#and at first half the things he made were inedible

[sadiecoocoo]

I headcannon that Wrecker likes to cook. He’s not good at it, but he enjoys it. Every once in a while he’ll create some masterpiece by luck alone and everyone will just stare at him for a minute while they wonder if he’s been possessed by some cooking ghost, but he’d be so happy and present it to everyone and try to force them to try it. Omega’s the only one ever excited to try it, all the others are hesitant and Tech and Crosshair have to get Hunter’s dad look to get them to eat it. Wrecker just sits at the end of the table, not being able to sit still and basically vibrating from excitement as he watches his brother’s skepticism fade to them being impressed and happy to have a nice tasting meal. Any other times he burns it though, because he gets distracted by Batcher or Omega. Then Hunter has to tell him to be more careful and ban him from the kitchen for a few cycles. Once when the batch had been visiting Echo, Rex, and the rest of the rebellion, Wrecker went up to Nemec and Gregor and asked for tips on cooking. They spent the entire visit trying to help him fully learn how to cook while everyone else talked about the newest intel on the empire. After that Wrecker starts to make good food more often, and his brothers and sister start to actually get excited whenever he cooks. While on Pabu wrecker starts trying new seasonings since some are grown on the island, and whenever they visit a planet with a decent market he buys as much as he can. Eventually he got the chance to try making some desserts, which he and Omega both loved, Crosshair did too, he just didn’t want to admit it. After that he started making more sweets, some little things like cupcakes and such, and then some really over the top things. Whenever he makes a dessert he always lets Omega do the frosting on it (and lets her add as many chocolate chips as she wants)

So yeah, I headcannon wrecker as being able to cook, at first really badly, but then he gets the hang of it :) and I’m totally not gonna make a fic about this now… totally, definitely.

[halosdiary]

West Coast Shotgun | Stoner!Choso x Reader | 呪術廻戦

a/n: sorry for the inactivity, I'll post more of my kinktober stuff later on this week, but this one in particular is for my birthday. 🎂

wc: 2.2k

contains: weed usage, kissing, stoner shenanigans.

Choso was the definition of laid-back. With his messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and a perpetual calmness that made the world seem like it was moving just a bit slower around him, he was an easy-going soul. He had a reputation around town for always being chill, always having a joint handy, and always being up for an adventure, no matter how random or ridiculous.

And that’s how you found yourself falling for him. You didn’t think much of it at first — just a friend of a friend you’d hang out with from time to time. But there was something about the way he saw the world, the way he could turn the most mundane of moments into something unforgettable, that made you want to spend more and more time with him.

One evening, the two of you were lounging at his place, the air thick with the scent of weed and incense. You’d started watching a movie, but halfway through, neither of you were paying attention. Instead, you were laughing about something stupid — maybe the way Choso had tried (and failed) to make popcorn in the microwave, resulting in a blackened, inedible mess.

He took a long drag from the joint and passed it to you, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

You exhaled, the smoke swirling lazily in the dim light.

“I dunno, something fun? Something… random.”

Choso’s eyes lit up. “Say no more.”

In typical Choso fashion, "random" turned into an impromptu late-night grocery store trip — but not for anything practical. No, the two of you spent the next half-hour wandering the aisles, giggling as you grabbed the most absurd combinations of items you could find. Marshmallows? Check. Frozen waffles? Check. A 10-pound bag of rice for no reason whatsoever? Of course.

As you walked through the aisles, Choso pointed at a box of cereal with cartoon characters on the front and gasped dramatically.

“I used to love this stuff,” he said, grabbing the box. “We’re definitely getting it.”

You laughed, knowing full well you had no intention of eating any of it, but that wasn’t the point. This was about the experience — about the shenanigans.

Back at Choso’s place, the two of you dumped your spoils on the living room floor and set about creating the most chaotic snack spread you’d ever seen. He mixed the cereal with marshmallows and pretzels, while you tried (and failed) to make waffle sandwiches with peanut butter and bananas.

It was all a mess — an absolute disaster of mismatched flavors and weird textures — but you didn’t care. You were both sitting on the floor, surrounded by the aftermath of your culinary chaos, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Choso had that blissed-out, carefree smile that made you feel like everything was right with the world.

