#oh and take this bowl of fresh soup please

[choolantanavt]

Have you heard about Dabloon Tiktok?

If not, allow me to help you. It all started with this cat.

This is Dabloon Cat. Originally, they give you 4 Dabloons and would also sell Soup for 4 dabloons.

Since this moment, the economy has exploded. Currently, I have 733 Dabloons, a small frog companion, a guard dog who is a Karate Master, and a pretty hefty inventory including my Travel Bag, Water Bottle, and Steel Sword.

I use my Steel Sword to protect myself and others from thieves; even though I have a Rune of Protection. I am also part of a secretive anti-capitalist revolution to attempt and properly redistribute Dabloons equally in society.

Many creators in the Dabloon space work increasingly hard to create random encounters that show up on your FYP. What was once simple meme images of cats has evolved into high production value clips full of art and editing. You night be robbed in the streets of the city, you might join a pirate crew, or you might cook a cake with a cat, or meet Bugs the Food Certified cat who will sell you French Fries.

Tiktok has somehow created an entire shared world, with an economy and political leaders and infrastructure (ACAB includes Dabloon Police). Some people speak of inflation but the news stations are suggesting any gifts of more than 10 Dabloons may be fraudulent.

I guess what I'm trying to say is...

Why can't Tumblr do something like this. I don't wanna be on tiktok anymore.

[mariclerc]

Fighter (pt.2) | cl16

Summary: where you have a serious accident on the track and Charles's memories of it aren't the most pleasant ones. Warning: an injured and somewhat frustrated reader, caring and gentle Charles and a lot of fluff this time.

a/n: I hope you like this part, this is a short one! please let me know if you want a third one!!

Part 1

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating a cozy bedroom. Clothes are scattered across a chair, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal sits on the bedside table. You walk slowly out of the bathroom, your movements stiff and a grimace on your face. You're wearing a simple white t-shirt and some sweatpants, but the center of attention it's a bright pink neck brace. It's been exactly almost two weeks since your big accident on the track and you find it very difficult to do normal things like change your clothes or even go to the bathroom.

You try to reach for your back as a wave of dizziness washes over you, making you stumbling slightly, but a strong hand steadies you... Charles appears behind you, concern etched on his face while holding your slippers in his hand.

“Hey, careful there princess. Let's take it slow, okay?” he says in a soft voice while you lean into his touch, a small sigh escaping from your lips.

You mumble slightly. “I hate feeling so useless.”

Charles helps you into the bed and sits beside you, his brow furrowed. “Don't be silly chérie, you're recovering from a nasty crash... It's okay to need help for a while, you know?”

You cry a little as you try to pull the t-shirt over your head. “Ugh, even this is impossible. Stupid neck brace.”

Charles reaches out, his touch gentle as he unfastens the back of the t-shirt. He slowly pulls it down your arms, his movements careful not to aggravate your injuries. “Let me do it, you need to rest your arms babe.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest despite the frustration. It's a different kind of warmth than the one that ignites during a perfectly executed pit stop or a thrilling overtake... It's the warmth of care, of having someone there to support you when you're at your most vulnerable state.

A fresh t-shirt materializes in Charles' hands, and he helps you slide your arms in. He leans close, his voice a soft murmur.

“How about I get you some painkillers and water? Oh, maybe a light lunch too!”

You look up at him, at warm and grateful smile tugging in the corners of your lips. “You really are the best pit crew a girl could ask for... Even if you are from the rival team.”

Charles grins, his eyes twinkling. “You know I'm always happy to help you, right? Now, stay put. I'll be back in a flash darling.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, the touch sending shivers down your spine, he takes the half-eaten bowl of cereal in his hands and leaves the room. Even with a messed-up neck and a bruised ego, you know that you're so lucky to have him by your side.

You settle back against the pillows, a newfound sense of peace washing over your body.

***

Charles disappears into the kitchen, and you take a moment to try and stretch your stiff muscles, something that is somewhat impossible. The silence is broken by a muffled crash from the kitchen... Your eyes widen a fraction.

“Of course, there's always a challenge with him.” you muttered to yourself.

Internally you have a debate whether calling out to him, but the thought of him fussing over you just because you only want a glass of water is too much. You try to push yourself up from the bed, wincing at the sharp tug in your lower back.

“Stubborn neck brace, stubborn muscles... Maybe I can manage just this once.” you say while clenching your teeth.

Just as you manages to get one leg over the edge of the bed, a flustered Charles bursts back in, holding a tray with a glass of water and a bowl of warm and comforting soup. “Okay, crisis averted... I almost knocked over the entire spice rack trying to get the ibuprofen out of the top shelf, but nothing to worry about.”

He sees you halfway out of the bed and rushes over to your side.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing amour? I told you to stay put.” He says alarmed.

You winces once again, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes. “I just wanted a glass of water! I hate feeling so helpless all the single time, I can't even get myself water!”

Charles softens immediately, pulling you back onto the bed and gently tucking you in. “Hey, hey, It's okay! I understand... Here, let me help you sit up baby.” he says with a soothing voice.

He props you against the pillows with a comforting hand on your shoulder. Then, a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Besides, a champion driver like you deserves a pit crew that can handle a little pressure. How about a race to see who can finish their lunch first?”

You let out a watery laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You're on. But don't underestimate the recovery power of a champion!”

Charles grins, placing the tray softly on your lap. “Never underestimate the pit crew either, sweetheart.”

You take a cautious sip of the water, the coolness soothing your parched throat. You winces again, a flicker of pain shooting through your neck, Charles notices that instantly.

“Easy there amour. Does it still hurt? Maybe we should grab another ice pack, that helped last night with the pain.” he asked but you shook your head, forcing a little smile.

“No, I'm okay charlie. It's just a twinge, besides, I don't want to slow down in our race, champion recovery, remember?”

You scoop a bite of soup with your spoon, the small movement it's such a challenge with the stiff muscles. Charles watches you, his gaze filled with concern and something deeper.

“You know that winning isn't everything here, right? How about we take this slow? You focus on getting better while I handle everything else. Deal?”

You hesitate, the competitive fire in your eyes dimming slightly. The thought of being completely dependent on Charles sometimes feels suffocating, even though you know he means well. He cares a lot about you and doing this kind of thing for you is not a bother to him at all.

“Maybe a compromise? You handle the tricky stuff, but for things like reaching for the water, I can try. It'll help me get my strength back faster, right?”

Charles considers your proposal, his eyes searching yours. He sees the determination sparkling beneath the vulnerability. “Alright, feisty one, but you promise to be careful? Don't try to be the heroine, okay?” he let out a soft sigh. “If you feel in trouble or find it difficult, don't be afraid to tell me, okay?” he says softly and you nod partially, since you can't do it so effusively.

You beams, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes. “It's a deal! Now, about that soup... What if we make it a relay race? You feed me a spoonful of soup and then I try to grab the water myself, It's a champion teamwork!” you say and giggled softly.

Charles lets out a laugh, the tension leaving his shoulders. He scoops a spoonful of soup, his eyes twinkling.

“Alright sweetheart, you're on! But remember, even teamwork has a winning team. And today that's us.”

He carefully brings the spoon to your lips, and you lean in. As you savors the warm soup, a feeling of warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the broth... It's the warmth of love, of shared determination, and the knowledge that they'll face this recovery, just like they face every challenge, together.

***

You take a spoonful of the soup, Charles' hand steady beside the spoon, the warmth spreads through your body, both from the food and from the way he's taking care of you. You finish the spoonful with a satisfied sigh, Charles look at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Alright bébé, your turn for the water challenge... Remember, if you feel like you can't do it, you can tell me to help you, slow and steady wins the race.”

He places the glass on the nightstand within reach, just out of easy reach for you with the neck brace. You take a deep breath, summoning your inner champion.

“Okay... Here goes nothing.” you say focused.

You gingerly reaches out with your right hand, the movement sending a jolt of pain through your back. You grit your teeth, determined not to give up. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, your fingers finally brush the cool glass.

A triumphant smile spreads across your face... Just as you're about to grab it, a sharp pain shoots through your neck, making your hand flinch. The glass wobbles precariously on the nightstand.

You gasped and Charles reacts instantly, reaching out to catch the glass before it spills. Relief washes over him as he sets it back down safely.

“It's okay baby, I told to be careful. I think that was too much too soon.” he say worried.

You winces again, a wave of frustration washing over you. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“I just... I don't like to feel useless, I can't even do a simple thing... When I will be back to normal Charles?” you asked in a whisper.

Charles sits beside you on the bed, pulling your body into a gentle hug. He rests his chin on top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. ”It's okay not to be okay baby, healing takes some time! Don't push yourself too hard, just focus on getting better sweetcheeks, that's the most important race right now.”

He picks up the glass of water and brings it to your lips again. This time, there's a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat.

“So how about we call a truce on the race? You focus on getting some rest, and I'll handle the hard pit stop duties, you like bringing you food, water and helping you with your clothes... Deal?”

You lean into his touch, a wave of peace washing over you. The frustration melts away, replaced by a quiet gratitude. “Deal... Thank you so much Charles, you're the best pit crew and boyfriend a girl could ask for, even if you sometimes underestimates her recovery power.” you say softly and shyly.

Charles chuckles, a warm sound that fills the room. ”Never underestimate a champion's determination, even a recovering one. Now, drink up princess. You need your strength for tomorrow's physiotherapy battle.”

You take a slow sip of the water, savoring the cool refreshment... Maybe this forced break from racing isn't so bad after all, the accident may have sidelined you from the track, but in this moment, surrounded by love and laughter, you know your true victory lies in the unwavering support you have by your side. The road to recovery may be long, but with Charles by your side, it's a journey you'll face together, one spoonful, one pit crew story, at a time.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2

At night, the shivers start for no reason.

Dustin changes into his thick winter PJs, gets blankets from the linen cupboard as quietly as he can so he doesn’t wake up his mom.

His room is stuffy, but he can hardly feel it—knows that by all rights, he should be suffocating in the heat. There’s sweat on his forehead, his chest, dripping down his back, but as he wraps himself up tight in the thick cotton layers, he can’t stop himself from shaking.

His dreams are vivid, feverish.

He’s sitting with his shield next to him, blades of grass scratching at his palms. He can hear Erica laughing, but it sounds wrong. Distorted.

Then he lifts up one hand in front of his face. It’s drenched in blood.

The gasping sound of someone choking.

“D-Dustin.”

Eddie. Eddie lying on the grass, staining it red, there’s—there’s so much—

“Dustin, p-please.”

There’s an awful gurgling noise from Eddie’s throat. Dustin feels sick.

“You—Dustin, you—you’ve gotta keep it in. Please, please.”

Eddie’s crying, his hands weakly grasping at the ground, slipping in the puddles of his own blood.

“Help,” he sobs. “Help me.”

Dustin tries. The blood runs through his fingers.

“Steve,” he whispers—tries to scream, but the fear has stolen his voice. “Steve.”

Steve isn’t coming.

They’re alone, and Dustin can only watch, frozen, as Eddie convulses, gasps for air; he’s dying, he’s dying, move, do something—

He wakes with a start to his mom knocking on the door.

“Dusty, have you overslept? Can I come in?”

Dustin sits up, runs the back of his hand across his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, but it comes out hoarse; he has to stop, clear his throat. “Sorry. Yeah.”

The door opens.

His mom takes one look at him and says, “Oh, honey. No school today.” As she gets closer, her eyes flicker over the bed, the blankets, his PJs. “Are you cold?”

Dustin nods. The sheets cling to his skin, damp with cold sweat.

His mom gently runs a hand through his hair, checks his forehead. “How about I run you a bath, huh? I’ll call the school.”

