick." Marinette replied, "Besides, there's only one chair. I'll just email you-"

Damian left the room and returned with the chair from her kitchen table.

"I don't get sick, easily." Damian declared, setting the chair down a few feet from her bed, "h quicker we finish this, the more you can rest."

Marinette worked silently, sipping on the tea Damian had brought her. After an hour, Damian packed up his thing, declaring he'd return the next day.

This time, when Marinette opened the door, he could tell she was moving much more sluggish.

'She got worse! She's pushing herself for me. Damn her stubbornness!'

Damian quickly picked her up in his arms.

"You're-" she began.

"If I get sick, I will blame you later." Damian claimed.

"Sorry." Mari whispered.

Damian placed her back in her bed. He quickly rushed to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit or at least, a thermometer. Once he found it, he brought it back and held it out. Mairnette looked at it, in dissapointment.

"Use it." he demanded.

Marinette shoved it in her mouth and waited. The quick beeping notified them both something was wrong. Mari took it out of her mouth n tried to hide it. Damian was able to grab it with ease.

'102.5'

"I'm fine." Marinette declared.

"You are far from fine." Damian stated.

Damian took the thermometer to the bathroom and washed it, as well as his hands. When he returned, he found Marinette fast asleep. He found a cooling pad near by and placed it on her head. Damian remember a small cloth by the sink and wet it. He quickly cooled off her arms, her neck, and her legs, before covering her up. Damian took out a sticky note and wrote down his number.

Marinette woke up to the room being dark.

"Damian?" she called out.

She grabbed her phone and saw it was close to two in the morning. She set her phone down and felt a paper.

'Sticky note?'

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and looked at the note: Call me if you worsen-Damian.

'Aw. He's really sweet. I feel so bad for falling asleep on him.'

Marinette stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and took her temperature. It read 99.2; it was the best it had been all week. She washed the thermometer and took some medicine. After, she made more of Damian's tea.

'Gonna need it.'

Damian arrived back from patrol to find an email from Mari.

'I thought I told her to call me if she got worse, not email me!'

He opened it in a panic and found it was her completed work for the assignment. Damian looked at the time. It was now three in the morning and she had sent it thirty minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and opened his contacts. Then, he froze.

'I don’t have her number! Fuck!'

Damian went over the next day and was surprised to see her more active. Marinette had answered the door happily and was dressed in white tank top, pink shorts, and slippers. She wasn't even using a blanket to keep herself warm.

"Damian!" She smiled, "Hey, did you get my email?"

"I did." he answered.

"Is everything okay?" Mari asked, "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"Why did you send it so late or early, I should say." Damain questioned.

"It was when I woke up." Marinette answered, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I decided it was best to work on it, while I had a clear head. I'm feeling a lot better, so I should be able to see you at school tomorrow. I'm sure it was all thanks to your tea."

Damian nodded and held out his phone for her to grab. Marinette looked at it confused, but took it.

"I planned on yelling at you, for being up so late, but I didn't have you number." the young Wayne stated.

Marinette giggled, "And I should give it to you, why?"

Damian remained silent. He didn't think she would refuse to give her number to him.

"In case we are paired up again." he quickly spoke.

Mari added her contact information and handed it back.

"Sick Girl?" he questioned.

"So you know it's me." Mari answered.

He hated how right she was. It was likely that if she had entered her name, he would have forgotten it in a week and deleted it.

"Do you want to come in or was that all?" she asked.

"That was all." he said and quickly left.

Marinette closed the door an giggled.

'He's like a stray cat that came to say hi.'

Damian sat in class and kept his eyes on the door. Marinette hadn't walked in, yet, and it was almost time for the bell to ring.

'Is she still sick? Did her fever come back? I should have called her this morning to make sure she was feeling fine.'

The bell rang breaking him from his thoughts and then, she rushed in.

'Marinette.'

"Late." their teacher declared, "I will forgive you, this time, since you have been sick, Miss Duapin-Cheng."

Marinette nodded her head. It was finally time for history class and it was so different to see her in uniform. Damian could admit he more use to seeing her in pajamas or shorts, with her blanket curled around her. He was even use to her falling asleep, but some how the uniform felt less personal. He hated it. Damian watched carefully over Marinette. He had to make sure she was completely better. Her damn stubbornness left him worried about her pretending to feel better for his sake. Then, he saw it; the tense smile on her face. She was surrounded by their peers. It reminded him of the smiles his brothers' gave at parties. Damian walked over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to talk about the project since you have been absent." he declared.

"Oh, okay." Marinette answered, as he pulled her away from everyone else.

"He could have been nicer."

"It's Wayne. When is he ever nice?"

"Lucky bitch."

"I can’t believe she was his partner."

"He probably did it himself, already."

"Yeah. He's just gonna give her a copy and put her name on it."

"I can’t believe he touched her."

"True."

"Better than him yelling at us to move or scram, again."

Marinette frowned as she heard what they said about Damian. That wasn't the Damian she knew.

"Thank you." Marinette whispered, once they were far enough.

Damian looked at her questioningly.

"For rescuing me." she answered.

"You appeared uncomfortable." the young Wayne spoke, " I was uncertain how you would react if one of them touched you. I understand if I made you uncomfortable, as well. My apologies for forcing you. Next time, tell them to leave."

"I'm not good at dealing with people; not anymore." Mari declared, "Besides, they should forget about me soon. I'm still 'new' in their eyes. I'm not trying to gain anything by talking to them. I don’t want to get to know them."

"I thought you weren't coming." Damian spoke, changing the subject.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, "I told you I was coming today."

"You were late." he growled.

"Oh." Marinette winced, "Uh….I have a feeling I will be in detention a lot."

Damian stopped and turned to her, waiting for an explanation.

"I have always been late to school, even when it was across from my house." she stated.

Damian sighed, "I'll pick you up in the mornings."

"No!" she cried out.

"Why?" he demanded, "Is that an issue? I have been to your place before, have I not?"

"I'm not a morning person." Mari replied, looking down.

He sighed again, "My brother isn't either, unless he has had coffee. I can bring you some." making a mental note to steal Tim's coffee in the morning from now on.

"Really?" Mari questioned, perking up.

"You better, at least, be dressed." Damian retorted.

"Pajamas count as being dressed, right?" she squeaked.

Damian glared at her, "Why would you still be in pajamas?"

"I'm not a morning person!" Marinette glared back, "I work late and-"

"The shop keeps you that busy?" he questioned.

"Oh." Marinette spoke, "No. I help in the shop sometimes, but that's not my job. I do commissions. She asks me to help some times, but she's going to let me use the sewing machine for free until I can buy one."

"How….long do your commissions take?" he sighed.

"Depends who it's for. If it's for my uncle, I tend to work three weeks straight. It also depends on the pay and timeline. If he called me right now and asked for something in six months, I wouldn't worry unless things began to pile up. It could also be one of my aunties."

'What the fuck is with her family? No wonder why she is emancipated! I can't believe they would work her that hard.'

"You're moving into the manor." Damian declared, "I'll even get you a new sewing machine."

"I am not!" she cried out, "I barely know you! All I know is you name and you make tea!"

"At this rate, I'll have to get you dressed and drag you to school!" Damian cried back.