At some point, between bites of a particularly awful combination of marshmallows and rice crackers, Choso leaned over and brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face. His hand lingered for a moment, his thumb gently grazing your cheek, and for the first time that night, the laughter died down.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” he said, his voice low and warm.

There was a sincerity in his words that caught you off guard. Choso wasn’t usually the type to get all sentimental — he preferred to show how he felt in quieter, subtler ways. But in that moment, with his red-rimmed eyes and soft smile, you could see that he meant it.

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, feeling the warmth in his touch, the ease in the way he was with you.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, grinning as you leaned into his hand.

He leaned in, and the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, soft and tasting faintly of the marshmallow mix you’d been snacking on. The kiss was slow and lazy, just like everything about him, but there was something more behind it — something deeper.

When he pulled away, you both sat there for a moment, a comfortable silence falling between you. The world outside could’ve been spinning out of control, but with Choso, it always felt like you had all the time in the world.

“So,” he said after a while, his voice teasing, “ready for round two of our gourmet experiment?”

You groaned, playfully swatting his arm. “Only if you promise not to make me eat any more of your weird creations.”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms. “Deal. But no promises about the next adventure.”

With Choso, you knew there would always be another adventure — another wild, unpredictable night of shenanigans. And you couldn’t wait.

The evening continued to spiral into delightful chaos as you and Choso sat cross-legged on his living room floor, surrounded by the remnants of your grocery store loot. Your snack creations had grown increasingly ridiculous, with neither of you caring about how they tasted anymore. It was more about the fun, the banter, and the easy flow of laughter that bounced between the two of you.

“Alright, hear me out,” Choso said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he held up a frozen waffle. “What if… I dip this in chocolate milk?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back a laugh. “Choso, that’s… actually disgusting.”

“Disgustingly genius,” he corrected, dipping the waffle into the glass with zero hesitation. He took a bite, his face scrunching up immediately. “Okay, maybe not my best idea.”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach as Choso grimaced, chewing through the soggy waffle. He was shameless, as always, and you loved that about him. He didn’t care if things went wrong or if something was ridiculous — he just lived in the moment, fully embracing whatever madness came his way.

Still giggling, you threw a marshmallow at him. It hit his chest, bouncing off and landing in his lap. “You’re unbelievable.”

Choso smiled lazily, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “But you like it.”

You paused for a moment, your heart skipping just a little. He wasn’t wrong. In fact, he was the exact kind of unbelievable that you’d grown to adore. With Choso, everything felt lighter, easier, like life didn’t have to be so serious all the time.

“Maybe I do,” you teased back, though your voice was a little quieter, a little more sincere. You could feel the atmosphere shifting, the laughter giving way to something warmer, deeper. The comfortable silence that followed was charged with a new energy, one that made your pulse quicken in a way you hadn’t quite expected.

Choso leaned back on his hands, gazing at you with that relaxed but focused look he sometimes got when the world around him seemed to fade. “You know, I’ve never met anyone like you. You just… get me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. He wasn’t usually one to talk about feelings directly, preferring to express himself in small gestures, in moments of shared silence or laughter. But now, his voice was soft, serious even, and it sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

“Well, you’re not exactly hard to understand,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, but your voice betrayed you. There was a tenderness in the air that you couldn’t deny.

Choso smiled, the corners of his lips lifting just slightly, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You watched him, the way the dim light cast shadows across his face, the way his dark hair fell into his eyes, the way he looked at you like there was no one else in the world.

He leaned in just a little, his voice soft but teasing. “You sure about that? Because I’m kind of a mystery.”

You laughed, the tension easing, but it was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. “Oh yeah? A mystery wrapped in… what, a cloud of smoke?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Exactly.”

There was a pause then, one that stretched just a little too long, and your heart began to race. You weren’t sure who moved first — maybe it was him, maybe it was you — but suddenly the space between you felt smaller, closer. You could see the way his gaze flickered down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, a question lingering there.

The world around you seemed to blur, the silly snacks, the laughter, the mess of the evening fading into the background. All that was left was Choso, sitting so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the smell of incense and weed hanging in the air.

“Choso…” you began, but your voice trailed off as he leaned in, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters.

And then, before you could think or say anything more, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft, unhurried, like everything with Choso. His lips tasted faintly of chocolate and something else, something that was just him. It wasn’t rushed or intense, but it was filled with warmth, with the easygoing affection that defined him. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he kissed you slowly, like there was no hurry, no pressure.

You melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension of the moment dissolve into something entirely different — something tender, something that had been building between you for a while now, even if neither of you had spoken it aloud.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and the two of you stayed like that for a moment, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. His eyes were still closed, and a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“Finally,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Your heart was still racing, but you smiled, brushing your fingers against the back of his neck. “So have I.”

Choso chuckled, pulling you a little closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as you leaned into him, the two of you sitting there in the middle of your chaotic snack spread, tangled together in the warmth of the moment.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the chaos of the night forgotten as the warmth of the moment lingered. Choso’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back, his steady breathing lulling you into a state of blissful calm.

“You know,” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little sleepy, “I think we make a pretty good team.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath you. “Oh yeah? You think our marshmallow-waffle disaster says something profound about us?”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his body. “Nah, not the food. I just mean… everything. We just work, you know?”

And he was right. Somehow, in all the randomness and ridiculousness that came with being around Choso, everything felt natural, easy. Even in the messes — both literal and figurative — there was a sense of comfort you’d never really had with anyone else.

You shifted so you could look up at him, your hand resting against his chest. His half-lidded eyes met yours, and there was something so genuine, so real in the way he looked at you. “Yeah, we do,” you agreed softly, letting the words settle between you.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the world outside irrelevant. Everything that mattered was right here, in this simple, quiet moment. Choso's hand came up to gently run through your hair, and you closed your eyes, savoring the tenderness in his touch.

Eventually, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before resting his chin on top of your head. “Let’s do this more often,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled against him. “What, make disastrous snacks?”

He laughed quietly. “No, idiot. Just… this. You and me. Whatever happens, wherever we end up.” There was a vulnerability in his tone that caught you off guard — a rare glimpse into the part of Choso that wasn’t always so easygoing and carefree.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you snuggled closer to him, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t even realized you’d been searching for. “Yeah,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “I’d like that.”

The rest of the night passed in a contented haze. You stayed curled up together, talking about everything and nothing at all, your hands tangled together as if you’d been holding onto each other forever.

Eventually, you both drifted off to sleep, the chaos of your snack adventure still scattered around the room, but neither of you cared. Because, in that moment, you had everything you needed.

And maybe that was the thing about Choso. Life with him wasn’t about grand gestures or perfectly planned moments. It was about the little things — the laughter, the shenanigans, the quiet moments shared between the chaos. It was messy, and unexpected, and sometimes ridiculous.

But it was real. And it was yours.

And as you fell asleep in his arms, you knew that whatever came next, you and Choso would face it together, with the same laid-back attitude and the same goofy smile that made everything feel right in the world.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @blkkizzat @buttercupblu143 @lowkeyremi @yung-notorious @arlerts-angel @honeeslust @nkogneatho @hoshigray

[steviewashere]

Deserving

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Unspecified Eating Disorder, Food Insecurity Tags: Post-Season 2, Pre-Season 3, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Different First Meeting AU, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Insecure Steve Harrington, Lonely Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Strangers to Friends, Sharing Food, Food as a Metaphor For Love, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has Rich Parents, He is Not Rich, Dialogue Heavy Originally, this was going to be 5+1 where Eddie shares his food five times and once where Steve shares his food, but I just couldn't finish the original plot.

🥪——————🥪 There’s a boy in Eddie’s lunch period that doesn’t have anything to eat. It’s weird because he knows who this kid is; Steve Harrington—cocky and rich and bitch with no bite—the kid who’s fallen from grace thanks to a few punches to the face. And the same kid who doesn’t really talk to anybody.

As it is, Steve is sitting by himself at one of the lunchroom tables. Arms crossed on the surface, head down on his forearms, hair limp at the crown of his head. Unusual and unseen. His shoulders are hitched, shaking like he’s crying unsubtly, yet quietly—unseen and unheard. It’s weird, he thinks, because Steve had just been looking out one of the windows, eyes a little hazy, glazed like he’d been gearing up to cry. Eddie had caught Steve pushing his hands into his hair, tugging like he was trying to rip it all out. But then he’d gone ahead and collapsed into this sad, huffing little heap onto the table.