Dustin’s too exhausted to bring up the fact that she’s going to be late for work if she stays much longer.

He takes the bath—once his mom has left the room, drains some of the tub so he can fill it up with scorching hot water.

When he gets out, there’s multiple tins of soup, fresh bread, and crackers on the counter; his mom’s bringing a couple meals out of the fridge, some microwave ones, too.

“Just giving you options, hon,” she’s saying, “eat whatever you’d like, I’m going to the store later. Oh, I filled up Tews’s bowl so if he complains at you, the sweet thing is lying.”

Dustin makes a wordless noise of thanks.

His bed has been stripped; new sheets and blankets have already been put on, which makes him feel a pang of shame. The window’s been left open the tiniest bit, just to let some air in, but his stomach immediately drops at the sight.

“Dustin?” His mom’s looking at him searchingly. “Honey, I can call off work—”

“No,” he says quickly. Subtly digs his nails into his palm to try and stop himself from shaking. “No, mom, m’just gonna be boring and sleep.”

She’s still frowning, but he’s gotten good over the years at knowing what expression to pull, putting just the right inflection in his voice that silently says don’t look any closer, don’t worry. She leaves him with a gentle kiss on his cheek, with her work number written down on a notepad, makes him promise that he’ll call over even the smallest thing.

He makes the promise knowing that he won’t.

Closes the window as soon as he’s alone.

-

The phone rings early afternoon. He sluggishly does the math in his head for Steve and Robin’s shift patterns this week. They always try and call if he’s sick, whenever the store is quiet: when he had tonsillitis last winter, miserable with it, they gave running commentary on the day’s most ridiculous customers, passing the phone between them until he fell asleep.

Pick up the phone, Dustin thinks.

But he feels inexplicably heavy, lets it ring and ring and ring…

The nightmare seems to flicker in front of his eyes, a lingering unease deep in his gut. He thinks of Steve, of calling for him and not getting an answer, which would never happen, which could only mean the very worst—

He stumbles out of his room and picks up the phone, interrupting Robin’s breezy customer service spiel to mumble out, “Sorry, think I missed a call from—um, is Steve there?”

“Afternoon, Einstein! You just missed him, he’s getting lunch, but he’ll be back in, like—”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Dustin says, feeling stupid and abruptly, mortifyingly young. “Just… just checking.”

There’s a fraction of a pause.

“Hey, Dustin?” Robin says, quieter now. Gentle. Dustin wants to cry. “You can wait with me, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Are you—”

He hangs up.

-

Time slips away from him. It’s only after the school day’s over that he realises his mistake: that when he’s sick, he usually whines and complains, asks for updates every class, even if it’s just whether Mike’s added to their drawings left underneath their cafeteria table.

He’s kept his walkie off all day.

He searches for it, clumsily turning in his bed, and when he switches it on, it’s to hear Mike repeatedly asking, “Dustin, do you copy?”

“Here,” Dustin says blearily, then remembers himself. “I copy. Over.”

“God, finally,” Mike says in that short way that means he’s been desperately worried. “You okay? They marked you off sick in home room, but I didn’t—”

“M’not really,” Dustin says—doesn’t know what he is, honestly. “Just. Kinda tired. Over.”

“Okay,” Mike says, after a pause. “Um, Nancy says if you feel better, she can pick you up tomorrow. And we can—you don’t have to do anything, we can just, like, chill in the basement. I was, uh, talking to Will, and he thinks he knows what Eddie’s plot twist is, and I think he’s got it, honestly, I—”

“Tell Nancy thanks,” Dustin says, “but I… I don’t think I, um—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mike says. “No problem.”

The walkie falls silent, and Dustin gets the feeling that a few other conversations are happening on another channel. Then there’s a click, some static, and a voice again.

“Hi,” Lucas says. “Didn’t wanna wake you up if you were sleeping, so I, uh, used the spare key under the flower pot to drop off some stuff. Not—not homework, don’t worry.” A tiny chuckle. “I’m not a sadist.”

There’s some space left there, deliberately so. Dustin knows he’d normally make a joke. He can’t.

“Just some assignment marks came back,” Lucas says. “Hey, you got an A on that paper, the one about—”

“Thanks,” Dustin says.

He sounds blunt. He hates it.

“You don’t need to thank me, Dustin,” Lucas says softly. “But you’re welcome. Hope… hope you feel better.”

Dustin swallows.

More quiet. Another click.

“Hey,” Max says, as if nothing’s happened. “I’m behind on English, so I’m just gonna read out loud, I need to know there’s an audience or it’s not gonna stick. No complaints, my education’s on the line, Dusty-Bun.”

Max isn’t behind; Dustin knows this. He doesn’t complain.

She reads The Outsiders for at least twenty minutes. Things get hazy after that, because Tews comes in and settles on Dustin’s chest, purring, and Max’s voice fades into background noise.

Perhaps the phone rings again, but it sounds so far away, he could’ve dreamt it.

He wakes up at the sound of his mom opening the front door, the soft jangle of her house keys. He vaguely hears her play the answering machine, and he’d recognise the rise and fall of that voice anywhere.

Eddie has this rambling way of leaving a message, like he’s really having a conversation with someone rather than just talking to a machine. Dustin can’t make out the words from here. Wishes he could.

His mom enters with a fresh water glass and soup on a tray.

“Eddie called,” she says, with that warm tone of voice she’s used ever since she truly met him—when he watched her with wide eyes from a hospital bed and choked out, “I-I’m not—it’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Hmm?”

She smiles at him. “He was just calling to say hi.”

Dustin smiles back weakly—knows that Eddie would’ve taken at least five minutes to even get round to that point.

-

This time, the terror comes when he’s wide awake, when it’s three o’clock in the morning and his heart pounds for no reason at all, breath catching like he’s been dumped into a cold, cold lake.

Dustin’s felt frozen before, but when Eddie…

It wasn’t like Max in the graveyard, where Steve shouting for him to call Nancy and Robin helped him snap out of it, gave him something to do.

He was alone.

He was alone, and he didn’t know how long it had been since Eddie had stopped breathing. He tried to count, and the numbers turned to static in his head.

Stop the bleeding. Help him breathe. Move. Fucking move, you’re killing him, you’re—

A light on in the hallway.

“Dusty? Oh, baby, breathe.”

Dustin tries. Chokes on it.

And his mom is leading him to her room like he’s five years old.

“There, sweetie, that’s it. Shh, breathe, breathe.”

Dustin half-collapses into her bed, and her bedspread is thick, but he’s so, so cold, and he can’t catch his breath—

“Shh, Dustin, shh, you’re okay, baby. Oh, honey, it’s… it’s the earthquake, isn’t it?”

His mom is holding his hand, guiding his breathing. In. Out.

“There. There you are, well done, baby. I’m going to call Steve, okay?”

Dustin tightens his grip on her hand. Gasps out an urgent, “No.”

It could be a bad night, could be a night that Steve needs all the rest he can get—

“Oh, Dusty, shh. Okay, honey, I won’t, won’t. Not right now.” She hugs him. “You know you can tell me anything? Always.”

Dustin closes his eyes.

I can’t.

-

He pretends to sleep. Feels his mom leave the bed. Hears her on the phone—can’t make out the conversation.

His heart’s beating rapidly again. Breathing short and sharp.

He slips into his room. Opens the window. Crawls out.

Shock of cold air. Rain on his skin. In his eyes. Blinks it away. He’s on his bike with no memory of deciding to do so. Lungs burning. Pedalling faster, faster—

He hits something, something stupidly small, a pathetic rock, but he goes down, like a kid freshly off training wheels.

Dustin wonders if this is how Eddie felt. If even while on the bike, he could still sense how close to death he was.

And it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, it’s not remotely the same, but as Dustin lies there in the rain, his palms and knees stinging, he kind of feels like he’s dying, too.

A car horn sounding, over and over. Like a desperate shout.

Dustin can’t breathe.

Clunk. A door opening. Footsteps. Running on gravel.

I didn’t run away this time, right?

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Dustin, look at me.”

Steve. Steve’s hand on his shoulder.

Dustin shudders, exhales. “I-I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Jesus. Woah, woah, take your time.”

Steve lifts him up so carefully, avoiding Dustin’s hands from digging further into the dirt.

Dustin blinks, sees Steve’s frown, the way his eyes are darting all over him until they land on his knees.

Oh. He’s bleeding.

“Come on,” Steve says. “Here. Lean on me. I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

And it’s only as Dustin hobbles over to Steve’s car that he realises what he’s done.

He’s biked almost all the way to Forest Hills.

[mistydeyes]

CONGRATS 🫶🫶❤️❤️💐💐. no like fr congratulations on 1k. Personally speaking, your works are excellent.

oh, and can I request graveyard - "please i don't want to die" with Price? I got that Tony and Peter Parker when Peter turned into dust vibes 💀yk. Anyways, take care!!

aww thank you so much @lake-lilium! literally was dying at the vintage justin bieber pic but yes this prompt is so giving that vibe so prepare for some ANGST :')

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: graveyard - "please i don't want to die"

pairing: John Price x gn!reader

warnings: DEATH, angst, swearing, depiction of blood and violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

In Price's line of work, there was always a moment of panic when he was unable to get in contact with you. You remember you had to reassure him of your safety when you took a nap and missed a few of his calls. You couldn't blame him though for the worry. You didn't know much about his job but it was clear he had some enemies to be wary of. However, you would always reassure him as he left the house and you pet your German Shepherd by the door.

Despite seeing you off that morning, Price still couldn't shake the feeling building in his core. "Fuck, answer the phone," he murmured as yet another call went to voicemail. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel as he turned down your street. "Just give me a callback, love, on my way home," he said hurriedly as he hit the reddened button on his phone. "You're being paranoid, John," he laughed to himself, yet the feeling was still there. He pulled into your small driveway and turned off the car. All seemed normal as he closed the door gently and dragged the bag of dog food that you had asked him to get. However, when he saw the front door slightly ajar, he dropped it immediately and entered with caution mounting.

As he scanned the front foyer, he grabbed a firearm he kept in the hallway's closet. "You alright, love?" he called out as he searched for any sign of you or your beloved dog. His training almost seamlessly kicked in as he swept the house. He moved through the kitchen, finding a half-eaten bowl of soup, and prayed you had just gone up to the bathroom or bedroom. However, as he looked at the back door and noticed large muddy footprints heading in, he feared the worst. He opened it cautiously and could not have prepared for the sight in front of him. The normally fresh afternoon air smelled sickly of iron and blood. The muddy footprints ended at your feet and the grass was stained with crimson. You lay on your back your recently planted flower bushes with your hand over a gaping chest wound. He screamed at the sight and you looked over in shock. He rushed over as you spurt up blood and attempted to get up. "John," you whispered as he pulled off his shirt to stop the bleeding. "What the fuck happened?" he asked as he held you and grabbed his phone to call for the paramedics. "I don't know, John," you cried hysterically, "am I gonna die?"

He couldn't help but feel like he was going to be sick as you grasped at his shirt. His hands felt warm with your blood as he communicated the situation and tried to keep you awake. "It's okay, love, we'll find who did this," he whispered, trying to keep a level head as your eyes looked frantically around. "Where's Charlie?" you asked and he held your face gently. "We'll find him later, yeah? Just stay awake for me," John repeated and pulled you onto his lap as he propped you up against one of the flower beds. Price was always prepared for these scenarios on the battlefield. Keep watch, stop the bleeding, and make sure they stay awake. His mind was in overdrive as he never expected to bring this mentality home to you. "Hey, hey stay with me," he shouted as you began to close your eyes. He could hear the sirens approach and kept shaking your shoulder. "John, please," you began to say as your voice became weaker and your eyes began to flutter slowly, "please, I don't want to die." He could see small silver tears fall down your face as he held down on your sternum tightly. "Shhh," he tried to reassure, "just keep your eyes on me." "Please, I don't want to die," you kept repeating and wailing. The last words he would ever hear were your fearful sentiments coupled with the absolute horror in your dilated eyes.