"Who the fuck made you my babysitter?" Marinette shouted.

"Someone should be." he huffed, "You obviously need someone to take care of you. I don’t see why it shouldn't be me!"

Marinette squeaked and turned red. Realizing what he said, so did Damian.

The teacher watched as Damian took Marinette aside to talk. He was well aware that their assignment had been turned in three days ago. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was the closest he had ever seen Damian be comfortable around anyone. He also was aware of Marinette's past school and being bullied.

'I knew getting them to talk would be a good thing.'

DAMINETTE TAGLIST: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

TAGLIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[becomingthatgirl111]

the "superfoods" you should incorporate into your diet

first of all, what are superfoods, and why are they so beneficial to our health? are those that in addition to feeding us have beneficial properties for health and are 100% natural, their origin is mainly vegetable and raw consumption, have a high content of fiber, minerals, proteins and vitamins, many of this help strengthen the immune system and promise the extension of a long healthy life.

and these are some of the foods you should incorporate into your diet.

goji berries: high in vitamins and minerals

acai berries: beneficial for overall health and boost performance. high in antioxidants, vitamins, minerals, and essential fatty acids.

chia seeds: high in vegetable fiber, omega-3 fatty acids, and high-quality protein.

ginger: it is attributed with properties against digestive discomfort and headaches. it also has an anti-inflammatory effect.

avocado: high in healthy fats, antioxidants, it has numerous micronutrients among which are vitamins C, vitamin B5, and vitamin K.

green tea: accelerates metabolism, detoxifying.

matcha: rich in antioxidants, polyphenols, and EGG, responsible for helping to protect against heart disease, helps regulate blood sugar, and accelerates metabolism.

quinoa: high protein concentration, rich in fiber and vitamins.

spinach: high concentrations of vitamins C and A, flavonoids, omega-3.

curcuma: increases serotonin production, helps regulate menstrual cramps and headaches.

walnuts: source of omega-3, protects our heart and cholesterol, we will get protein, vitamin E, fiber, healthy fats and lots of energy.

broccoli: very low caloric intake, rich in vitamin A and beta-carotene (a great antioxidant), vitamin C, fiber and folic acid.

seaweed: all are alkalizing and a good source of dietary fiber, antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, and antioxidant properties. contain healthy fatty acids and provide plenty of calcium, iron, and iodine.

and many more…! i am getting into the world of healthy eating to incorporate it into my day-to-day and I will continue to bring you posts related to this so that you also know about it and you can have a really healthy diet 🤍

this article has been written with the help of different sources.

[himimosa]

when they are sick

taking care of bsd men when they are sick...

fyodor, kunikida, dazai

Fyodor Dostoevsky

He is the person who walks around sick for almost half of a year, with a lot of sniffs and sneezes. Somehow he can manage to catch a cold even in summer. You say it is because he has an awful immune system

He already has anemia that makes his body weak. And if a bad cold is added too, he becomes almost pathetic...

If you ask him, he says he is used to being sick most of the time, but that is not true. He tried to take pills a few times for his anemia but they were useless (no, i am not self-projecting here, nope)

Most of the time, he can pull to do his work even if that means carrying tissues with him everywhere.

He hates the times when he got extra bad cold, it causes delays in his work. He is not someone who will accept to see a doctor even though his fever runs high. So if you're going to accompany him, you have to use more conventional ways...

You know hot soup, warm shower, herbal teas... He will act like you are being too "histrionic" and he is doing fine, but he will appreciate it secretly...

You put a mix of mint and linden leaves into the french press, added a tiny piece of ginger, and then poured hot water. After you waited for a while you poured out the liquid through a strainer. You had chosen your fav “I like mugs because they’re very comfortable in your hand” mug for it.

You entered the room where Fyodor was laying, he was trying to read a book but he was coughing constantly. You pulled the book from his hands: "Please drink this and rest a little. I am sure your book can wait for you." you scolded him lightly. He didn't argue with you, which was a sign that he was really feeling bad.

He took the mug, and looked at the writing on it "I don't understand why this is written on a mug" You chuckled "Because either you don't have a sense of humor or you have never heard Demi Lovato before dear.."

"Is it really an inadequacy of me that I don't get the references from the pop culture that was brought to people by no one but-"

"Darling darling..." you interrupted him "You can talk for hours about fatuity of popularism later, but I am begging you, drink this tea. now..."

He was annoyed by your interruption but he complied with your request. He sniffed before taking a sip. Then his face turned into a disgusted expression.

"Did you put ginger in this tea?.."

Kunikida Doppo

This poor man will go through the 5 stages of grief in order...

Denial: "I am not sick, I just got shivers for a second! This doesn't mean anything!" "No, I don't look awful or tired, I am fine!"

Anger: "This is because of that Dazai asshole! That nasty bastard sneezed right into my face and contaminated me with his viruses!"

Bargaining: "...Okay some inconveniences might happen but it's not that bad", "I will drink this tea and get better in an instant. No, I don't need a break, I will be fine"

Depression: "... What will happen to the agency if I use two days off?" "...my program... I will be left behind on it.."

Acceptance: "..President, may I use two days off to recover?"

He knew it is natural to get sick for people... But it wasn't written in his ideals book... He must add some notes about this too...

All he wants is quickly recover and get back to his responsibilities. So he will see a doctor, he will take his medicines, will drink all the herbal tea he needs to drink...You don't have to do much indeed, he is someone who takes care of himself well. But this doesn't mean he won't appreciate it if you do some thoughtful things for him...

"I'm home" you called to him when you entered the house with your keys. You dropped the bags that you got from the grocery store to the kitchen. You could organize them later, you went right ahead to the room where Kunikida was resting. He tried to get up to greet you but you acted quicker and hugged him while he was still sitting. He froze for only one second, then slowly wrapped his arms around you

"Y/N... You shouldn't be this close to me, you will get sick too..." He murmured but didn't push you away too. You shrugged your shoulders while still hugging him "Then I will use a day off with my sick boyfriend, that doesn't seem so bad to me" Kunikida chuckled lightly "If we both use a day off at the same time, I can't imagine what sort of chaos would the agency have..." Then he slowly pulled himself back to see you eye-to-eye and started to ask you questions... How is the agency going? Were budget calculations accurate? Have you taken new cases? What kind of ruckus did Dazai cause when he wasn't around to lecture him? How many calls did you get for his suicide attempts this time?

You told him about how you took care of everything on his behalf with everyone's help (well mostly with the help of Atsushi, Kyoka, Kenji, and Tanizaki siblings... basically with minors of Ada...) But even Dazai wasn't acting so "wild". He was whining about how the agency became too quiet and no-fun without Kunikida and all the joy he got from work vanished without Kunikida...

"Everyone can't wait to get you better love they are planning to visit you tomorrow night," you told with a smile. Kunikida coughed and covered his mouth, then mumbled: "I see..." You knew he did it to hide the light blush and embarrassed smile on his face, but you didn't tease him for it. After all, he was deserving it all...

Dazai Osamu

Here comes the drama king...

First, let's be honest here... He is treating his own body like shit... We saw him in his flat, this man doesn't even cook for himself. He literally feeds with sake and canned crabs only... Despite that, he doesn't get sick easily. He has the durability of a cockroach (i swear i love him, these insults are with affection)

He is the kind of person who doesn't get sick even there is a cold season and everyone around him got ill. He catches the sickness not more once than a year, but when he gets ill, it is always the most unexpected time.