Eddie maybe keeps his eye on Steve for too long, too often. To know the multitudes. The little fractures in his mask—spider webs, that’s what they were, spreading and sprawling. He supposed that, at some point, the web would be completed and be easy enough to knock down. Leaving in its wake a sad, mole-dotted, half-bruised, white-scarred face.

A face with a hungry maw, if the way Steve clutched his stomach said anything.

He makes a last minute decision today. Eddie curves his path away from the Hellfire Club’s table. Lunchbox dangling in his hand—a measly bologna and mustard sandwich, a baggie of salted pretzel sticks, and a Yoo-hoo he didn’t need to refrigerate all clinking against the metal interior. And then he plops himself down in front of Steve without a peep, just the hard clink of his wallet chain on the bench and his too big rings on the table.

All at once, slow, yet purposeful—Steve’s head springs up. He looks worse up close. Mottled purple. Swollen and shiny. There’s one of those terrible scars on the edge of his hairline, though this one’s different: pink, long, jagged, and fresh.

Steve squints at him. Covers the side of his face by the window, hand cupped around his one good eye, and swallows hard enough Eddie almost recoils. “Munson?” Steve croaks—literally, Eddie notes, like a strangled, old frog—“what’re you doing?”

“Mm, having lunch with my pal,” Eddie answers, prying open his lunchpail, food pulled out one thing at a time. He catches his thumbs in the Ziplock fasten, and from it produces that sad, drooping sandwich his uncle made last night. It’s a little soggy in his hands, too much mustard. And the bologna is sort of…lukewarm, but not inedible. Eddie digs around in one of his vest pockets, pulls out a small Swiss Army knife, and cuts the sandwich in half. Licks the blade, mustard just a little left of what’s meant to be tastefully sour. Then, he pushes a portion of the sandwich across the table to sit right in front of Steve. “Usually, I’d bring a lunch of your preference, but this is all I’ve got right now. So, hope you don’t mind some bologna.”

“I don’t wanna take your food away from you, man. I’ll be fine until I get home.”

Selfless is a trait he didn’t think Steve could really have. Well, from the assumed version he has in his head anyway. But it’s a trait he’s learning he probably won’t like. Not all the way, at least.

“Right,” Eddie murmurs, “and you clutching your stomach out of hunger seems like something to be fine about.” He picks up his half and takes a large bite, licks the bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth. With his mouth full, “It’s weird, y’know, I never see you in here with food. Not even lunch lady Donna’s mashed potatoes and gravy. If you wanna know my opinion, that’s one of the better lunches she makes, and it’s something anybody should try at least once.” He wrestles around in his lunchbox again, a glass bottle of Yoo-hoo now in his grip. The cap pops off satisfyingly and he takes a small swig, swallows the incredible glob in his mouth, and then offers the drink across the table. “Or, y’know, I thought maybe a rich kid would have their own lunch. With all of the good brand stuff. Like uh…Pringles? Yeah, Pringles and Coke? That seems like your game.”

Steve sniffs, looks down at his sandwich, and picks it up gingerly. He keeps staring at it, though. Not out of thought, like maybe he’s wondering if he should give it back. Something more…somber. “Correction,” he mutters, “I have rich parents. I’m just the kid they let live in their house.” Finally, he takes a bite with a gentle, low hum. As if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever put in his mouth. Which can’t possibly be true because, even though Eddie knows this meal is one of Wayne’s specialties, it’s honestly one of the shittier ones. If anything, this sandwich is just placeholder food—something that’ll get them by until Wayne gets paid next, if he gets paid on time.

Eddie hums, taking in the information. “They can’t even bother to send you on with at least a little something? Dude, tell me you at least get some breakfast. You’re breakin’ my heart over here.”

Again, Steve looks at his sandwich. Somber and small. He won’t look at Eddie, though. But Eddie can see him. His flushed cheeks—blotchy and tear track stained. Red rimmed eyes. Shaky fingers. He’s pale underneath the ruddiness. Lips chapped, eyes sunken, dark circles.

He looks like shit.

“Sometimes,” Steve murmurs, “I used to have a bagel in the morning, but my mom said the carbs were bad. I stopped buying them. So…I dunno. It’s not like she even”—He stops. Shakes his head. Takes another bite.

“She even…?”