[reychvmpion]

bf jack taking care of reader when shes on her period!! like rushing to the supermarket when she says, “baby its that time of the month again”

and buying her like her fave chocolates, and all the goodies she wants. also would buy a shit ton of pads/tampons bc he doesnt know which brand she likes cause she usually uses diff ones.

would buy her heating pads too and will make her hot cocoa, hot soup etc to lessen the cramps!

“baby this is so unnecessary, you just spent so much money”

“shush, eat your soup”

period care w jack ~

hii, this idea is actually so cutee <3 tysm anon!

im sorry me describing the way y/n found out is kinda gross

cw: blood-ish, swearing

~

“fuck..” you muttered upon seeing the red stain in your pants after your sneeze. you instantaneously ran to your closet, and got a black pair of pants and a fresh set of underwear, along with a pad. 

~

you walked out of the bathroom, with the change of pants and a pad. “baby! it’s that time of the month again…” you yelled to your boyfriend, jack, who was laying lazily on the plush living room couch. “oh my god, i’ll be right back!” he shouted back in response, rushing out of the house frantically.

~

the sound of the door squeaking open echoed around the house. jack came back in, holding reusable bags (a/n: i feel like he’s eco-friendly like that) filled with assorted items — pads, chocolates, candies, chips, face masks, etc. he used his foot to kick the door shut, waddled to you, who was slumped on the couch. dropping the bags onto the couch beside you, he sat down beside your head and let you rest your head in his lap. “i got you chocolate. and skincare, and snacks.” jack giggled, bending down to plant a gentle peck on your forehead. “could y’help me get the warming pads please?” you asked, looking up at your knight in shining armour, who happily obliged.

~

“here y’go babycakes.” he grinned. but if you thought he was only gonna come back with the heating pad, you were wrong. he had a warm bowl of your favourite tomato soup in one hand, and a warming pad in the other. “babycakes? that’s a new one.” you chuckled, taking the soup as he gently placed the heating pad onto your abdominal area. “you shouldn’t have done this babe, this was expensive!” you scolded, pouting just a bit. “shush. eat your soup.” “fiine.”

~

super super short but this idea was so cute 😭😭💞💞

[honeybear-yammy]

{ Wrapping } character wrapping them in a warm blanket straight out of the dryer.

Could you do this one with John B? Maybe Y/N is sick during it? - 🎨

I'll Always Take Care Of You

Warnings: Y/N being sick, besides for that pure fluff.

Pairings: John B Routledge x Female Pogue Reader

Summary: In which John B takes care of his girlfriend Y/N when she gets sick.

Author's Note: tysm for the request!

Blurb Event

© Honeybear-Yammy 2023, please do not steal, translate, copy, or transfer my work.

You whined as you curled up in your fluffy sweater. You had been sick with a flu for the past day or two now. It was horrible. John B came in holding a tray. On the tray there was a mug that was steaming with tea most likely, a bowl of hot soup, a bottle of juice, and a few other things that would help your flu symptoms.

You slowly sat up before fixing the pillows so you could prop yourself up on them comfortably. "How is my girl feeling?" John B asked with a small frown as he put the tray down by you on the bed before sitting down on the end of the bed. "I still feel gross." You frowned as you picked up the warm tea and sipped it.

"Aww.. I'm sorry, princess." He said with a frown. "I hate it when my girl is feeling like this." He rubbed your leg softly. "Well, I'll be better soon.." You said with a weak smile. "I know but, I want you to get better quicker." He chuckled quietly. You smiled a little and put your cup a tea down before you gently squeezed his hand. "But I'll be okay." You smiled. John B nodded.

"Oh and I just remembered something." He said. "What's that?" You asked. "I found your favorite blanket and I decided to throw it into the dryer for you so it would be all nice and warm for you. I figured that it would be nice to have a blanket that was all warm and cozy for you while you're sick." He said with a smile.

"You did?" You smiled. "Yeah, I know that when it gets colder you love to have your blankets all nice and warm so, I figured that since you were sick that you'd like them warm too." He said. You smiled before you herd the dryer beep meaning your blanket was done in the dryer. "Okay, I'll be right back, babe." John B said with a smile before getting up and walking out.

You waited for him on the bed in your shared bedroom. After a moment or two, John B came back in with the fluffy, warm blanket that was fresh out of the dryer and he wrapped it around you before kissing your head lovingly making you smile. "Mm.. thanks, love." You said with a smile. "You're welcome, princess. I love you." The brunette boy said with a smile. "I love you too, baby." You said smiling back as John B kissed your forehead.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

[whumpshaped]

Stray 4

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tw institutional/systemic pet whump, second person pov (and you're the pet!)

You stare at the bowl for a while, contemplating. Technically, he didn't do anything to prevent you from eating it. However... if he comes back, would he still let you have the better food if you ate the paste? You have no idea. And now that he left the cat food, you probably won't lose out on anything if you just give him a moment to bring whatever he wants.

But that doesn't mean you have to leave it out in the open for any real stray cat to snatch up either.

You quickly walk over to the bowl and grab it, then scurry back behind the dumpster. You find yourself fantasising about better food despite yourself. In the shelter, you have been given bread with a crunchy exterior and soft middle, topped with the tastiest cheese and wonderfully fresh vegetables. They have given you warm soup with soft potatoes in it, and sometimes, on really special days, they have even allowed you to have a cupcake. They never told you what the occasion was, but it must've been something good.

It's so easy to romanticise your life from back then. So easy to regret running. So easy to think that maybe, maybe this man will treat you as gently and lovingly as the staff in the shelter have.

You stare at the cat food paste, the stench of it almost as bad as the taste. You close your eyes and try to imagine a bowl of soup instead, something that would warm you up from the inside out even in this harsh, cold weather. You really hope he brings you soup. There is nothing you want more than soup.

You can't help flinching when you hear footsteps from the open end of the alley, but the familiar voice puts you at ease. "Hey, love. I'm back." The man is panting, but he's clearly doing his best to sound as soothing as possible. "I brought lots of stuff for you... You're... still here, yeah?"

You poke your head out and he lets out a relieved sigh. Your eyes widen at the array of food in his hands. And is that—

"I have some soup here... Well, it's just some instant noodles. But I thought you might appreciate the warm stuff... And I also brought some crackers, in case you didn't like the noodles... These are kinda plain, but uh, I don't know what you like, so... Oh, and I had this pre-packaged sandwich too, so I brought that as well... I even threw in an apple in case you liked none of the other options— I'm sorry, I got a little carried away. I hope there's something here that you like."

You're practically vibrating with hunger. Your stomach is rumbling so loudly, there's no way he can't hear it. Why won't he put those down and go away? You really, really want to have at them.

"The only issue is... I'm kind of holding them very awkwardly," he says sheepishly. "I'm afraid I'll drop the soup if I try to put anything down. Can you, um... Can you please take that from me?"

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @project-xiii @justletmereadmywhump @sariadragon @sowhumpful @books-are-everything @littlespacecastle @captain-bo-bob-bobby @morning-star-whump @a-formless-entity @nyooom @100percentevil @catnykit @whumpinthepot @snakebites-and-ink @expressionless-fr

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Thank you for the tags @welcometololaland @your-catfish-friend @thisbuildinghasfeelings @rmd-writes @orchidscript @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-tk AND @carlos-in-glasses 💛💛💛💛

From Ex Fic. I wrote this last night so it’s very very fresh, feedback welcome (please!). Here is a bit of Carlos and Paul feasting on Nigerian food and Carlos being lightly roasted by an auntie.

“You gonna tell me what’s got that look on your face?” Paul asks as he gestures to the egusi. Carlos passes the bowl of soup over and watches Paul ladle it over his fufu.

“What look?” Carlos asks around a spoonful of jollof.

“That look,” Paul gestures to Carlos’s face in a circling motion with his spoon. “Dude, you’ve been in your head all day. Did something happen at work? Everything good with you and TK?”

Carlos is saved from having to answer by Pam, the owner of the restaurant, approaching their table with a pitcher of rum punch.

“Hello boys, how is everything today?” She asks with a gesture to the spread on their table: fufu, egusi, jollof, pounded yams, akara and plantains. They compliment her on the food as she refills their punch glasses. She looks around and tsks. “No TK today?”

“Oh, no, TK had to work.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, nuh he’s gonna be disappointed. I made my peanut stew today.”

“I guess I’ll have to bring him some.”

She hums and pops a hip in his direction, “Gonna take more than stew to make up for coming to see his favorite auntie without him…”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Carlos laughs while Paul points a raised eyebrow in his direction.

“Guess I better bring him some puff puff too?”

TK is a fiend for the fried sweet dough balls, especially Pam’s when she dusts them with cinnamon and sugar.

“Aye, now we’re getting somewhere,” Pam chides before turning to Paul and asking how his mama is doing.

After a few more moments of small talk with Pam asking after Carlos and Paul’s families she leaves with a to go order for Carlos to bring home for TK: Peanut stew, kilshi and plantains. Plus a side of made-to-order puff puff.

When he looks back over to Paul he’s fixing Carlos with a flat look.

“Everything’s fine.”

Paul grunts and Carlos sighs.

“It’s so stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“TK’s ex is coming to town.”

“Oh shit, the guy that cheated on him? I’m usually against violence but I will kick that dude’s ass if you need me to. I mean, Marj will probably beat me to it, but you know. Offer stands.”

Tagging @guardian-angle22 for the Paul content! Plus @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @chicgeekgirl89 @tarlosmalec @louis-ii-reyes-strand @herefortarlos @tellmegoodbye @reyesstrand @reasonandfaithinharmony @ambiguouspenny @birdclowns @ladytessa74 @basilsunrise @thebumblecee @chaotictarlos @wandering-night19 @whatsintheboxmh @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @iboatedhere @kiloskywalker @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @rosedavid @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry & @lightningboltreader AND OPEN TAG 🏷️

[geekyarmorel]

As a small prompt idea.. maybe RE8 women and what they’d do if their s/o was sick?

Oh yeah I can do that! Let's get into it:

Alcina:

At the first sign of you being sick, she immediately sends you to bed. You're tucked in tightly after given a dose of medicine.

She remembers how it was when she was sick as a human and it worries her but she does her best not to show it.

Has the maids wash everything in the castle top to bottom, she won't have any germs lingering about that could make you sicker.

She does her work quickly so she may come be by your side, giving you kisses on your forehead to soothe you when she joins you in bed.

She has your favorite soup prepared for you, fresh bread made to dip into it.

When she must leave your side due to a meeting or being called by Mother Miranda, she has her girls watch over you.

Any little thing you need she makes sure you have.

Makes sure to have several blankets on hand for when you get cold.

Dots your forehead with a cool cloth to try and help bring down your fever if you have one.

If you take a turn for the worse she practically begs Mother Miranda for her help.

If instead you get better, she breathes a sigh of relief before curling you up in her arms.

"Draga mea, please refrain from getting sick. I don't think my heart can take it."

Even though you are well again, she dotes on you a little longer. Just incase.

Donna:

When one of her dolls report to her that you're acting a little sluggish and coughing she immediately goes to find you.

"Cara mea, come to bed. You need to rest." She says, leading you to your room.

She piles blankets upon you, knowing that the house can be a little to drafty at times. She also closes the curtains so you can find sleep a little easier.

Once she sees that you're all tucked in and settled she heads toward her garden and greenhouse to gather the necessary supplies to make your medicine and favorite teas.