Once, while he was still in the port mafia he got a very bad cold right before an important mission. When Mori saw his situation, he had to cancel the mission.

Because this man acts like he is on the deathbed when he is sick...

"So I made some research on the internet... With all these symptoms on me; either I have some kind of chronic illness, or brain tumor.. which leads us to the conclusion that I have only 2 weeks to live..." "Or, you have a cold, you shithead.." "Do not act like you are a doctor now Chuuya, or I will throw up to your precious hat..."

He didn't change much... The only difference is now he is being your boyfriend, you have to take care of this man like you are taking care of a child. He will act like he is much worse than he is to get all your affection and care... You will need a lot of patience, to be honest...

"Ew, there is no way I would drink that crap!" You thought for a millisecond to throw the bowl of soup to his face but you didn't have the heart for it. Even though he was acting like a spoiled brat, he was miserable right now. You knew he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, you had to convince him to put something in his stomach no matter what...

"Why don't you want to drink this babe?" you asked with your sweetest tone. Dazai shrugged his shoulders "It smells bad, makes me want to puke..." You tried again "What if you push yourself? Just a little? I know it doesn't look appetizing but this soup is too good for cold, you will feel better after your drink I promise..."

Dazai looked at you with defeated eyes, he couldn't resist any longer "..fine then"

With excitement, you took one spoon from the bowl and carefully held it towards his mouth, you were cupping the other hand under the spoon to keep it from spilling. Dazai slowly opened his mouth, only to make a sour face "It is too hot!"

"Sorry baby, my bad" you apologized and started to cool it down by stirring it with the spoon. You took another spoon from the bowl, this time you blew a little air before giving it to Dazai. When he started to make some teasing comments on you would be a great nanny, you decided he was already getting better. You tried to get up after he finished his soup, but Dazai held you weakly by his wrist. "You won't leave me alone on my deathbed, right?" You rolled your eyes: "You're an idiot, you know that right?" He smirked lightly "But I am your idiot, and you still love me..." You couldn't control your smile this time. You gently removed the hair on his forehead and gave him a little peck "Yeap... Only mine to love..."

well, i couldn't still get over from this week's episode and couldnt't write anything new. this was on the drafts and not proof readed, but i will still share it. fyodor stans can use it as a denial of ep 11 :')

[sarcasticscribbles]

I made a curious cat and people been asking about my designs so I thought I would share it here too If you have any question too you can send it here or over on curious cat!

Under cut is a very long monologue about some design choices regarding my s1 gang, Gerry and some avatars!

S1: Jon, Martin, Sasha and Tim

Right off the bat I'll admit I had seen TMA fanart before, but I assumed it was a game from how consistent designs are (Jon and Martin); however when I started I avoided fanart (but I am not immune to TMA fanon designs). I'll explain S1 gang, they are my favourites. I find fcs helpful to keep them consistence.

Jon: I have a basic Jon design: short, brown man with long hair and glasses. Jon has a put together façade but, he wasn't qualified for the archivist position, and he doesn't know what he's doing. Therefore, I like him with longer hair he can't care for, therefore messy. It gets longer with the seasons and adding on all the marks he gains from the entities. I gave him half-moon, golden glasses with chains holding two eyes. I like to think it's a Beholding artefact, so Gertrude wore them before him. I used to have Dev Patel as a reference for him, but I've switched over to Riz Ahmed!

Martin: Very basic: fat man with fluffy hair and glasses. When I heard his voice, I thought of Harvey Guillén, who stayed a reference for Martin's body. I pictured him in a dorky attire; round glasses, ginger, comfy yet business appropriate clothing. I added eyes in the pattern of his jumper and added freckles. I've recently play around adding a beard, because I think he wants to look older than he is (re: CV; "I'm only 29!") but haven't found a style I like. I keep him fat throughout the series, instead of him losing weight s4.

Sasha: She has some canon traits: tall, long hair and glasses. I draw her hair up to stay out of her face. Contra Jon, I think she was more qualified for the archivist position, so Gertrude started preparing her for the role. She wears an eye necklace I draw Gertrude wearing that's in the same style as Jon's glasses. She has a matching bracelet with Tim and overall is one of my favourites. (notSasha): I took what was established and flipped it; short, short hair, no glasses. I imagine notthem could pass as cousins (since they still need traits to the victim's family?); no immediate resemblance but with a few traits of the original.

Tim: Canonically described as hot so I have my own bias. I started with general attractive traits: tall and fit. I think he puts a lot into his appearance. I use Keanu Reeves as a reference, and he works great for him. He’s a hair guy, gets it professionally cut and owns expensive products, skincare routine and dresses in fitted clothing. His standard is a shirt with an eye pattern. He takes pride in his appearance, so S2’s worm scars troubled him. He stops shaving to let it heal properly but they never go away. He never liked looking at them and they are a cruel reminder of the past (however, one scar splits his eyebrow to x2 bisexuality). S3 he stopped caring about putting in effort, the stubble grew into a beard and his clothes aren't fitted. He loses muscles, gains weight, and isn’t who he was in S1.

Gerard Keay

I had just assumed Eric was hispanic (for some reason) and then I connected that he's Gerry's dad, and apparently I headcanon him half hispanic lol

But it was why I wanted to draw the Mama family portrait to play with genetics. Letting his dad be rather tall, tan with dark curly hair and Mary be ginger with paler skin; Gerry's pale, ginger with curly hair as a child. He grew up looking like Mary and started altering his appearance to be more like his dad; dyed dark hair and taking some of Eric's clothing (I also gave both a beauty mark under their eye he'll highlight despite wearing make up). Alternative scenes and goths tend to straighten their hair but I let Gerry have naturally wavy to still resemble his dad more. I tried to give him trad goth make up, mainly looking at Siouxsie Sioux in the late 70s. And a fun bonus to have his hair often cover one eye because, The Eye

Gerry cared for his dad, even if he died when he was a toddler (if I remember correctly). Gerry's chosen name is the nickname Eric referred to him as, which is also where my trans headcanon comes in (afab). I haven't thought it out fully, or how that reflects on other characters since everyone else calls him Gerard but I think there's some symbolising there having a chosen name relating back to Eric

(some) Avatars

Oliver Banks: "the Egyptians believed the most significant thing you could do in your life was die,"; I take inspiration from Ancient Egypt for my Oliver design! He wears an Ankh around his neck, but I want to look into more about Egyptian death symbolism (he has a cross too, but I'll probably remove it for future designs). I've also taken some inspiration from Nordic mythology, with Hel (Hela In English? Loki's daughter (not Marvel) ) as half his face is beautiful, and the other is a corpse (skull). I don't wanna mix too many cultures just for the sake of it, but it was a really fun design decision. And he's goth. Bonus death aligned I next time I draw Georgie I'll draw inspiration from the Death's-head hawkmoth

The Distortions: Michael's 60s and Helen's 80s inspired, no reason, just vibes. I like to think of Michael as a spiral while Helen's a twist, if that makes sense, I've been meaning to draw them together to demonstrate, but I'll include a doodle of it