Steve catches his eyes for all of a second. Places his sandwich on the baggie it came in. Wipes his cheeks, just barely missing some of the bruising. “She’s not even home most of the time anyway. It doesn’t really matter,” he states quiet and bitter. He clears his throat, the sound strained. Shrugs. Rests his face in one hand, looking out the window again. Face going pinched and pained. “You ever had a fend for yourself kind of day?”

“Eh…I’ve had fend for yourself nights. But that’s because my uncle works late, sometimes it’s just up to me to figure something out. Those are cereal nights, man.” He watches Steve again. At the way he doesn’t go back for the sandwich. Not even disgusted. Just…blank. “Was today one of those, Steve?” he asks quietly.

No verbal answer. Just one, small, shaky nod. Eddie won’t stand for that.

“What food do you like? Maybe I can help you come up with like a…a meal plan calendar or something. So that you know what you have at all times and you can, like, make sure you’re eating good.” Steve still doesn’t say anything. Lips rolled tight to his teeth. Eddie tries again, “Or at least just eating, Stevie. I know we don’t really know each other at all, but I see you in here everyday. No lunch. Not even one of those stupid boxes of raisins. You gotta eat, man. Or else, y’know, that shit catches up to you.”

Across from him, Steve sniffles again and wipes the back of his hand on his nose. “I don’t know what I like,” he says, “sandwiches are fine, I guess. It’s fine”—

“Good, great actually. Steve Harrington is getting a tour of the Munson sandwich recipes. Passed down from my uncle, the master of sandwich art. Y’like black forest ham? Maybe a bit of grilled chicken? Tomatoes?” Steve’s finally staring at him now. Wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Mouth dropped ajar with slight disbelief. “What?” Eddie says, “don’t look at me like that. We don’t have to be friends or anything, but you gotta eat. It’s equity, dude. I already got what I need in terms of food and eating, but you don’t. So, I getcha what you need. I help you out.”

Steve droops, breathes out a little sigh. Digs his thumbnail into the stale crust of the sandwich, picking at it, crumbling it onto the table. “You don’t have to do that, Eddie,” he speaks quietly, “I…uh…I don’t want to assume anything, but I don’t think it’s fair that somebody who makes less money than my whole family has to make up for my parents’ stupidity. It’s not your job to look out for somebody like me anyway, right? Just another screw up who can’t get his shit together, can’t even figure out how he’s going to pay for worthwhile groceries for the month.” He finally stops picking at the sandwich. Wipes his nose again. “Thanks for trying, though. I’m sorry that you have to care at all.”

Eddie eyes Steve for a silent beat. And then, with careful, languid movements, he lays his hand palm up on the table. Steve looks to it, but pretends to pay it no mind. Even if his face crumbles a bit more. “Steve,” Eddie speaks, keeping his voice measured and low, “I want to help. I—I know that my uncle and I don’t make a lot. And, sure, maybe figuring out a way to get you some good homecooked meals is a little out of my budget. But I don’t care. You deserve to eat, man. No matter how much money your parents make.

“If I can make your day a little easier—because, I gotta be honest, it seems like you’re just having…the toughest time a person can ever possibly have—then great. If it means me giving you a dollar for the school lunch or just coming here with an extra sandwich in my lunchbox, whatever.

“Nobody deserves to go without eating because their bullshit parents prioritize work and social lives over their own children—and no child deserves to believe they’re the problem. Let me help, okay? Even if we have to start out small, so be it.” Eddie takes a moment to pause, to breathe, to let the cafeteria background noise mingle around them. He crinkles the edge of the Ziplock baggie, pushes it further into Steve’s space, and does the same with the bag of pretzel sticks. “I want to take care of you. Even if we’re just strangers in the hallway, I want to make sure that you’re doing okay.”

He does his best to lean across the way, to block off the rest of the cafeteria from their table. As Steve lays his shaky hands flat on the surface and his face turns bright red, tears steadily streaming down his face. Eddie digs the bandana out of his back pocket and slides it across the table, too, offering it up in silence.

Steve takes it with a shaky hand and pats the tired fabric on his tacky skin. He blows a sharp, wheezing, snotty breath from his nose. “If you’re sure, then I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a lot. But I…I wanna make sure I can pay you back, okay? Don’t wanna—I don’t wanna like abuse your generosity or something.”