Her dolls keep an eye on you for her, letting her do her work with peace knowing you were okay for now.

When you wake she is there with bowl of soup, medicine, and a glass of water. Donna makes sure you take it all, even helping you spoon the soup into your mouth.

She holds you for a while, letting you doze against her chest. Brushing hair from your face to help soothe you.

Donna makes sure you take your medicine on a strict routine, she doesn't want you to get any sicker.

If she needs help she first consults Moreau, knowing he used to be a doctor. And if that fails her, she brings you to Mother Miranda. She hopes it doesn't come down to you taking the Cadou but if push comes to shove she'd rather ask your forgiveness than your permission.

If you get better she's so thankful, it honestly feels like the whole manor gives a sigh of relief.

She does her best from then on to keep you healthy.

Bela:

She's seen many of the maids sick before and she never really cared. Sure it annoyed her, because sick maids were no fun to pick on. But she never really thought much about it......until you got sick.

It frightened her a little, the way your temperature spiked, the sweat that broke out upon your brow even though you kept insisting that you were cold.

She brought you to her room, tucking you into her bed after stripping you from your old clothes and putting something softer on you.

She fetched medicine for you herself, giving you the appropriate dose before insisting you rest.

Bela stayed by your side as you slept, reading a book and every few pages looking over you to assure herself that you would be okay.

When you wake she has your favorite soup made and brought to you. She makes sure you drink plenty of water as she read it was important for you to stay hydrated.

She piles on every blanket she can find on you if you say you're cold, even stoking her fireplace and adding wood to it to make the room warmer.

Her mother comes in to check on the both of you, assuring her daughter that you would be fine while you dozed.

She's never far from you while your recovering, making sure you don't do anything strenuous.

And once you get better she nearly cries, you have to hold her and assure her that everything is okay. And if she spends the next couple of days in your arms, neither of you say anything about it.

Cassandra:

She's come up behind you to wrap her arms around you when she hears you cough. It was an ugly sound that rattled in your chest.

Quickly she grabs you and swarms you off to her room. She worries at how warm you are, knowing that it means a fever.

She covers you up with thick blankets and stokes her fire hotter.

Cassandra has watched sickness ravage the bodies of her prey and she refuses to let that happen to you.

She grabs the nearest maid and snarls for her to bring you medicine, threatening to chop off her hand if she didn't do it quickly.

She has water and juice brought to you to drink, knowing that you needed to stay hydrated.

She only leaves your side when you sleep, but even then it's only for something quick as she's afraid to leave you for long.

When you wake she has something warm and soft for you to eat, she does her best to coax you to finish the bowl or plate.

If you get worse, she asks Donna for help and if you go to far she goes directly to Mother Miranda.

If you get better she's quite glad you're on the mend, though she does say you aren't allowed to get sick again.

Daniela:

When she found that you were sick she pulls you away and to a warm bath with eucalyptus in it. She had prepared it beforehand for you.

Once she's seen that you're done bathing, she helps dress you in comfy clothes before pulling you to bed.

While in bed she curls herself around you, pressing soothing kisses to your temples.

She makes sure that you take your medicine and drinks plenty of fluids.

Out of her sisters she's the calmest while you're sick, of course she makes herself only focus on that you were going to get better.

She makes sure you at least take a shower each day you're sick. She even holds you in the spray if you don't feel like standing.

If you get worse she takes you directly to Donna and from there she begs Mother Miranda to help you.

If you get better she simply smiles before saying "I knew you'd never leave me. You love me to much."

Mother Miranda:

This woman, bless her, is terrified of you getting sick. In her mind sickness equals death and she can't bare the thought of you dying.

So when she finds that you're sick, she panics on the inside.

She sends you to bed, saying that she'll be there in a little bit.

Knowing she'll never be able to work while being worried about you she heads towards the kitchen to make your favorite soup.

When she comes into the room, she's both glad and a little sad that you're asleep. On one hand it's good you're resting, your body needs to heal. On the other hand she hates that she's going to have to wake you to take your medicine.

Gently she wakes you, helping you sit up and take your dose and eat a few bites of soup. She wishes you would eat more but she knows how one's stomach can feel when sick.

She curls herself around you, tucking a couple wings over the both of you. Her mind is whirling with thoughts of Eva and thoughts of you dying. Her grip on you tightens just a little and it takes some time to push those thoughts out of her head.

When your fever spikes she is there with a cool rag; wiping your brow, neck, and chest. If it keeps going up she pulls you into a cool bath, holding you in her arms. Her heart breaks when you whine about being cold while in the bath.

"I know my love, I know. But your fever is up, we have to get it down. I promise I'll get you warm in a bit."

Once out of the bath she makes sure you're dressed warmly and tucks you back in bed.

If you get worse she nearly begins to lose it. She can't lose you, she WON'T lose you. While she wishes she could have your permission for what she's about to do but she resolves that she'd rather ask for your forgiveness later.

If you get better she, in a rare moment of showing emotions, hugs you to her and cries out of relief.

And if you pass it's said that the entire village heard and shook with her pained screams and cries as she held your limp body in her arms.

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside

Chapter Nineteen

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.1k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

11 years prior

I pulled a stool out as I took a seat at the counter, my mother humming as she tended to a heated pan placed atop the burner. The welcoming aroma of dinner filled the home, evoking comfort and peace as she turned to me with a smile. Stepping from her spot at the stove, she handed me a bowl of fresh kimchi, also placing a serving bowl on the counter for me to transfer it into.

“Could you cut this up for me, dear?” I nodded as I began to cut through the kimchi in front of me, creating perfectly bite sized pieces. Her soft hums of a melody lost to the wind filled my ears as she collected the dishes needed to set the table, placing them alongside the utensils before re-entering the kitchen and glancing over my shoulder to check my progress. With a gentle thank you, she took the bowl from me and carried it to the table as well before returning back to ensure the pot wasn’t burning.

The door clicked open as Jiho made his way down the hall, dropping his bag across the backside of the couch and crossing over to the kitchen, taking a deep breath to enjoy the smell enveloping the room.

“Smells good in here, what are we having?” He took a seat next to me, leaning his arms forward on the counter.

“Tofu stew, are your father and Jungkwon on their way in?” Jiho responded with a hum and a nod, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

“They’re just dropping some things off in Dad’s office.” Jiho tried to peer over my shoulder as I scrolled on my phone, taking interest the moment a message appeared from the top of my screen. “Who’s Ilsung, eh?”

“Yah!” I quickly turned off the screen, pressing the phone to my chest and staring at him in bewilderment. “Keep your eyes off my business!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking to boys right in front of your brother then.”

“Oh no, she’s already talking to boys?” A hand rests on my shoulder, my father peering over and glancing between me and Jiho.

“Are we going to need to have a talk with him? Can’t have just anyone talking with our y/n” Jungkwon leaned against the counter with arms crossed, grin spreading cheek to cheek with a chuckle.

“No uncle! My god, he’s just a friend from school, can we please not do this?” The heat radiating off my ears surely was leaving them to turn into red beacons of embarrassment

“How about you three leave her alone at least long enough to eat your dinner, it’s just about ready.” My mother spoke from over her shoulder, putting the final touches on the stew as father crossed over to her and placed a kiss on her cheek, both hands settled on her shoulders.

“Thank you dear, but Tiger and I are going to need to eat in my office tonight, we have some business to take care of.” With a sigh and a forced smile mother took two bowls and poured the hot soup into them, handing one to each of them and shooing them off, then pointing the spoon towards Jiho and I.

“Don’t think you two are getting out of eating with me though, I need my company.”

I watched as the trees swayed in the distance, the yard framed by their tall stature and encompassing me within it as I curled up on one of the loungers on the back deck. The churning feeling in my gut never vanished from the night prior, leaving me uneasy and suffering from another restless night. I had instead chosen to pull myself from the warmth and comfort of my bed, letting myself sit outside and soak up the moonlight with the cool breeze of night brushing against my skin.

I hadn’t spoken to my uncle since parting with the family, and hadn’t had a moment to even contemplate getting back into contact with him since I came back, but seeing his possible ties to these operations at least left me with a little comfort that I hadn’t.

The prospect of getting to see someone who had once been considered family should be leaving me elated, not with a knot tightly formed in my gut and the fear that I was without a father because of his hands. I let my head rest back against the cushion of the chair, my slow breathing leaving clouds as the heat traveled into the cold night.

Through closed eyes I couldn’t see the light from the kitchen flick on, casting a subtle glow over the deck around me, then someone stepping out and covering my body with a warm blanket. My eyes opened to observe Chan taking a seat next to me, looking out to the star speckled sky.

“Any particular reason you’re choosing to sleep out here tonight?” He pulled his legs up onto the lounger, leaning back with his head resting, hands interlocked over his stomach as he gazed up.

“Couldn’t seem to fall asleep, so I just came out here for some fresh air.” My eyes followed his up to the sky,

“Isn’t it a bit cold?”

“Well, yes, and I forgot to bring a blanket out with me, so thank you for that.” I pulled the blanket up my chest, covering more of my body with its soft warmth. Sitting in a wave of silence, we studied the stars above us, all twinkling among a sea of darkness.

“What makes you think it’s him?” My head slowly turned towards Chan, his voice breaking the silence, still staring up to the sky like he hadn’t just brought him up. We hadn’t spoken about it since last night, Chan making the decision to allow me to calm down before we had the discussion.

“I mean…” My head fell back as I formulated my sentences before speaking. “The Tiger? That just feels obvious. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s always had easy access to my father.” Chan hummed a quiet response with a nod of the head, eyes still flicking between the stars in the sky.

“Doesn’t it feel too obvious?” He finally turned to me, a subtle look of confusion. “Would they really refer to him as Tiger so blatantly on reports like this?” I squirmed in my seat, uneasy about the different possibilities running through my mind.

“I don’t know, as much as I don’t want to believe it, it just seems like it makes too much sense.” I tried not to bite the inside of my cheek, nervous that in this state I might bite a hole straight through it. 

“Well from what I know, he’s been MIA long before your dad was even killed. Why would he appear out of nowhere now?”

“Maybe he’s been hiding because he’s had it all planned out from the start? I know if I was trying to keep a secret like this I would want to be far from anyone’s prying eyes, if I’m out of their minds they wouldn’t suspect me, right?”

Chan gave a soft sideways nod, contemplating the possibilities, our prolonged silence now melting into the night sky.

“Have any favorite constellations?” His words were quiet, as though he was speaking secretly, in fear of waking an imaginary creature beside us. He wanted to change the subject, and I would gladly entertain the derailment of the conversation.

“I can’t say I’m really familiar with any to be honest, I just find the night sky pretty.”

“That one right there is Ara.” Chan’s hand reached toward the sky, finger pointing to a dull cluster of stars among the bright sea. “It can be a bit difficult to spot, because the stars in it don’t shine very bright, but it takes homage from an old poem, in which Ara is the altar that Zeus and the other gods took vows at before defeating the titans.” I hummed in acknowledgement as I tried to focus my eyes on the soft glow of the stars within his line of sight, a gathering of muted light peeking out from behind the bright clusters.

“Do you spend a lot of time looking up at the stars?” I said with squinted eyes, still trying to properly make out the constellation.

“I understand wanting some fresh air when sleep is hard to come by, and when the world is dark and quiet, your eyes are drawn to the lights in the sky, are they not? The stars tell us stories beyond ourselves, they hold memories much farther back than you and I.” My head slowly turned in his direction as he continued, resting his hands behind his head as his string of consciousness came to an end with a relaxed sigh.

“Well shit, getting all philosophical on me now.” He let out a chuckle as his head rolled to face me, shadows casting across his face, blocking him from the glow of the house.