Jane Prentiss: I looked into a lot of paganism, and fell into a rabbit hole. She's described as a modern witch, so I wanted a subtle alternative look with a shaved side and gauges. One of her breasts are exposed because (boobs) in old pagan traditions a lot of rituals were performed nude, to be closer to nature. A lot of pagan art has a very strong feminine force, I want for Prentiss. She has one eye, but I'll probably remove the other too, I've seen a lot of people do for more holes

Nikola Orsinov: Drag king. Because we need more of those. I love drag so Nikola's has a mix of both male and female attributes since he's just trying to imitate a human. Their design is also inspired The Toy Soldier in the mechanisms (haven't listened? To it but a lot of people pointed me to that designing Nikola!) that's also her actor Jessica Law! I put all my gender into Nikola lol, and when I can sneak an IT reference in I will

Breekon and Hope: Wario and Waluigi

Annabelle Cane: She's described having web keeping her skull together, but for some reason I imagined it to be down her neck. So I pictured her head occasionally falling off and being restored by a web. So I gave her both lol. Her vintage style is old, goth Hollywood glam to me and I love looking at reference for her

Bonus Agnes: I haven't drawn her fully, but I wanna take inspiration from Scandinavian culture, think Midsommar (both the movie and the tradition) and maybe Norse paganism. I love Agnes story and how it's only told by other people, and her relationship with Gertrude is so interesting!

[1donoow]

VIDEO GAME REC

PT.1

......

♡ - smut

Most of them are fluff

......

<a/n>i somewhat explain why there's alot in my pin post

poppy playtime

security breach [montgomery gator][sunnydrop/moondrop]

the last of us [ellie williams][joel miller]

call of duty[task force 141][alejandro vargas][simon 'ghost' riley]

———POPPY PLAYTIME———

@clanwarrior-tumbly - reader being a same model as huggy

- Reader being an older janitor who never left

- bunzo learning that it's reader birthday

- the toys reacting to the reader carrying a kick-me-paul

- reader being the creator of huggy wuggy pt.1 pt.2

———SECURITY BREACH———

@clanwarrior-tumbly - security breach with a facepainter reader

- gregory and freddy finding the technician's secret office

- security breach with a mouse animatronic

- Canon animatronic meets y/n a kangaroo

- the animatronic receiving a tiny version of them self

@rainbowapocolypse - first encounter pt.1 pt.2 (animatronic! maintenance! reader)

@blueberrys-writings - scary dog privileges

———————————————————————

montgomery gator

@clanwarrior-tumbly - monty with a small moth animatronic

———————————————————————

sunnydrop/moondrop

@srslysierraa - hand in hand

@g00mb13 - headcannon

@clanwarrior-tumbly - sun and moon with a swordfighting fox animatronic

- Reader apologizing after getting banned

- sun helping overnight worker!reader clean

- reader calming moon when the light go out

- separate bodies

————THE LAST OF US————

ellie williams

@gonzo-rella - helping out ellie when she gets her period (platonic)

@elliesmainhoe - headcannon with a feminine s/o

@bubbles-for-all-of-us - that's my mom (platonic)

———————————————————————

joel miller

@forever-rogue - before

- hey kid

- bookish

@multific - a little friendlier

@luveline - grumpy x sunshine

@yelena-bellova - twenty years later masterlist

@peterparkersnose - christmas vibes

@nexusnyx - miss sunshine ♡

- my fellow, my guy ♡

- imagine being loved by me

@joels6string - cup o'joel

- haircut

@joelsgeetar - ___

@baevillier - regulars

@adora-but-ginger - sparks fly

@nanatargaryen - beach day

- grumpy x sunshine (platonic! immune!reader)

- joel and sarah miller x daughter!sister!reader

@wardenparker - for her

@from-the-clouds - savior complex

@orangevtae - I'm right here

- walking sins, lost tragedys

@talaok - incentive

- hunting lesson

- interrupted

- stay

@ourautumn86 - stray pt.3

@heartpascal - I am good (platonic)

- the crooked kind (platonic)

@angelltheninth - rescued by joel miller

@joshuagrayboy - jealous joel miller hc

- more than friends

———— CALL OF DUTY ————

task force 141

@sant-riley - random task force 141 x gen z member headcannon pt.3

- headcannon pt.2

@meatonfork - grim x platonic 141 hc

@itzclouding - becoming a shadow

@venomous-ragno - ghost and könig wirh a reader who has a big dog

@gatorbites-imagines - ___

@imaginesheaven - medic reader x tf 141 hc

@starstruckmiraclekitty - with a reader who sneeze like a kitten

@mangowafflesss - s/o who plays the sims

- Cod Boys Noticing their S/O Phone Screen is of Them

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - The 141 with a reader who's a cybersecurity specialist

@thesharktanksdriver - being the youngest member of 141 pt.1 (platonic)

@personwhowrites - putting stickers on them

@ghosts-bandwagon - ___

@mockerycrow - reader catching them looking at her ass

@gomzwrites - finding out about your soft spots

———————————————————————

alejandro vargas

@ragingbookdragon - ___

———————————————————————

simon 'ghost' riley

@sm8th0p - date (medic!reader)

@ragingbookdragon - babysitting

- ___

- ___

@halfmoth-halfman - the little things

-little treasures, life's pleasures

- our little secret

@clairdelunelove - things simon 'ghost' riley finds attractive about you pt.1

@euovennia - simon being a mom/dad friend to reader

[sicktember]

While waiting for the Sicktember 2024, June 15th reveal, check out these past prompts and collections for inspiration!

Sicktember 2023 - 2021 Past Prompts and Collections

💚2023 💚

[AO3 Collection]

Prompts List ⬇

1. Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care

2. Quest for a Cure

3. “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”

4. Hiding an Illness

5. Preventative Measures (Not Taken)

6. Sick and Injured

7. “You’re a Jerk When You’re Sick”

8. Persistent Fever

9. White Coat Syndrome

10. “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy”

11. Beginner’s Guide to Faking Sick

12. Old Wives Tale

13. Anxious Stomach

14. ‘‘I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am’’

15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place

16. Consulting the Internet/Web MD

17. Magical Remedy/Healing Potion

18. “Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”

19. Curled Up With a Pet

20. Cramping Pain

21. “But if you stay, you’ll get sick too”

22. Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

23. Coughing Fit

24. “Did you just sneeze?”

25. Confused/Disoriented

26. Pink Eye/Conjunctivitis

27. Uncooperative Patient

28. “I should have stayed home”

29. Side Effects/Adverse Reaction

30. Patient 0

2023 Alternate Prompts

Alt. 1.“I Could Really Use a Hug Right About Now”

Alt. 2. Fuzzy Socks

Alt. 3. Pounding Headache

Alt. 4. Forehead Kisses

Alt. 5. “I’m so sorry”

💚2022💚

[AO3 Collection]

Prompt List ⬇

1. ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’

2.  Homesick

3.  Painkillers

4.  Hangover

5.  'Great. Now I Have Your Germs All Over Me.’

6.  Sick on vacation

7.  A cry for attention

8.  Intense coddling

9.  Home remedy

10. Excessive use of tissues/ ‘Blow Your Nose’

11. Emergency Room/ Ambulance

12. Psychogenic Fever/Stress Induced Illness

13. Seasonal/Pet Allergies

14. ‘I Might Be A Teeny Tiny Bit Sick, But It’s Fine.’' 