“You wouldn’t be,” he quickly amends. “I’m offering, man, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but I…I don’t think you understand,” Steve adamantly presses, “I know it’s gonna make me sound all whiny and like uptight or whatever, but I don’t earn an allowance from my parents anymore. Not since…well, I’m sure you know how stupid I am.”

“Hey,” Eddie gently scolds. “You’re not stupid, Steve. You know what you’re talking about, I’ve heard you.”

Steve snorts like Eddie said something funny. “Try telling that to all my college rejection letters and my dad’s crumbling expectations of his only son. I’m sure they could find a million ways to explain just how…how worthless I am. That I’m a burden or…or a stain.”—those last sentences sound like echoes, if Eddie cares to explore it enough. Like they come from a different, more expectant mouth. Steve continues, “How am I even supposed to get a mediocre job? Just feels like I’m too nothing for anything out there. I don’t even know how I’m gonna pay you back, Eddie. Shit, I just shouldn’t accept. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get back up from all this garbage—I—I’m such a fucking loser now. I don’t even have anything going on anymore.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, not sure which part of any of that to unpack. Instead, he goes with, “You’ve got sports, Stevie. Surely you can figure something out with that. I’ve seen you perform, man, you’re fucking phenomenal.”

“My brain’s too fucked up now to play,” Steve quietly admits, “too many concussions. Coaches say I’m too befuddled to make heads or tails of where my targets are. Sports are over for me. I literally have nothing.” He blows out another wet, shaky breath. “So, I’m just saying, I’m sorry if I can’t make this up to you.”

“Steve,” Eddie says firmly, “look at me.”

At the demand, he’s met with Steve’s sad, hazel eyes. Clogged with discontent and miserableness he never thought he’d see out of a guy like Steve. Every part of him wants to reach out, cradle Steve’s face in his hands, wipe away his tears, caress his injuries with a tenderness he’s sure Steve has long forgotten. A part of him wants to hold Steve forever, no sign of letting go. 

Heart in his stomach, shattered yet beating, he speaks as softly as he possibly can manage. “You owe me nothing, Steve. You don’t owe me your best. You don’t owe me your money. You don’t owe me payback or…or a job on your back. There’s nothing that I want from you, I promise. But if you want to give me something…how about just being my friend, huh? Just sit down with me at lunch, share the food I brought, give me as much of a conversation as you want, and just…just let yourself be cared about.

“That’s what I’ll ask of you. If you feel the need to give me something, give me friendship. That’s it. Nothing more than that. Anything else that arises in the future, we worry about then. Bridges waiting to be crossed later, y’know? That’s doable, right? Just being a friend.”

Steve nods in slow understanding. “You wanna be friends with me?” He asks in a whisper. “You know that I’m not the best company, right? I’m…I’m stubborn and I’m bitchy and I—I know sometimes that I don’t use my brain half the time and I just say shit before I really think about it. And I…I’ve been a jerk and I’m—I’m sort of bullshit, Eddie. Is that really something you want in your life?”

Eddie merely shrugs. “You think I don’t have my own flaws? Everybody’s got shit. All of us have baggage. You’re just a teenager, as am I, and we’re still figuring shit out. At least you’re aware, right? Means you can try and…and be more thoughtful about what you do, how you act. And, besides, stop giving me reasons to leave you alone. I want to be your friend. I’ll say it from here to fucking Mars, man.” He raps his fingers against the table, darts his eyes to that sandwich. There’s not really a good way to keep drilling the want of it all into Steve’s head. So, finally, he relents. Gives Steve the step away that he wants. “Go ahead and eat, Steve. I’ll bring you a PB&J tomorrow, yeah? You like grape or strawberry jelly?”

A lapse of silence. Wherein they stare at each other. Two things work their way onto Steve’s face. Adamant protests that, in turn, are squashed and cornered into becoming stubborn acceptance. Jeez, Eddie can’t help but think, what’s it gonna take to get this guy to realize that people can care about him?

“Mm…strawberry, please,” Steve finally decides.

He simply nods. Looks out the window to the courtyard. Cafeteria white noise and Steve’s soft chewing surrounding him. The light hits him just as a cloud begins to move, yellow sunlight, warm and new. It marks the beginning of something unexpected, good, Eddie believes. “I think you’re a good guy, by the way,” he murmurs, “you probably don’t believe me now, but you will one day. Swear on it.”