“Guess I let myself get a little carried away there, didn’t I?” The two of us exchanged quiet laughter, settling back into our seats as I tucked the blanket back under my chin. I bit my lip as my eyes studied the dark ground beneath us, no amount of jumbled star talk being enough to provide the relief of distraction.

The gears within my mind were grinding against each other, the lingering speed of their rotation far from enough to cause the spark of an idea. The power and reach of Tiger JK was far beyond what the nine of us could accomplish, we needed more strength.

More strength. There it is.

“If it is him we’re talking about, we might want to get more people involved, don’t you think?” Chan’s head snapped in my direction, brow raised in confusion. “Have some backup.” My eyes had grown wide, a subtle smile growing on my mouth hanging open, it finally clicked.

“Yeah but who-”

“I’ll be right back.” I quickly cut him off as I tossed the blanket off of me, fumbling to get up from my seat with the sudden surge of energy before making my way back towards the house.

“Careful with your arm please!” Chan hollered out to me as he stood, collecting the blanket from the chair and following me inside.

“I’M FINE” My voice carried back as I swung the door open and rushed inside, my thoughts far too distant from the restrained arm still glued to my torso. Chan held back in the kitchen as I stumbled up the stairs, swinging my bedroom door open and snatching my phone from my bedside table, shuffling through the contacts as I ran back to a confused Chan downstairs.

As I pulled out the stool at the island and took a seat, Chan had just finished putting a kettle on the stove, and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them before us.

“Here.” I clicked the contact I was searching for and placed my phone face up on the counter, spinning it and sliding it across from him. He squinted for a moment, eyebrows scrunching as he tried to comprehend the info before him.

“G-Dragon? Like Big Bang G-Dragon?” His eyes slowly rose to meet mine in confusion. “How do you-”

“They used to work heavily with my dad when I was younger, so they were around a lot. Right after I left though I know they started running their own system so they weren’t really working with him anymore so we fell out of touch.” I pulled my phone back, staring at the screen before blacking it out and slipping it into my pocket. “They were like brothers to me.”

“Damn, you were just building a family of some of the strongest players and you didn’t even realize it.” He leaned back against the counter with arms crossed, his lips pressed into a line as his eyes trailed off, clearly going deep into thought. “But you said they’re doing their own thing now? How do we know they can be on our side? Especially because if they were working with your dad, don’t you think there’s a chance they could be working with Tiger JK now?” I hummed with a nod as I took in his words.

“That very well might be a possibility, but something in my gut tells me we should at least try.”

Chan reached for the kettle just as it was about to whistle, trying to prevent the shrill noise from carrying through the quiet house and waking the members. Pulling the mugs towards him, he slowly filled the two before pushing one towards me, the tea bag floating so carefully at the brim.

“Well if that’s the case, we’d need to facilitate a meeting with them so I can properly talk with them. Somewhere other than the house, we can’t bring them here until we know for sure they can be trusted.”

“No, I get that…” My head tilted as I tried to think, what would I even say to him the moment I tried to reach out? How could I convince the group to at least sit down with Chan and the rest of SKZ to try and formulate an alliance? Suddenly, an image of a far too familiar meeting space flashed across my mind, my eyes slowly rising to meet Chan’s in a silence of hesitation. “What about Blossom?”

“What?” I could tell he was wary, caught by alarm from my sudden suggestion.

“Blossom. It has a conference room in the back. Plus, I know the place like the back of my hand, it’d be like having home field advantage in case things did go south.” I mindlessly tried to take a sip of my tea, the liquid still far too hot and promptly burning my tongue as I hissed and sat the mug back down.

“But your friend.” He was now leaning back on his hands, his face morphing into one of concern. “It goes against the one thing you asked of me, to keep him out of this.”

“Listen, it’s killing me having him so distant now that I’m here. He not only needs to finally learn about this, but he’s bound to learn at some point anyway. Let me ease him into it slowly, having him can also be an advantage. Seongho and I can tend to guests as normal and be the eyes and ears outside while you all deliberate.”

Chan bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating if this was truly the best course of action. He couldn’t deny the upper hand they would have in the situation by my plan, but the list of variables just kept growing, and that number also increased the chance of failure.

“Trust me, Chan. Just give me some time back at my apartment to work on Seongho, I know I can make this happen.” As my sentence finished, Chan’s eyes broke from him and met something in the doorway behind me. I turned to find a disheveled Minho standing at the entrance of the kitchen, clearly awoken from his slumber with his hoodie pulled over his head of messy hair. Without a word he crossed to the fridge, digging himself out a late night pudding.

“You aren’t going by yourself that’s for damn sure. Plus, you need to at least wait until your arm is out of the sling.” His eyes followed Minho as he silently dug through the silverware drawer, then peeling the seal of the cup back and dipping the spoon into it. “Actually, perfect timing Minho. You’re gonna go stay at y/n’s apartment with her.” Minho just about choked on his spoonful of pudding at the statement, both of our eyes sharply on Chan as we let out a perfectly synchronized

“Excuse me?”

"You heard me.” Chan took a sip from his mug, unnervingly calm as he tried to suppress a snicker at the response garnered by his command, instead closing his eyes and savoring the drink in his hand. “It’ll be good for you two anyways.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Minho dropped his pudding onto the counter, now fully awake and ready for debate. “Why the hell are we going to her place?”

“Not quite yet, after she heals a bit.” Chan motioned toward my arm with the mug in hand. “We’re going to be formulating a meeting with Big Bang, but y/n here is gonna get us in the door at Blossom for an offsite meeting. But in order for that to happen, she needs to get her friend on board with us.”

“Oh fantastic, and let me guess, this is all her idea?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means it doesn’t sound very thought out.” Minho finally turned in my direction, “Especially because I’m now getting stuck with you and your friend who doesn’t necessarily like me. But don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.”

'“In Seongho’s defense, you haven’t particularly made a good first few impressions on him.”

“Maybe if he stopped butting his nose in where it didn’t belong-”

“Okay you two.” Chan snapped his fingers between us, breaking us out of the direct focus we had on each other. “Yes, it was her idea. But I don’t see you thinking of any, Minho.”

“Why can’t like, Felix or someone else come with me?” Chan’s eyes quickly stopped on me, his look now less of amusement and more irritation.

Oh no, not the Dad stare.

“Minho’s going with you. End of discussion.” He stood from the counter, making his way to the archway, stopping to leave one final demand before leaving. “Both of you go to sleep, especially you y/n. Drink your tea, and no more freezing to death outside.”

I turned back to Minho, now leaning back against the counter with arms crossed, staring at the floor in frustration.

“Listen, I didn’t ask for this okay?” Minho responded with nothing more than a faint grunt, then grabbing his pudding and following after Chan. I dropped my face into my unrestrained hand, rubbing my fingers into my eyes as I groaned. On one hand, I get to go home for a bit, settle into familiar surroundings once again. But now I have to bring Minho into that space, and I’ll have to play mediator between him and Seongho on top of that.

I stood and collected my mug, flipping the light off behind me before heading back up to my bedroom.

“Goddamnit Chan.”

Next Chapter

[jungle-angel]

farmer’s market prompt, my beloved!! lmao could we possibly get 2, 18 and 19 with the floyd bunch, please? 🧡

Ooooooooh my God yes!!! My mouth is watering at the thought honey!!! (lol).

The smells of apples, cinnamon and pumpkin made your mouth water as you, Bob and the rest of the Daggers all worked at the stall, selling whatever had grown on the Floyd land along with a ton of baked goods that Bob's mother and grandmother had made. You hadn't eaten anything all day and still had a baby and two older children to feed which would most likely be sooner than later based on the way four month old Deidre, stirred in her little wicker sleeping basket under the counter.

"Baby?" Bob asked when he noticed you rubbing your temple. "You ok?"

"I need something to eat really badly or I'm gonna pass out," you told him.

Bob held up a finger, signaling for you to wait while he ran to the next stall over where Mr. and Mrs. Alessi were busy selling hot lunches, big pots of pasta smothered in marinara sauce, bowls of steaming hot wedding soup, grilled fish and meatballs that were as big as a fist.

"Hey Vinny," Bob greeted.

"Bobby! Bobby my boy!" the husky New Jersey man greeted cheerfully, kissing Bob's cheek. "Mio figlio, how are you?"

"Couldn't be better," Bob chuckled. "I came to see what was on the menu for today, we're starving over at our end."

"Ah you're in luck kiddo," Vinny told him. "Remember when you were a kid and you'd stop by the restaurant after school?"

How could he forget? Vinny Alessi had taught Bob everything he knew about the kitchen, second only to his own grandparents.

"I put it on the menu especially for you and (y/n)," Vinny told him, handing Bob two small boxes. "Made the Pizza Napoletana fresh this morning."

"Oh Vinny you're a lifesaver, I owe you," Bob told him.

"You don't owe me nothin," Vinny insisted with a wave of his hand. "Although, now that I think about it, I'll take some of your gram's and your ma's fresh apple donuts when you get a chance."

"Will do Vinny," Bob answered. "How many?"

"Baker's dozen if you can swing it," Vinny answered. "We've got the grandkids for the day and they haven't eaten either."

"I'll take two dollars off," Bob said. "That ok by you?"

"Perfect!" Vinny declared proudly. "You get on back over there. You're wifey's probably lookin for her lunch."

Bob bid Mr. Alessi farewell and returned with the lunches, the pizza fresh and steaming out of the little oven. While you ate yours, Bob packed up a little brown box full of apple cider donuts for Vinny, taking two dollars off the order as payment for lunch.

"You doin better baby?" Bob asked.

"Now that I've eaten I am," you answered.

The whimpers that came from your waking daughter signaled that it was lunchtime for her as well. "You mind taking over so I can go to the truck and feed her really quick?"

"Don't mind at all baby."

You gave him a quick kiss and thanking Bob before gathering your daughter and heading off to the truck to feed her. By the time you came back, Bob had a little plate of apple cider donuts and a mug full of hot, fresh cider waiting for you.

"Oh baby thank you so much," you said, placing your daughter back in her little basket.

"No worries my sweet," Bob said, kissing your lips.

You and Bob went about your day, selling the goods and bartering for others in return. You couldn't have imagined a better day than this and getting to spend it with the ones you loved the most.

[siberat]

“So, what shall I sink my teeth into next? *Scans the table* Ah, how about this juicy coal burger? One can never go wrong with the classics! Just look at that thick patty! *Shows to the camera, then takes a huge bite* MMmm-MMm-MMMM! Tastes delicious! The bun is so fresh, and the pickles give the burger a nice crunchy zest!

*Licks his lips* Well, let’s move on to an ask, sound good? We have another anonymous asking, ‘Have there been others who know about your scrumptious eating escapades?’ *Raises optic ridges* Scrumptious would be an understatement, wouldn’t you agree? Naturally, Rat/chet is aware of my overindulgent tendencies, and to be honest, I have received some double takes. However, I try to limit going overboard. *Licks coal burger juice from fingers* Usually, I won’t consume so much tasty food in one sitting. Oh! *Stuffs another bite of burger in his mouth* Swe/rve tends to bring me mini-cupcakes and treats of the sort, demanding me to tell him which tastes the best. And I give him my honest opinion.