15. Frostbite/Sunburn

16. Care Package

17. Syncope/Fainting

18. Nausea/Upset Stomach

19. Whining/Crying 

20.  Cold Sweat

21. ‘Does this look infected to you?’

22. Common Cold/Flu

23. Tepid Bath

24. ‘I Need You To Pull Over!’

25. Acid Reflux/Heartburn

26. Tickle in the Throat

27. Sleepless Night/s

28. Chronic Illness

29. Lethargy/Exhaustion

30. ‘Get Back in Bed!’ 

2022 Alternate Prompts:

Alt. 1. Soft Pajamas

Alt. 2. Vapor Rub

Alt. 3. Cuddling on the Couch

Alt. 4. Taking a Sick Day

Alt. 5. ‘Can You Be Brave For Me?’

💚2021💚

[AO3 Collection]

Prompt List ⬇

1. Fever

2. Persistent Cough/Sniffling.

3. Chicken Pox/Rash 

4. Headache/Migraine

5. Comfort Item (Plush/Blanket)

6. Nebulizer

7. Sneaky Temperature Check

8. Contagious

9. I’m Not Sick

10. Medicine/Injection

11. Bed Rest

12. Faking it

13. Appendicitis

14. Aches and Pains

15. Quarantine 

16. Hot Water Bottle

17. Ginger Ale and Crackers

18. Fever Dream/Hysteria

19. Addiction

20. Doctor’s Visit/Check Up

21. Unlikely Caregiver

22. Toothache

23. Ear Infection

24. Sneezing

25. Sick at School/Work

26. Strep Throat/Laryngitis

27. Blankets

28. Missing Out 

29. Motion Sickness

30. Food poisoning/Allergy

2021 Alternative Prompts:

Alt. 1:  Warm Soup

Alt. 2:  Too Many Layers

Alt. 3:  Vitamin C

Alt. 4:  Stay

Alt. 5:  Asleep on the Couch

[fortheloveofnutrition]

I like to re post this every now and again because it's good advice I frequently forget.

Also I post it in part because I'm laying in bed with Covid (for the first time) at the moment and eating as much fruit as I can to expedite recovery. I grabbed a banana and orange, ate the banana and asked myself if this was a good combo or not. Glad I checked, because it was not. The last thing I need is indigestion.

But because it's me, my main focus has been doubling down on nutrition and observing my own results. I was eating plant based before, but sometimes I went a little too hard on the peanut butter trail mix, breads, or other sweet treats.

My doctor said rest and hydrate, but I took it a step further and since testing positive have cut out wheat, sugar, and any kind of dairy or processed foods. I figure nothing that could make inflammation worse. I've been consuming tons of herbs like cinnamon, ginger, echinacea, and turmeric while eating fresh citrus fruits like lemon, orange, strawberry, and pineapple daily.

Now I did a bit of tooling about the internet to see if any studies had been done over the last four years regarding a plant based diet and it's effects on Covid. The results were hopeful.

I found one study that said,

"Merino et al revealed that healthy plant-based foods could decrease the risk and severity of COVID-19.21 In this large survey, it was shown that as the quality of the diet rises, the risk of disease COVID-19 (HR 0.91) and severe COVID-19 (HR 0.59) diminishes.

Which gave me hope so I kept digging.

Another one stated, "Compared with an omnivorous Western diet, plant-based diets containing mostly fruits, vegetables, grains, legumes, nuts and seeds, with restricted amounts of foods of animal origin, are associated with reduced risk and severity of COVID-19. "

And I can tell you that has been my experience thus far. I developed a fever that went away after 24 hours and didn't go over 100.4. My only other symptom has been a stuffy nose with sinus pressure. Im definitely tired and need to limit activity but I can still taste and smell, breathe through my nose a decent amount of the time, and I'm not coughing. I'm lucky in that I have time off from work and for that I am grateful, as rest is another key component.

And why would a plant based diet be so beneficial for mitigating Covid symptoms? Because, "plant-based dietary patterns are rich in antioxidants, phytosterols and polyphenols which positively affect several cell types implicated in immune function and exhibit direct antiviral properties."

The full study can be found if you pop this into Google::

Acosta-Navarro JC, Dias, LF, de Gouveia LAG et al. Vegetarian and plant based diets associated with lower incidence of COVID-19. BMJ Nutr Prev Health 2024:e000629. doi:10.1136/bmjnph-2023-000629

I was really scared at first and this information helped me feel more empowered in my health and recovery. It's not a substitute for any medical attention or prevention like vaccines, hand washing, and mask wearing- all things I was doing regularly prior to getting sick which may have also been variables in keeping my symptoms down. A little help goes a long way.

Has any other plant based person had a similar experience? Let me know.

[ghostradiodylan]

Do you have any headcanons for how the hacketteers would deal with being sick? Maybe how often they get sick, what type of illnesses they are prone to, etc….

Way behind on Quarry asks but I am home sick with some kind of crud right now so what better time to answer this one?!

Emma - Emma is a people person and always on the go, so she's exposed to a lot of germs. I feel like she'd be the one to get into juicing and making smoothies for immune health and the 'sexy' supplements like Moon Juice or whatever Gwyneth Paltrow is selling (but nobody’s sure if she really buys into them or if she’s just trying to get a sponsorship). Emma has a system for any kind of normal illness that doesn't completely knock her on her ass and that is to take a very hot bath with peppermint and eucalyptus bath salts and drink a hot toddy while she's in there. (Just the one, she doesn't want to drown!)

Jacob - This guy gets the dreaded Man Cold and is the sickest person who has ever lived. He doesn't get sick often because he's fairly health conscious, but he's absolutely pathetic and mopey about it when he does. He wants to be babied because his perfect male specimen of a body and extensive supplement regimen have betrayed him. He hates going to the doctor and puts it off until someone makes him go. Kaitlyn brings him soup and yells at him (affectionately) to stop being pathetic. He drinks a ton of Gatorade when he's sick (always Cool Blue flavor).

Kaitlyn - Look, Kaitlyn's Asian and her family was wearing masks during cold and flu season long before it was cool. She doesn't totally buy into the traditional Chinese medicine stuff but she does believe in the healing power of food that's spicy as fuck, especially if she's having sinus issues. She's also a fan of long, hot baths or showers, chicken soup with a ton of garlic, drinking a bunch of tea with lemon and ginger, the sauna at the gym, exercising even if she doesn't feel like it, hot yoga, and acupuncture. If that doesn't knock it out, she's not too stubborn to go to the doctor, people like that (who have insurance but don’t use it) drive her crazy (Jacob!).

Abi - If something is going around, Abi just knows she's going to get it. She’s a worrier and a bit of a catastrophizer when she does get sick. She's a hand sanitizer addict, she's got those cute sparkly holders from Bath & Body Works (but she uses the Halloween ones all year). She's good about letting herself take time to rest and get her strength back after an illness though. She likes to catch up on trash TV while she's recuperating. She also gets allergy shots because her environmental allergies are insane. She uses a neti pot or saline spray often to ward off sinus infections.