🥪——————🥪

[trashremover43]

@bucktommyfluffebruary

non sexual intimacy/ falling asleep/ waking up together for the first time

Unspoken, Unbreakable

The night air was cool, slipping through the cracked window of buck’s truck as they drove away from the hospital. Buck was slouched in the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded but refusing to let exhaustion win just yet. His body ached from the day’s events—searching for Chimney, the panic, the adrenaline crash, and then the sheer relief of seeing him safe and getting married in that tiny hospital room.

But none of it compared to the relief of seeing Tommy step through those hospital doors.

Even now, Buck couldn’t stop himself from glancing at him, the image seared into his brain—Tommy still in his turnout gear, his face streaked with soot, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. And yet, he had still come. He had kept his promise.

"You're staring," Tommy said without taking his eyes off the road. His voice was hoarse, tired, but laced with that dry amusement Buck had come to love.

"I'm appreciating."

Tommy huffed a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "That what we're calling it?"

"Uh-huh. It’s what we’re calling the fact that I missed you today," Buck said, shifting slightly to face him better. "We barely talked. Do you know how weird that was?"

Tommy exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Yeah. I noticed."

There it was—that quiet confession, the way Tommy always let his guard down just enough when it was Buck. Buck smiled, reaching over to squeeze Tommy’s forearm.

"You should stay over tonight."

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward him, his lips pressing together in thought. "Evan—"

Buck shivered. That name. The way Tommy said it, soft but firm, never laced with disappointment or indifference like his parents’ voices had been.

"You’re exhausted," Tommy continued, as if he weren’t just as bad off. "You should sleep."

"Yeah, and I’d sleep better if you were there," Buck shot back without thinking. Tommy’s fingers flexed on the wheel, and Buck felt the shift in the air between them. "C’mon, you missed me too. I know you did."

Tommy sighed, shaking his head again, but there was a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. I did."

Buck beamed. "So, you’ll stay?"

Tommy glanced at him again, taking in Buck’s hopeful expression, and then let out a quiet chuckle. "Fine. But I’m picking the pizza toppings."

"Absolutely not."

"Then I’m going home."

Buck gasped dramatically. "You wouldn’t!"

Tommy smirked. "You wanna test that theory?"

"Ugh. Fine. You can pick half the toppings. But if you try putting pineapple on there, I’m breaking up with you."

Tommy barked out a real laugh at that, and Buck felt it settle deep in his chest, warm and steady.

Yeah. This was safety.

__

The pizza had arrived at the same time they did, and after a quick, exhausted argument about whether or not Tommy’s ridiculous topping choices made it inedible (they didn’t, but Buck refused to admit it), they decided that food could wait until they weren’t covered in sweat, soot, and hospital air.

Buck’s loft had only one bathroom, which usually wasn’t an issue—except now, neither of them had the patience to wait for the other to finish.

"Shower together?" Buck suggested before he could overthink it.

Tommy arched an eyebrow.

"For efficiency!" Buck rushed to add, his face heating.

Tommy’s lips twitched, but he nodded. "Alright."

And suddenly, Buck was nervous.

They had kissed, had held each other, had touched in ways that left his skin buzzing. But this—this was different. This was uncharted territory, seeing each other bare in a way that wasn’t just about skin.

When they stepped under the warm spray, Buck could barely breathe. Tommy was breathtaking, his body honed from years of discipline, muscles flexing as he ran a hand through his wet hair. But it wasn’t just that—it was the intimacy of it, the quiet way Tommy reached for the soap and, without hesitation, started washing Buck’s shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Buck swallowed hard.

"You don’t have to—"

"Let me," Tommy murmured, voice quiet, almost reverent.

Buck exhaled shakily, nodding. He let Tommy move slowly, trailing over his arms, his back, tracing over old scars like he was memorizing them. Buck did the same in return, washing away the day’s exhaustion, his fingers lingering on the dips and ridges of Tommy’s body, over the curve of his jaw, the line of his spine.

When their eyes met, the air shifted again.

Neither of them moved for a moment, water streaming over their skin, steam curling around them. Then, Buck reached up, cradling Tommy’s face, and pressed their lips together.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, deep, a kiss that spoke of something more than need. Something permanent.

When they pulled apart, Tommy exhaled against Buck’s lips, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah," he whispered, almost to himself. "I missed you today."

Buck’s heart clenched in the best way.