*Shrugs and frowns* Yet, those tasty baked treats never make it on his menu. And you know, I swear one evening, I smelt the loveliest aromas coming from his locked bar. I knew Swe/rve was baking up something good! *Finishes the burger* But the next day, no baked goods were added to the menu. And yes, you can bet that I was first in line when his bar opened! But anyways, I have not maintained a chiseled frame regularly, but the weight gain isn’t overly noticeable all the time. I still want to be able to enjoy my swordsmanship, after all. *Wipes mouth on napkin*

I demolished that coal burger, haven’t I? *Pats belly* Oofff…. My stomach is getting nice and tight already. There’s no decision on what to try next based on this anonymous question: ‘Who is the fastest at finishing a large bottle of Doctor Chunk?’ Supposedly, Rodi/mus claims to be the best chugger of drinks. He said he could drink this whole bottle in under 20 seconds. *Picks up bottle of Soda* I beg to differ. I think I can out-chug him. What do you think? *Winks* Shall I give it a go? Okay… someone time me…*Brings bottle to lips* And go! *Starts chugging*

*Optics open wide, chugging ends* Oh my! *Belches loudly; servo covers mouth in embarrassment* Please excuse me! *Stifles another belch before resuming chugging; however, it doesn’t last long* Oh, my stars, that carbonation burns! I’m almost there! *Shows only one-third of the bottle remaining* I think I can make it! *Continues to chug the drink until finished*

All done! *Belches out a long, noisy burp* Where have my manners gone? *Stomach gurgles* My tummy…*Winces* So much pressure…

*Loud, audible clank is heard* Oh my! *Optics open wide in shock, cheeks flush as his stomach plating busts out and shoots across the room* How embarrassing! I’m busting out all over the place…literally! *Servo’s rub at exposed protomesh belly* However, I feel so much better now. Like, so much more room has become available! *Smirks at camera* So, what was my time? Did I beat Rodi/mus?

*Furrows brows* Thirty-five seconds? Are you sure? I downed that drink quicker than that! *Pouts* Oh well. I guess we’ll have to let our dear captain hold that title. For now, at least. Now, onto our next question and dish. We have two askers, annony and Alcorian, asking the same question, relating to how much I have polished off so far and whether I can finish in one stream. *Clears throat* Being a dedicated individual, I always plan to finish what I start! And how could I resist all this tantalizing food? Take this Cyber-city Onion soup, for example. *Picks up bowl covered in warm, melted cheese and shows camera* Just look at that rich, melted lithium cheese blanketing over a generously sized piece of bread, bathing in a warm broth of caramelized onions. *Stabs spoon into the cheese, scooping broth* Doesn’t this look delightful? One of my favorite types of soups! *Eats spoonful, pulling at the cheese strands to break them off* Hmmm, so good!

Moving on to the next question, and this is a good food question from another Anon: ‘What’s your favorite profile? There are all kinds, of course, like sweet and spicey or savory and salty. Do you have a favorite, or do you like them equally?’ Well, this one is rather hard. The easy answer would be to say I like them all equally. *Grins sheepishly* I suppose it depends on my mood. Sometimes, one craves a salty snack, like some ener-nuts or potassium crisps.

Sweets? *Face scrunches in joy* Who can resist them? I used to chide Rat/chet for his love of those junky, sweet snacks, goading him to eat healthier. Now I’m sure he wishes he never forced me to try one of his favorite little treats-Ka/on dogs. *Smiles, scooping more cheese and soup on spoon* They look like hot dogs, but the bun is chocolate cake, and the ‘hot dog’ is deliciously sweet cream. *Licks lips* By golly, they are so good! What have I been missing out on all my life? *Eats more soup*

And one can never go wrong with those savory foods! I love those dishes that have been slow-cooked for a long time or aged to perfection! *Gives belly a pat* I cannot resist those meals of roasted cyber-chicken, pasta with garlic and olive oil, pies like quiche…*Gives a chef’s kiss* The list goes on!

But my absolute favorite must be spicy. Foods that give a little kick are just amazing! Eating spice triggers heat receptors to activate inside your frame, tricking your sensory net to feel as if you are overheating. In response to that, your processor turns on your cooling systems. So, you don’t taste the heat; you feel the heat. *Slurps some more soup* Get what I am saying? Food that bites back…*Laughs*

There is nothing left of this soup! *Shows empty bowl* That really hit the spot! And do you know what I have been eyeing for the longest time? This loaded potato! Just look at this monster! * Picks up dish* This has been twice baked, making it such a creamy and cheesy masterpiece! * Takes a heaping forkful* Not only that, but the cyber-bacon also gives a nice, salty crunch! Hmmmm So good!

But onto our next question. Anon asks: ‘I know you had a difficult past. Did it take you a while to get comfortable eating such tasty meals, either alone or in front of others? Or were you pretty comfortable from the beginning?’ Well, this is kind of a double-edged sword, if I may say so. Being a street mech, you kind of eat whatever you can get, whenever you can. Sometimes, your meal only consisted of a handful of scraps. *Idly shrugs* Other times, you hit the motherload! And when you can upon a feast, you ate as much as you simply could. Sure, you could try stashing it away for later, but there’s the chance of the food spoiling beyond consumption or others finding it and devouring it on you.

*Sadly, looks down* I mean, I would share with a few mechs; please don’t mistake me for being selfish. But not everyone shared nor cared about taking a starving mech’s food. Kinda had to look out for yourself first. *Stabs more cheesy baked potato* But outside of being homeless…in the beginning, that mentality was still present. Loading up my plate with as food that could fit, finding a seat furthest away from anyone, and scarfing the food down as quickly as possible. *Shakes helm* Wi/ng would hate that. And how I guarded my dish as I ate. Slag, he would yell whenever I’d growl! He claimed I had no reason to behave like that. Looking back, I didn’t. But old habits die hard, yeah? *Stuffs another heaping forkful of food into mouth*

But as far as enjoying eating tasty meals- that was instant. I mean, anything is better than dumpster diving! *Smiles and shrugs* But as far as indulging my joys of being stuffed… generally keep that to the privacy of my own habsuit. *Gives a shy look* I kept this a secret from Rat/chet for a bit, if I may be honest. I feared him seeing this overeating as more of a bad habit, or a new addiction. Or… I know this is going to sound bad… * Bites lower lip* I feared he may not like a, ah…. plusher figured mech. Yeah, I am sure you could imagine his reaction on hearing that! His optics nearly singed holes through my frame as I sat hidden in a corner of my habsuit stuffing my face silly. Rat/chet may join me on occasion, but generally I tend to keep to myself.

*Chuckles* Yeah, a live video feed of this mukbang kinda breaks that secrecy, but being behind a camera is different than in real life. It’s not so much that I am embarrassed, more so that other mechs can simply be rude about things and resort to childish behaviors such as teasing or bullying. *Cheekily grins* Plus, hearing all your encouraging words really helps!

See? *Shows emptied plate* This double-baked goodness has been gobbled up! This meal is quite satisfying so far! *Looks at camera* And what about you guys? Care to share what you have been munching on? What are some of your favorite dishes? Maybe we have similar tastes in some foods, huh?

*Optics scan table* Speaking of tastes…. What should I sample next?

… ……

Still taking on more askes! So, if you have a question for Dr/ift, send it in! You can send multiples. Also, if you wanted to ask as another TF character- just state so! Let’s keep this mukbang going and see if our dear sword/smech can handle all that food infront of him!

[powerosewaterpuff]

dick grayson is a great cook fight me

you can take dick being a good no acc SPECTACULAR cook out of my cold dead hands. literally, I can envision that is the way that he reconnects with his culture as many of us immigrants do, and he loves to engorge his family with his food. whether it be steaming ashak for damian when he comes home from school. an old dish that he learned from his mother, who would tear up at the sight of it. as she murmured it was the only dish she could remember her late mother teaching her, and the only dish she really could ever master she'd say with a soft giggle, wiping away the dewy tears. he remembered her saying with that smooth voice that felt like pouring warm honey over your heart that she is so proud of her bachem, that his deceased maternal grandmother hailed all the way from central Afghanistan (Hazargai his mother had said, in a distant memory, that her mother was hazara) would be so proud that he presents her food with pure pride. He feels that pride while he watches damian light up in the most wonderful ways at the ashak, thanking dick softly in that voice he holds so tightly to his chest, the little voice of the child he truly was. all dick can only think about how proud he is of his bachem.

whether it be heating the paprika soup his father used to make on celebratory days after rubbing jason's back as he heaves and sobs, as he begs for forgiveness he believes he has to earn from dick, to please love him. accept him. and dick holds his brother, oh so big but yet so fucking small against his chest, wiping jason's tears and murmuring softly that there is nothing to forgive. that jason is his baby brother, that he loves him more than his heart can hold. he helps jason up and seats him on a cushioned stool by his little kitchen, cramped just like the trailer used to be, and for some reason, it always filled dick with comfort (the manor was too vast, too big, and daunting for a slip of a thing like him). jason would slump against the counter, watching dick with mournful eyes that made dick want to start crying, eyes that begged not to be left alone, that begged for his older brother to save him. he places a little basket of ingredients next to jason, and decrees he shall be his ingredient bearer. jason thinks this is fucking stupid but dick pays him no mind as he stretches a hand out for an onion. the slicing, dicing, and stirring begin as dick feels old suddenly, so old because hadn't he watched his father do this a thousand times, with dick sitting next to him like jason was doing now. odd how time has a way of making you feel scrubbed raw yet ancient beyond belief. and when he gently hands jason the steaming bowl of soup, amalgamated with the spices and hearty flavors his father used to gush about when he found them in the marketplace because he could make one of dick’s favourite romani dishes. jason picks up a spoon and begins to sip, and dick takes that as his sign to start sipping as well with the silence of the night covering them in a soft blanket. all dick can think of is how much he adores his pral

whether it be in the early morning when dick himself is barely awake when tim comes stumbling in with bags under his eyes, and barely cohesive. when he slumps down into a chair and curls his arms around his head, dick is already up snatching ingredients for a specific batter of blinis his father used to make, which was dick’s mother's favourite as she chattered on about how it was like her aunt's blinis back in romania. dick also slyly pulls out the espresso machine to make caffe d’orzo and tim would be none the wiser. tim begins to actually wake up a bit when a fresh plate of blini sitting in front of him with smetana smeared on top with a steaming cup of what tim hoped to be coffee but dick knew better. tim looks up at dick with that look that makes dick see double; the little tim who had stars brimming in his eyes with a quick mouth but a polite rigidness that made dick want to bundle him up and hold him tight to his chest, but also the older tim with that soft bitterness that encases him wouldn't allow that. and dick didn't deserve it anyway not for the pain he caused tim, (he had just wanted to give him the chances he never had but he fucked up-fucked up so beyond repair it hurts). but for right now, with tim giving him a sleepy smile and a mumbled thank you whilst dick gives him a soft kiss on the forehead, all dick could think about is how over the moon he is to be with his little frate.

whether it be on the cusp of dusk as the evening rolls in with cass and dick standing side by side in his kitchen with flour sprinkled over their little aprons and hair. dick was supposed to take cass home after her ballet but when she silently put her head on his shoulder, nuzzling softly into his shoulder blade and murmured that she missed him. dick immediately takes a right and starts driving to his apartment instead, feeling warm when he sees his little sister give the tiniest little smile. he went through all the warms meals his father's prozia used to coax him into eating whilst the snow breezed outside of her cucina while the music crooned. hence why dick began pulling out the anise extract, the dry yeast, and the sugar then ushered cass over to teach her how to braid the dough. he starts playing the stylings of esma redzepova because he can feel when silence becomes too much for cass, when silence deafens her ears and she craves for soft noise that clamors around her like a shawl of safety (maybe he also does it for himself. maybe it's because esma redzepova reminds him of when they used to have laundry day in the circus, where her voice would spin circles around his mind and mingle with his fathers as john grayson danced circles around mary grayson, always finding ways to make her laugh). once the timer dings and they pull out the hefty loaves of bread as the moon begins to rise and the sun says farewell, cass and dick snuggle up on the couch. all dick can think about is how much sorellina means to him. whether it be when bruce has bandages upon bandages and the bags under his eyes are dragging him down, and a little dick creeps into the room, a stale mess with clothes strewn everywhere and crumpled bedsheets. he crawls onto the bed while balancing a small plate of dried apricot slices and a cup of chao, placing it delicately on his lap while handing bruce the cup. a silent treaty of peace, a soothing balm to try to heal all that is painful. dick holds a dried apricot and pressed it to bruce's mouth, quietly imploring him to eat something. bruce would look at him, with an unreadable emotion swirling through his eyes as he took a bite and leaned over to press dick closer to his side. they eat their apricots in silence, and bruce sips the tea that dick had made him with some of alfred’s help. bruce presses a kiss to dicks messy hair, hoarsely whispering a thank you. all dick can really think about is that he loves his papo. (I made food with my mom last night and I just had to write this it was an innate urge and yes there r no capitals is on purpose I know grammar I promise)

[monsterfloofs]

Could you please write something with a travelling adventurer who stumbles in an old castle and meets a king necromancer who hasn’t met any travellers in quite some time and becomes quite enamoured with them whilst being charming because you can’t spell Necromancer without Romancer. (Sorry for the cringy rhyme I just got the idea when seeing the word and finally zeroing in on that fact.) Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely day!