Ryan - Our stoic boy is stoic. Ryan takes all the necessary precautions to not get sick, he's kind of an obsessive hand-washer for sensory reasons anyway, but when he does, he follows doctors' recommendations to the letter and rarely complains. He will typically muddle through like normal if he's not got something contagious, but if he has to take time off work or school, he doesn't really talk about it or look to be cared for, just holes up in his room alone trying to not spread it around--he is very conscientious. Ryan gets the occasional migraine and that's one thing he can't really muddle through. He has to be in a quiet, dark room to recover, with an ice pack on his head, a caffeinated beverage, and a guided meditation podcast.

Dylan - People love to make our boy a damsel in distress because he's a cute gay string bean that bad things happen to, but Dylan is pretty tough in the game (like, unrealistically tough at times). I tend to consider his amputee arc as main canon, so given the assumption that he doesn't die of sepsis after surviving werewolves, he's got to have a pretty robust immune system and probably doesn't get sick that often. He does have that whole under-react/overreact thing going on though (the air freshener lol), so I imagine that when he does get sick, he either just carries on until he physically can't anymore (he'd wear a mask and get vaccinated and all that good stuff, he's a scientist after all, but he’s bad about making sure he gets rest) OR he starts Googling his symptoms and getting paranoid, convinced he has some rare incurable disease (he doesn't). He also doesn't really like to slow down and let people take care of him but when they really insist, he not-so-secretly loves the attention, from his mom, his boyfriend, his roommate/bestie, whoever.

Nick - Nick turns into a slimy wet sex pest whenever he gets sick. No, I’m kidding. I think it’d be funny/ironic/unfortunate if chef Nick had kind of a sensitive digestive system. He will eat anything, especially if Jacob is eating it. But, alas, Jacob has an iron stomach and our poor Nicholas does not. So he gets a lot of tummy troubles from doing things like eating 20 year old snacks or trying to go head to head with Jacob and Kaitlyn in a spicy ramen challenge. Nick gets sick a regular amount with stuff like head colds and is just kind of middle of the road as far as how he handles it. He does however have a habit of making up untrue facts about Australia that he tells his coworkers and campers when no one has the internet available to fact check him and one of them is that a steaming mug of hot pickle juice is a favorite folk remedy for colds there.

Max - he doesn’t get sick often but he is highly accident-prone. Like, so accident-prone that his family has started calling them ‘Maxidents’ when he has a major mishap. He routinely falls off ladders, gets attacked by migratory waterfowl, trips while trying to carry more groceries than he should into the apartment, etc. Max is luckily a very good patient because he has a lot of practice. He also has a lot of ice packs in the freezer at all times.

Laura - she gets onto Max about being careful, getting enough sleep, eating healthy, etc, but Laura is a do as I say, not as I do kinda gal. She does try to be healthy and active but she’s really busy (busier than ever post-canon because she thinks she can outrun trauma if she never slows down long enough to think about it). When Laura gets sick she gets Leslie Knope sick.

Max has to put her in bed and take care of her because she will not admit she needs it until she is practically on death’s door.

[eddiemadmunson]

I am here for you

This is a little Aemond drabble I wrote for my dear friend @hamatoanne​​ because she is sick these days 😔 Get better soon bestie, and I hope you will like it 💕

Paring: Modern Aemond x reader Word account: 1500 Warning: none, it’s a fluff A/N: English is not my 1st language

“Omg, who is it?” you thought to yourself as you slowly walked to the front door. Someone was frantically ringing your doorbell. “I am coming,” you tried to yell, but you barely whispered because your throat hurt like hell. “I love to hear this sentence from your lips, kitten,” Aemond chuckled behind the front door and you blushed. Your boyfriend always made comments like this, loving the way how your cheeks turned pink afterwards. “Please take your finger from the door bell, my head hurts,” you said and he immediately stopped. “I am sorry baby, I tried to call you for 2 hours but you didn’t pick up your phone and I got worried. I called your mum and she told me that you are sick. Are you OK, kitten?”  “I feel like shit, Aemond,” you whined. “Open the door, Y/N,” he demanded. “No, you will be sick too, and I don’t want it. Trust me, my love. I feel horrible. I don’t want to pass this misery on you.” “My immune system is amazing, kitten. Don’t worry, I am a big guy, I can handle being sick, but as I said, I am never sick, just let me in, I hate the idea of you sitting alone in your house and feeling miserable”. You sighed and opened the door for him. He was right, you missed him, and you felt so sad and tired. You wanted his warm embrace. “Oh, my poor little bunny, come here,” he wrapped his big strong arms around your figure. You snuggled against him, enjoying his warmth.  “I look like shit,” you sniffed, suddenly realizing how you look. Your eyes were teary and slightly red, your nose red and sore from all the sneezing and blowing - you could easily make it as Santa’s reindeer Rudolph. Aemond gently kissed your lips and you were very aware that your lips are really chapped. But Aemond wasn’t complaining, he was looking at you like you are the most beautiful woman in Universe. “Don’t look at me, I look terrible,” you buried your head into his chest and he slowly lifted your chin and made you look into his blue eye. “You look beautiful as always, my love. You just don’t feel well. But in my eyes, you are the most beautiful woman in this world. So stop talking like this. Let’s take you back to your bed, my love, you need to rest,” he lifted you into his arms and walked inside your bedroom, gently placing you on your bed. “Do you want to watch movie or something on Netflix, kitten?” he asked as he lied next to you, cuddling you closer to his broad chest. “No, my head hurts and my eyes are sore, please tell me some stories from your work,” you pleaded. Aemond worked as a vet for exotic animals and his stories were always interesting. He told you a story about that one time he was almost eaten by a crocodile. He was laughing like it was nothing, but you were terrified that he could easily lost one of his limbs or die. “OK, baby girl, I will tell you a story about cute little lion cub I inspected this morning,” he smiled and kissed the top of your head. “But first I should make a strong tea with citruses, ginger and honey for you. I saw a perfect recipe on TikTok,” he said and froze. “What did you say? Did you say TikTok?” you laughed. Aemond was always mocking you for using this app, saying that it’s ridiculous and pointless. “No, I said on Youtube,” he tried to save the situation. “Liar,” you burst out laughing. “OK, fine. Aegon created an account under my name and forced me to watch few videos. I have to admit that I became addicted,” he finally admitted and you started giggling. Unfortunately your giggles soon turned into a fit of coughing. “I see that you really need that tea, my love,” Aemond watched you with worry. “I don’t have any ingredients here, Aemond,” you said but he replied that he will take care of it. You were cuddling and talking for a while and you felt much better when you had him next to you. Aemond always made your day better with his presence. “I will stay with you until you get better,” he announced and you looked at him in panic. “But what about your clinic and your patients,” you protested but he placed his finger on your lips to hush you. “Don’t worry, I already called Lucerys, he will take care of everything, he is capable to run the clinic for few days alone,” he assured you and you raised your eyebrow. He was usually very skeptic about his nephew's abilities. “Stop worrying about my job, love. You are sick and I will be here for you,” he kissed you slowly and shortly, knowing that you have problems with breathing now. “I love you Aemond, so much,” you snuggled closer to him. “Awww, you two are so sweet that it makes my teeth hurt,” you heard from the doorstep and you screamed. “What the fuck, Aegon. What are you doing here? How did you get inside?” you gasped, your heart pounding in your chest. “Relax, Y/N. Aemond texted me, that you need some vitamins,” he winked at you. “And you gave me your spare key last summer when you asked me to water your plants when you had been on vacation with Aemond,” he explained. “You still have it?” you asked him in disbelief. “Of course, we are almost family,” he enjoyed your outraged expression. “Leave the supplies and the key on the table and leave, brother!” Aemond warned him and Aegon raised his hands defensively. “Don’t worry, I am leaving. I won’t stay here in this lair off sickness. There will be so many Christmas parties filed with alcohol and willing pussies, I can’t be sick,” he chuckled and left you two alone. “He is unbelievable,” you scoffed and started coughing again. “Yes, he is and I am going to make that tea for you, kitten,” Aemond softly kissed the top of your head and left for the kitchen. You fell asleep for a while and when you opened your eyes he was there, his arms wrapped around your much smaller frame.  “How do you feel, my love?” he asked you and gently brushed a lock of your hair of your face. “I feel good when you are with me,” you mumbled, your voice changed with the sickness. “Liar,” he brushed his fingers across your face. “Here, try this tea, that girl on the video swore, that you will feel better after drinking it,” he handed you the cup and watched your reaction closely. You took a small sip and it surprisingly tasted really good. “It’s delicious, Aemond. Thank you, babe,” you slowly drank the rest of the tea and felt the warmth and sweetness running inside your body. When you finished it you placed your head on Aemond’s chest, your eyes slowly closing again. “I feel so tired, I am sorry to be such a boring company tonight,” you apologized and he scoffed. “Don’t be silly,  I love spending time in your company. You don’t have to talk or entertain me. Your presence alone is a blessing,” he assured you and you felt the happy tears in your eyes. Aemond kept you close to him, his hand was making soothing circles on your back and you slowly fell asleep. 

************************************************************************************** Aemond took care of you for 3 days, making you hot tea, feeding you chicken noodle soup his mother Alicent sent to you, using Aegon again as a messenger. You two were watching movies together, Aemond read you stories from his favorite books, and he told you so many funny stories about his work and his family, that your tummy hurt from all the laughing. You slowly got better and on Saturday morning you felt almost all right. Aemond made love to you, asking you thousand times, if you are alright or if you are not too tired. When you assured him that you are more than OK, your love making turned more passionate but he refused to fuck you hard like you both liked it, because you were still recovering. The patience of this man will be the death of you one day. Aemond was right, he didn’t get sick even after spending the whole time next to you. But Alicent called him on Sunday morning, telling him than Aegon is lying in his bed sick, acting like a moodiest brat on Earth. You decided to avoid Aegon until Christmas dinner with Aemond’s family, because you could imagine how pissed off he must be for getting sick. 

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

what’s your thoughts on the pre-flashpoint! version of jason todd aka the redhead one? i think he’s pretty yummy 👁️👅👁️

Oh he's an underrated gem. And you don't even wanna know where I want to insert that gem

I love raven-haired Jason but I am not immune to Gin-son (ginger Jason, if you will)

[partypoisonzz]

got so sick (i thought i'd die) (frank Iero x reader)

Kinktober Day 8: Voice Kink

Reader Pronouns: None, but it is implied that the reader has AFAB anatomy

Era: Bullets (2003)

Content:

- Frank languishing with another cold (and being a whiny sub)

- Reader being a concerned partner (and teasing the hell out of him

Word Count: 2,296

Disclaimer: This explicit story was written by an adult, for adults. If you are under the age of 18, please do not interact.

-

"Okay, so, I got everything."

You drop the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter. Frank looks up at you with sleepy eyes from a bundle of blankets on the couch. "I'm listening," he calls, voice low and raspy.

You chastise yourself for the way that your blood immediately rushes to your cheeks when he speaks to you. You know that he feels like shit, but there's something about the deepness of his voice that makes you want to nurture him... By riding the hell out of him.

Jesus, you think to yourself. Which one of us is the sick one here?

You attempt to chase the thought out of your mind as you rifle through the groceries. "Per your request, I got one two liter Coca-Cola..." You pull the soda out of the bag with a flourish before reaching back in. "And, because there was a buy one, get one half off deal... one ginger ale." You sit the second drink down next to the first on the counter.

"Good choice." Frank shifts slightly on the couch, propping himself up on his elbow. "What else?"

"An excessive amount of Campbell's soup, in both potato and tomato varieties..." You open the cabinet above your head, placing the soup inside. "A jumbo box of saltine crackers... Kleenex... These Luden's cough drops, which are essentially candy... Uh, a bag of tangerines, 'cause Vitamin C is good for you... And last, but certainly not least, two bottles of NyQuil."

Frank sniffles. "Aw, babe. You're the fucking best." He sits up and holds his arms out, dropping his blanket. "C'mere."

You look up from the collection of items on the counter. "But the groceries..."

"Don't care," he replies quickly. "I'm a dying man. I need cuddles."

You shake your head, going back to putting up the groceries.

"Not falling for that," you say, although you know you'll totally fold by the end of the night. You're here to take care of him, germs be damned.

Sometimes it's just fun to get him worked up.

That being said, you aren't quite prepared for exactly how worked up he's going to get.

He lets out a long, miserable whimper. Immediately, your knees turn to jelly.

"Pleeeaaaseee," he whines. "Please come cuddle me. I'm so cold..."

"Alright." You turn around, stomping out of the kitchen and into the living room. With a sigh, you settle next to him on the couch, wrapping your arms around him.

"There we go." He turns so that his head rests on your shoulder. "Thank you, baby."

"Yeah, yeah." You wrinkle your nose as his lips brush against your cheek before he lays his head back down. "Christ, Frank." You reach up, wiping at your face. "Are you trying to give me the plague?"

"It's just a cold," he insists. "Your immune system is nowhere near as fucked up as mine. You'll be good."

"If you say so." Giving up on pretending to be grossed out, you trace your fingers over the tattoos on his arm, humming quietly.

He whines again, burying his face in your shirt. "My skin hurts. Like, all over."

"It's because you have a fever." Your other hand comes up to rest against his forehead before pulling away. "You're definitely warm."

"Your hands are cold. Feels nice." He buries his face in your neck before letting out another whimper. "I don't feel good."

You feel your face heating up again. This is ridiculous. You know you shouldn't be getting wet from hearing your sick boyfriend ham it up for your attention, but...

"I know you don't," you say. "But you've gotta stop being so pathetic."

He sniffs as he lifts his head, looking up at you. "But I am pathetic."

"Yeah, but..." You shift, attempting to hide your reddening face from him. "It's just a cold, Frankie. You said it yourself. You'll survive."

He chuckles, though it sounds a little more like a cough. "This is, like, the sixth time I've gotten sick this year," he says. "I think I'm entitled to a bit of bitching and moaning."

Yeah, you think. Especially the moaning. Wanna hear what that sounds like with you in this absolute state.

You don't reply. Don't even look at him. You know that you have to be turning bright fucking red by now.

Fuck. Why can't you just be normal about this?