Necromancer King (Unnamed) x Anonymous Reader :3c (Sfw)

—

Heya, heya! Oh my gosh, don’t apologize at all! That is absolutely fantastic! ;O; ) I love jokes and play on words like that! Please send more, this made my day ;3; )

I have been trying to debate for a bit if I should make a new spooky spook, or use an OC of mine who also fit’s this asks criteria, also— I made this funny because I thought it would be hilarious, if he was trying so hard to pretend to be just a normal king and his skelly army of doofuses keep panicking and trying to dodge around you and hide— “Quick they’re coming!! Try and act normal—!” “Oh, for the love of— We haven’t been normal for 30 years Geoffry! We are the living dead! >:(”

—

You couldn’t help but feel that something was a little off in the castle. If the strange purple flames that illuminated the dark and eerie corridors weren’t strange enough. Just about everything was skull shaped, skull platters, skull mugs, skull goblets, even the tea spoons. They were ornate and of beautiful craftsmanship, but it was like nothing like you had ever seen before.

“None of it is real of course!” The King had chuckled as you peered slightly off-puttingly at the soup bowl that had been set in front of you. It was very nearly human sized, with enough fine details you could have mistaken it for a real head. One that had been hollowed out, just for the sole purpose of serving soup.

“You do seem to like skulls,” you reply cautiously as you offer up a smile. He clears his throat, and takes a healthy swig from his goblet of wine.

“It was. . . my fathers’ idea for all the skulls,” He replies hastily, “If you would prefer, I could have someone fetch a different bowl.”

You tense in surprise then shake your head, “Oh no, sire! No need! You have been more than hospitable to me already, I would feel selfish to ask for anything more!” You glance back at the soup bowl on the table, and make your decision. Not one to waste a hot meal that was offered to you, you tuck in. The soup was delicious, just as fine as the meals that had come before. Despite the way it was presented to you.

It’s true, the time you have been allowed to stay at the castle was more than generous. You had been getting ready to leave the night before, but the king himself had persuaded you to stay for another few nights. For the past week you had stayed mostly by his side. Conversing with him and chatting. You can’t remember the last time meeting someone that had hung onto every word you spoke. Especially not royalty, and you had been immensely charmed by the way he took special care in recalling what you had to say.

“I haven’t heard word from the outside world for a very long time.” He confided in you gently one evening. While the two of you had sat in front of a warm crackling hearth. “It’s been like a breath of fresh air to me,” How could you possibly choose to leave after such words like that were uttered in your confidence?

You had taken a liking to him as soon as you met him. A short and stout gentleman with a well trimmed beard and mustache. A few streaks of silver that alighted in his dark hair. He was good natured and seemed to be of good spirits, for he always seemed to be smiling when you were present. He must be a fair ruler, you thought to yourself as you walk the long twisting corridors back to your temporary chambers.

However. . . The other occupants that resided inside the walls struck a different chord with you. The knights you would meet in the corridors seemed to be highly keen on avoiding you. Whenever you passed by, they would turn away, or leave their post. Unheard of and strange, it had surprised you immensely when you first arrived. Soldiers turning their back on a castle guest? It made you wonder if your warm welcome wasn’t as warm as the ruler had made it sound upon your arrival. Yet once you would get to conversing with his majesty, those niggling thoughts would evaporate.

The clatter of armour of two of knights echoes down the hallway as they ran headlong into each other. One had tried to quickly turn the corner, when they had seen you coming. You wince, shoulders rounding up to either side of your face. You peek out around splayed fingers,

“A-are you alright?”

“Of course!” They quickly press their hands ontop of their helmet, “Never better!”

You watch the pair hurry off and a frown creases your forehead.

—

“See what you almost did?” One soldier blusters at the other as they reach a safe place to converse. The other taking off their helmet, revealing the chalky white pallor of bone. Deep eye sockets have a faint light that flickers to life as they grind their jaw to one side of their face.

“Me? Whose idea was it to come charging around the corner! You are acting suspiciously! I bet my left humerus that they already know something is afoot. You haven’t been exactly covert. Dodging around corners and skulking around!”

“Keep your helmet on!” The other hisses, “If the mortal finds out before his majesty can talk to them, we’ll both be buried out in the gardens again!”

The two ghouls glare at each other before they sigh heavily.

Well. They sigh as heavily as one can without any internal organs to sigh with.

“This is happiest the King has been in a very long time—“

“Of course it had to be with a mortal, why couldn’t he have gotten wed to a good normal creature of darkness.”

[stiltonbasket]

may I ask for just a lil renouncement verse 🥺🥺 something with flowers and the comforting feeling of planting things maybe?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

On a damp, dreary morning in the third autumn after Lan Wangji’s wedding, A-Lan trots into his office with a flowerpot and asks for a bowl of dried lotus seeds.

“A-Lan grows flowers,” his daughter pleads, holding up the flowerpot with her beautiful eyes wide in supplication. “Papa, help Lan-bao?”

Lan Wangji’s heart melts. “Of course, qian jin,” he tells her, leaning down to kiss the top of her tousled little head. “Give Papa a moment, and I will be right there.”

He washes his paintbrushes and carries A-Lan to the storehouse near Wei Ying’s Jishi, where his beloved keeps all the ingredients he uses in his workshop. Lan Wangji built the storehouse as a gift for Wei Ying after A-Lan was born, since his jars of powders and talismans were already beginning to spill off the rows of shelves in the Jishi; and though he never quite knows which boxes are safe to touch, the storehouse has a single wall devoted to harmless ingredients like herbs and different kinds of dust. The lotus seeds are on the fourth shelf, between a bottle of swan feathers and a sheet of brown paper covered with dried moss; so Lan Wangji holds A-Lan up to the jar and waits for her to choose the biggest seed of the batch, a buttery yellow one with a hint of spring green lingering beneath the outer membrane.

“This one is Lan-bao’s,” she chirps, delighted with her prize. “Papa, give kiss.”

He brushes his lips over Shuilan’s forehead. “Like this, my xiao xin?”

“No!” the baby protests, holding the seed up to his mouth. “Kiss Hua-bao.”

Lan Wangji bends down and kisses the seed, warming from head to toe at the determination in the little girl’s voice; and then, with their work done, he bundles A-Lan out of the storehouse and takes her back to the Jingshi.

“Now A-Lan will plant her,” Shuilan announces, the moment he sets her down on the porch. “I have soil for Hua-bao?”

“Not the soil in the garden, A-Lan. We need river clay, and sand—the kind of soil A-Niang has in the bottom of the lotus pond.”

“Papa bring clay for A-Lan? Please?”

“En, I will. After we have lunch.”

A-Lan nods and runs back into the nursery, cradling the lotus seed to her chest, and Lan Wangji goes into the kitchen and begins preparing lunch for five. Wei Ying will be home from the Jishi within the hour, since he refuses to miss sharing meals with their family even in the midst of his most enthralling experiments, and A-Yuan always eats in the Jingshi when Lan Jingyi is away from the Cloud Recesses.

He lays out five place settings, and ladles out five bowls of rice—three filled to the brim, and two half-full ones for Xiaohui and A-Lan—and fills a row of serving dishes with chicken and vegetables and soup.

“Lan Zhan, that looks delicious,” Wei Ying says fervently, slipping in through the kitchen door behind him. His robes smell of saltpeter and ice water, both sulphurous and fresh, and Lan Wangji leans down to kiss the apples of his cheeks before sending him to the washroom.

“Go bathe your face and hands, my love,” he chides. “And change your clothes, too. Saltpeter lingers in the air, and you know how you hate to smell unpleasant things while you eat.”

Wei Ying takes an appreciative sniff of the noodles and chicken soup before clapping a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, don’t I just,” his husband groans. “Tian ah, that cleared out my nose with a vengeance. Have I been smelling like this all morning?”

He gags and withdraws from the kitchen, grumbling, and hurries towards the washroom. Lan Wangji hears Xiao-Yu cry out from the other side of the wall, protesting at the pungent odor; and then, less than two minutes later, his second son totters in through the folding doors with Bee-shidi clutched in his arms, looking vaguely ill from the sudden assault on his nose.

“A-Niang will get sick if the Jishi smells like that,” A-Yu says anxiously, tugging at Lan Wangji’s skirts. “Papa, can I clean it?”

“No, dearheart, though it is very kind of you to ask,” Lan Wangji replies, handing A-Yu a bundle of clean chopsticks. “I will air it out this afternoon, if Wei Ying hasn’t already done it. Now go sit down and wait for A-Lan and Sizhui.”

Wei Ying reappears a minute later with A-Lan on his hip and Sizhui at his elbow, and then, after a soapy-smelling kiss and a hungry squeal from Shuilan, their little family finally sits down to eat.

None of them keep to the sect rules about refraining from speech during meals, though Lan Wangji was sometimes tempted to do so when Xiao-Yu was a toddler, out of fear that he might choke on his food. Instead, they talk about anything and everything under the sun: a new novel Lan Wangiji read this week with Wei Ying, Sizhui’s night-hunts and his upcoming master’s examinations in music and literature, Xiao-Yu’s misadventures in the Baoshi with his friend Lan Minghui, and even little A-Lan’s determination to grow her own lotus flower from seed. 

“Hua-bao will be all big for A-Lan’s birthday,” the baby announces, stirring blissful circles into her bowl of brown sauce and mushrooms. “But A-Lan needs clay first.”

“All big, sweetheart?” Wei Ying inquires, sending Lan Wangji a soft, smitten look that brings tears to the corners of his eyes. “Do you mean that she’ll flower by your birthday?”

A-Lan nods and beats on the table with her little spoon. “Mn!”

“Lotus flowers take a little longer than that to bloom, my Lan-bao. It probably won’t be ready by your next birthday, but it should flower by the time you turn four.”

“Too late!” Lan-bao frowns. “Hua-bao grows up fast. A-Niang will see!”

It’s Lan Wangji’s turn to send Wei Ying a soft look across the table then, this one signifying that they should infuse Shuilan’s lotus with spiritual energy as often as need be, in order to ensure that it blossoms by her third birthday.

“What’s special about A-Lan’s third birthday?” Xiao-Yu pipes up. “You already have lots of lotus flowers, remember? Yu-gege gave you one yesterday.”

“My Hua-bao’s different.”

And that, apparently, is the end of it. The meal comes to an end, and Sizhui clears the dishes away; and in the meanwhile, Wei Ying kisses Lan Wangji goodbye and goes back to the Jishi, trailing the scent of sweet lotus pudding and something uniquely Wei Ying.