"Why are you being so fucking weird about this, anyway?" Frank presses. "You won't even look at me. Am I really that disg—"

"No," you cut him off, turning to face him. "No, you're not disgusting, — no more than usual, anyway. I'm just..."

He gives another series of cough-laughs as your face continues to heat up. "Holy shit," he rasps. "Are you... Are you fucking turned on right now?"

You can't tell him that you aren't, of course. But admitting it would seem sadistic.

Or maybe masochistic? You don't know. This whole thing is pretty fucking embarrassing.

"It's not for the reason you think," you tell him. As though that makes it any better. "It's not like I enjoy seeing you suffer or anything..."

"I'd hope not," he replies. "I feel like death warmed over. Nothing sexy about that to me, but..."

"It isn't because you're sick," you clarify. "Not at all. And, like, I feel bad, because I want to take care of you, but..." You shift your gaze towards the floor.

"It's your voice," you admit quietly. "It's just all... deep and rough, and... God, Frank, when you fucking whine..."

"Fuck," he murmurs. "You're serious, aren't you?"

You laugh despite yourself. "Sorry, babe. I'm a fucking freak."

"No, no. It's okay. Uh, more than okay, actually..." One of his hands brushes over your thigh. You squirm slightly against him.

"I'm glad one of us is getting something out of my condition, at least..." he continues. "Just... Didn't expect it..."

His face is so close to yours. You know that you already have his germs all over you, so...

Fuck it.

He lets out a surprised squeak as you press your lips against his, hard. He kisses back, slowly, somewhat hesitantly, only pulling away when you climb into his lap. "Babe," he says. "You're gonna get sick..."

You laugh. "Like I wasn't going to from having you lay all over me?" You brush your hand over the side of his feverish face. He lets out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch.

He looks up at you, eyes wide and dark-circled. Your heart leaps in your chest.

"Let me help you feel better, baby," you tell him before leaning down to kiss his neck.

"Christ," he hisses, throwing his head back as you trace over the scorpion tattoo with your tongue. His hands fall to your hips, squeezing lightly.

You pull back, meeting his gaze. "How's that?"

Judging by the way that he's squeezing your waist, you think you know the answer. Still, you want to hear him beg.

"Feels so good, baby. Don't st— Oh, fuck." He lets out the prettiest gasping moan when your lips return to his neck at the same time that you grind your hips down against him.

You can't help but let out a soft sound of your own before repeating the action. Whatever you have to do to get those noises out of him, you'll absolutely do it.

You move slowly and deliberately against him. The friction is enough to make you squirm. Judging by the way that Frank grabs your hips and pulls you forward, you imagine it feels pretty good on his end, too.

The string of words falling from his lips only confirm this. "You're so fucking hot," he rambles. "Seeing you on top of me, grinding on me like this... God, I can hardly think straight..."

You plan on ensuring that he can't think straight at all. You lean in to kiss him again, tugging slightly on his lip ring as you roll your hips harder against his.

The long whine that he lets out is music to your ears. The pleading that follows is even better. "Please," he whimpers. "Please, just... Don't even know what I'm asking for, Christ..."

"But you sound so pretty when you beg." Your mouth travels from the edge of his lips to his jaw, kissing your way down the front of his neck. Your tongue flicks out, trailing down his feverish skin again. He lets out another groan, hips bucking against you.

"Please," he says again. "I need... More of something, God..."

"Need more?" You lift your hips slightly, only to rest your hand on his obvious bulge. You palm him through his jeans, feeling a spark of satisfaction as he gasps and arches his back, pushing his hips up into your hand.

"Does that feel good?" you tease him, rubbing hard against the denim. "Tell me, baby."

"Y-yes, feels so good... Fuck..." His hips stutter against your hand as his head falls back. Another desperate whine breaks up from his throat. "Please," he begs. "Please, God... Oh, shit..." His hips jump again. He's practically humping your hand, desperation becoming him. You're tempted to increase your pace and let him come, watch him make a mess of himself. And yet...

You pull your hand back, moving away from him slowly. You are immediately rewarded by a pitiful mewl from Frank.

"Why'd you stop?" he asks.

Rather than giving him a verbal reply, you sink down to your knees in front of the couch. The widening of Frank's eyes tells you that he gets the idea.

"Oh," he breathes as your hands return, this time to undo his fly. "That's... Okay, yeah..." He lets out another pathetic gasp as you take his cock in your hand. Your thumb brushes over the head, slow, teasing. He's already leaking precome. You know that if you tease him too much, he'll probably be past the point of no return. Still, the look of bliss on his face is just too hard to resist.

It only gets better when you wrap your lips around him, taking him into your mouth all at once.

"Fuck," he curses shakily.

Your eyes cast upwards to look at his face, only to see his head thrown back. His eyes are closed, his mouth hanging open. You run your tongue across the underside of his head, inspiring another trembling moan.

"Do that again?" he murmurs quietly.

More than eager to please him, you oblige. You feel his hips stutter just before his fingers thread through your hair, pulling your head down all the way. You gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat.

"I'm sor— oh, fuck." His breathing falls out of time as you pull back before taking him all the way down again, killing his apology before it can even pass his lips. He tugs at your hair again, panting through a mixture of praises and pleas.

"So fucking good, baby... Please..."

You hum against him, tongue travelling slowly up across the base of him again. You relish the way that he shivers beneath you, letting out another desperate, shuddering moan in the midst of his uneven breaths.

You can feel yourself growing wetter with every debauched whine, your fingers digging into his thigh as you speed up your ministrations once again. You swear that you could probably come from hearing those sounds alone, if given the time.

As it stands, you don't believe you're going to get that opportunity today. Frank lets out a high-pitched gasp, giving your hair another slightly-too-sharp tug.

"Fuck..." he curses through a trembling exhale. "Not gonna last..."

This desperate declaration only spurs you on further. You bob your head up and down faster until he yanks at your hair with surprising force, spilling down your throat with a loud groan.

You swallow around him, making sure that you collect every last drop before pulling your head away. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before looking up at him, your eyes still watering slightly. "You good?"

He huffs out a shaky laugh, his chest still heaving. "I'm good. I'd ask you the same thing, if you didn't totally just contract whatever I have..."

You roll your eyes as you stand up, settling back onto the couch next to him. "I told you I didn't care about that." You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, your hand brushing over his chest as you pull away. "Go get yourself cleaned up," you urge him. "Don't turn the water up too hot, though. Don't want to drive your fever up any."

You stand up, heading back for the kitchen. "I'll have your dinner and medicine ready for you when you get out," you continue. "We can watch a movie or something."

"I'm gonna marry you one day, you know that?" You hear the floor creak as Frank readjusts himself and stands up. A few moments later, you feel a pair of arms snaking around your waist as you wash your hands, preparing to heat up the soup. "First you blow me while I'm sick... then you fix me dinner..." He presses a kiss against the back of your neck before pulling back. "I can't let go of you now. You're every man's dream."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I think you need higher standards," you say. "Now go bathe. The longer I sit around breathing your air, the sooner I'm gonna keel over."

He rests his head on your shoulder. "I'll take care of you when you're sick, too," he says. "I'll eat you out. It's only fair."

"A vicious cycle." You push him away. "Go shower. For real." You grin, shaking your hands off. "If you stick around any longer, I might ask you to get a head start."

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