Sizhui stays for an hour after luncheon, eager to discuss his latest qin compositions with Lan Wangji. But at last he too takes his leave, carrying a bundle of music books from his father’s study; and then, just before the sun truly begins its downward arc across the heavens, Lan Wangji brings his two youngest children to the lotus pond in the produce field. 

Though the foliage surrounding it has long since begun to brown, the pond is as lush as ever at this time of year. Plants tended by shidao cultivators can remain in their growing season year-round without withering, and Wei Ying hates to see the lotuses go to seed and die; it reminds him of his time in the Burial Mounds, where every bush and tree hovered somewhere between life and death.

The swaying lotuses delight Wei Ying, like light tea in the mornings and clean talisman paper and brushes that sit just right in his hands, and it was a simple matter for Lan Wangji to make certain that the pond was always overflowing with flowers; but today, he passes them by and digs up a bucket of sandy clay, which he pours into A-Lan’s red flowerpot with a basin of clear green water.

“This is Hua-bao’s home,” A-Lan sighs, wriggling in contentment as Lan Wangji leads the way back to the Jingshi. “My flower sleeps with A-Lan?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lan Wangji smiles. “Come along, both of you. It’s time you had a bath.”

From then on, the lotus plant lives in a corner of the bedroom Lan Wangji shares with Wei Ying. He gives it small bursts of spiritual energy whenever he remembers to, and watches it grow and flourish like a weed—and thus, like his children, who sometimes seem to grow in both body and mind by the hour.

“They’re growing up too quickly,” he whispers to Wei Ying one night, when the two of them are away from home on a night-hunt in Wujun. “I wish there was some way to catch their childhood and make it stay, sometimes.”

“I know, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying smiles back, tangling his fingers in Lan Wangji’s loose hair. “A-Lan outgrew another pair of socks last week, and I almost cried over them.”

Lan Wangji tries not to sniffle at the mere thought of it.

“Should we send the socks to Xiongzhang, then?” he wonders aloud, pulling Wei Ying a little closer. “Jueying must still be too small for them, but she will grow.”

Inexplicably, Wei Ying laughs and shakes his magnificent head.

“Not yet, my heart’s delight,” he says gravely, with the mirth in his eyes belying his voice. “Not yet.”

__

A-Lan’s lotus disappears from the bedroom by the time they return to the Cloud Recesses, secreted away in some hidden place that she refuses to tell her parents about. She refuses to say what happened to the plant, or why she decided to move it in the first place: but she appears to have some kind of plan for the flower’s future, which she shares with no one but her two older brothers.

There seems to be some kind of grand occasion involved, though Lan Wangji has not the slightest idea what; and by the time his forty-first birthday arrives, two months later, he has nearly forgotten about the whole business.

Birthdays are usually rather laid-back affairs in his household, save for Xiao-Yu’s and A-Lan’s. Sizhui likes to celebrate his birthday in town with Jingyi and Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen, reserving the private birthday dinners for his family; and Lan Wangji’s birthday banquet is no different, taking place on the Hanshi’s screened porch with a few sumptuous noodle dishes prepared by Wei Ying, and with no one beyond his family in attendance.

“That still makes ten of us,” Wei Ying reminded him, red-cheeked and glowing in the light of the glass lamps by the door. “My darling, you’re going to be drowning in presents.”

And he was, since even Jingyi brought him a covered basket filled with gifts. Shufu commissioned a new copy of Lan Wangji’s favorite book, and Xichen gave him a white-jade ring and pair of cream-colored hunting boots; and Wei Ying’s gift was a volume of candid portraits, no less than a hundred of them, which he completed in secret over the last year and a half without Lan Wangji being any the wiser.

“I will not sleep tonight until I have looked at them all,” he murmurs, when Wei Ying swoops down to kiss him under the pretense of wiping a smudge of dark sauce away from the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, xingan.”

“No, no!” A-Lan cries from Lan Xichen’s lap, struggling down to the ground with a noodle stuck to her collar. “Papa, no get up! A-Lan has another gift!”

“Ah?” Lan Wangji blinks, watching with some confusion as A-Lan drags Sizhui off his chair and scrambles into the Hanshi. “En, very well. I promise not to move, Lan-bao.”

So he waits, sitting patiently at Wei Ying’s side with one hand clasped in his husband’s. At length, A-Lan trots back outside with A-Yuan trailing behind her, carefully carrying the old red flowerpot that held her tiny lotus sprout—but the sprout has grown into a full-blown flower, with its lush pink petals standing almost a foot over Shuilan’s fluffy head.

“Papa, happy birthday!” she cries, as Sizhui sets the pot down at Lan Wangji’s place at the table. “Hua-bao’s your present.”

“Oh, A-Lan,” Lan Wangji chokes, gathering her up into his arms. “Baobao, are you sure you want to give your flower to me? You took care of her so well, sweetheart.”

“Hua-bao is for Papa,” the little girl insists. “She’s a gift from Lan-bao, and meimei.”

“Meimei?” Lan Wangji glances over at small Lan Jueying, fast asleep in her swaddle on Shufu’s back. “You mean from your Jueying-tangmei? That is very kind of you.”

“Not Ying-meimei! Papa didn’t listen to A-Lan!”

She squirms off his knee and toddles over to stand by Wei Ying, pressing her tiny palms to the front of the girdle wrapped around his waist.

“Not Ying-meimei,” she repeats, drawing her black brows together in a thunderous frown. “Not Qing-jiejie’s meimei. A-Lan’s meimei.”

And then, in answer to Lan Wangji’s look of utter bewilderment, she says:

“A-Lan’s meimei is here.”

Wei Ying gasps, one hand flying to his mouth; and across the table, Lan Xichen lets out a high-pitched squeak, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“Ge, did you tell—”

“No! No, not a word,” Xiongzhang wheezes. “How could A-Lan have—”

Lan Wangji can’t quite tell if he’s still breathing.

“Wei Ying,” he pleads instead, throwing his heart and everything it holds into the two precious syllables of his beloved’s name. “Wei Ying, does Lan-bao mean that you—that we—”

Wei Ying looks up at him, his beautiful eyes shining with tears, and nods.

“I was going to tell you tonight, after Sizhui and the babies were in bed,” he chuckles, as the tears brim over and slide down his face. “Xichen-ge only noticed last week, but I suppose A-Lan must have been somewhere close by when he told me.”

“A-Lan wasn’t,” their daughter protests. “Meimei told Lan-bao she was coming, and then Papa helped plant my baby flower!”

In autumn? But it’s nearly the New Year now, Lan Wangji wonders, so overwhelmed that he wraps an arm around Wei Ying to keep himself upright. “Beloved, when do you expect the baby to arrive?”

“I thought late spring, or early summer,” Lan Xichen coughs, from the other side of the table. “So far, I’ve only taken his pulse and made sure the little one is healthy. A-Xian wanted to wait for you before seeing a healer practiced in midwifery.”

Lan Wangji presses a fervent kiss to Wei Ying’s brow.

“We will go tomorrow morning,” he vows, just as Sizhui finishes explaining the lotus flower’s significance to Xiao-Yu. “How do you feel, my love? You were sick so often during the first months with A-Lan, but if the child is due early this summer...”

“I haven’t been sick at all,” Wei Ying assures him. “Xichen-ge thinks I might have passed that stage completely, but I suppose we’ll find out after we visit Healer Liang.”

After that, the birthday banquet devolves into a storm of congratulations: and a storm in the nearly literal sense, because Sizhui spent nearly ten minutes sitting on Lan Jingyi to stop him from screeching in glee while Wangji and Wei Ying were talking, and now neither Jingyi and Xiao-Yu can be silenced any longer. A-Lan slurps up another bowl of noodles, seemingly satisfied with her work for the day, and falls fast asleep on Wei Ying’s shoulder; and after the plates are cleared away, Shufu comes over to embrace them both and ask after Wei Ying’s health.

“Ever since you entered this family, I have not gone a single day without thanking the heavens that you returned to life and married Wangji,” he says solemnly, while Wangji and Wei Ying are preparing to depart. “Bless you, child. Now go back home and rest.”

“Should I carry you, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks gravely, as they begin the walk downhill. “Because I very much want to, at this moment.”

Wei Ying laughs and entwines their fingers together.

“Not yet, husband. After the little ones are asleep, my moon, you can do as you will.”

And then, so softly that Lan Wangji can scarcely hear it, he says:

“Your joy brings me all the happiness in the world, my Lan Zhan. Happy birthday.”

[chillybears]

homesick

# sicktember: day 2 (@sicktember)

“A, are you up?” 

“Yeah…come in…” 

With that croaky confirmation, B used their foot to gently open up the cracked door more, their hands full with a box of tissues and bowl of warm soup. They laid their eyes on the lump of blankets all bundled up in bed, their roommate’s flushed face just barely peeking out of it. 

“I know you said you’d rather be alone, but I didn’t think it would hurt to bring you a little something to eat,” B spoke, walking over to place the box of tissues on A’s nightstand and sit down on the edge of the bed. 

At the mention of food, A managed to open their tired eyes. They blinked a bit to clear their blurred vision and stare at B in utter confusion. 

“Huh?” 

“I made you soup!” B smiled, using both of their hands to prop the bowl up as if it were a trophy. 

A blinked again, an unreadable expression on their face. Slowly but surely, they propped themselves up with their elbow and continued to stare at B in silence, making their friend a bit insecure about the decision. 

“It’s homemade actually, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, but it’s just something my mom used to do for me when I wasn’t feeling good so I figured- woah, are you about to cry?” B stopped in their tracks in absolute shock as they watched their sick friend’s eyes fill with fresh tears. 

A said nothing as they put their head down, sniffling a bit as the sudden waterworks were not helping their congested and blocked nose. B furrowed their eyebrows in deep concern and put the warm bowl on the nightstand as well. 

“A, what’s wrong?” they asked, wondering what they could have possibly done to stress their poor friend out, “Did I do something? Do you want me to leave-” 

“No, B, you’re fine…” A mumbled, hastily wiping at their eyes, “It’s not you, sorry.”

B shifted a little closer to their weeping friend, “Is everything okay?” 

A found the strength to sit up further and blink the remainder of their tears away, flashing a weak smile. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” they hesitated for a moment, “it’s embarrassing…”

“Please,” B nudged A’s leg, “I doubt it…” 

A let out a breath they probably didn’t even know they were holding in.

“You just reminded me of my grandmother, that’s all. She would usually be the one to take care of me when I got sick back before I moved and made me the most amazing soup you’d ever eat…” 

B listened intently as A smiled throughout their explanation.

“It’s my first time being this sick since I moved here and I guess you doing this made me realize I may miss her way more than I thought I did…” A finished with a choked voice, tears glistening in their eyes once more. 

B felt their heart crack a little seeing their friend so vulnerable. They had lived in this town their entire life, meeting A, who had moved from across the country, in their freshman year of college. 

By the next year, the two moved into a little apartment and became roommates. They hadn’t realized just how hard it must have been for A to be away from their family for so long, especially since they’ve learned just how family-oriented they are. 

“Oh, A..” B crooned, reaching over and pulling A into a hug. They pouted when they were pushed away. 

“You’re going to get yourself sick, don’t hug me..” A scolded. 

“You need it!” 

“Trust me, you’ve done more than enough. I mean it,” the sick roommate gestured over to the bowl still sat on the nightstand, “I really appreciate this, B. Thank you.” 

“Of course. And I know it may not taste just like your grandmother’s but-” 

“What did I just say?” A warned, making B laugh a bit as they stood. They gave A’s leg a comforting tap and gently handed them the soup they prepared. 

“Feel better, ‘kay?” 

“I will…thank you, B.”