---

They didn’t bother with shirts after the shower—partly because Tommy wouldn’t fit into any of Buck’s, and definitely not because Buck wanted an excuse to ogle him. Not at all.

They ate their pizza like an old married couple, bickering about toppings and recounting their separate days, filling in the gaps they hadn’t been able to share in real time.

And then, finally, they crawled into bed.

Buck exhaled as he pressed close to Tommy, resting his head against his chest. Tommy’s arms came around him easily, pulling him in, warm and solid and grounding.

For the first time in a long time, Buck felt safe.

He trailed his fingers absently up and down Tommy’s stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath.

"I could get used to this," he murmured.

Tommy pressed a kiss to his temple. "Yeah."

Sleep pulled at Buck almost instantly, but before he drifted off, he felt Tommy squeeze him just a little tighter.

---

Tommy woke first.

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting golden light over Buck’s sleeping face, his features relaxed, his lips slightly parted.

Tommy just looked at him for a long time.

There was poetry in Buck’s existence, in the way he lived so fully, in the way he loved without hesitation.

Tommy had never believed in fate, but if anything in this world was meant to be, it was this.

Buck stirred, his lashes fluttering before his blue eyes met Tommy’s. He smiled sleepily.

"Morning, beautiful," Tommy murmured.

Buck’s smile widened, stretching into something radiant. "Morning, handsome."

And just like that, the world felt right.

[little-fairy-forest]

Stitches of love

-> bakugo x fem! Reader

-> domestic, fluff, romance, she / her

-> reader finds herself going crazy over what to get her mitsuki for motherday, little does she know she had a helping hand all along.

"Katsuki please just give me some ideas what to get her" y/n pleaded as she rests her head in her hands. The list infront of her started back as she scratches out all her ideas so far on what to get her mother in law for her birthday. Jewellery? No she had so much, a holiday? Seems like a large present for your first year as her official daughter in law, home made jam?–

"She'd love anythin' if you gave it to 'er" Katsuki grumbles as he sips his coffee staring at y/n. They both knew he was right, y/n could give mitsuki a lump of dirt and She'd be so greatful you'd swear it was a lump of gold. But if katsuki gave it to her? He'd never hear the end of how thoughtless it was...

"What are you getting her? Surely you've ran out of ideas aswell?" Y/n rubs her face in defeat as she realises she only has 3 days to find a present. The clock is ticking, especially since you have to buy it, wrap it, and pray its good enough.

"Got her and the old man tickets to that candle lit concert in Tokyo, gotta meal for them aswell before the show" katsuki says as it's the most obvious thing ever... because everyone can afford to get expensive tickets to a private showing of the Tokyo orchestra at candlelight. Y/n huffs as she moves herself away from the table, frustrated as her plans were coming to a dead-end. Katsuki shrugs as suggests they can share the present as that wouldn't be a problem, but for y/n , she wanted her own present for her own mother in law.

"Back to the drawing board"

2 days to go

The dim lights of the lamp cascade over y/n as she tries to pull out another knott that's found its way into the ball of yarn.

"Stupid thing, why are the strings so thin–"

"Why are you still awake?" Katsuki emerges from the kitchen, peeping his head into the living room to find his wife tangled in balls of yarn, frustrated at the pattern in front of her. Who know making a blanket was so difficult?

"I can't figure the pattern out, why is knitting so hard katsu! Why do people do this to relax"

"Cuz old hags have all the time in the world to do that stuff, now get your ass to bed"

The small half-arsed square that was meant to be a blanket falls flat into y/ns lap as she realises this was another failed attempt at a present for mitsuki. The blanket would've had to of been perfect, can't give a seamstress a rag and pass it off as a blanket made out of love. What symbol would that give?

"Stupid yarn"

1 day to go

The perfect way to a person's heart is through their stomach, is that how the saying goes? Doesn't matter! Either way you found yourself 3 cakes deep into perfecting this stupid old recipe. katuki claims " the old hags loves "... but why is it so hard to master the recipe?

Many hours into baking whatever is in the oven, because there's no way you can even call the lumpy mess a 'cake'. Katsuki takes over as he cannot let anything to be made in his kitchen be considered inedible. You watched as katsuki whipped around the kitchen, making dinner and cleaning up the mess you made. What are you going to do now? The deadline is near, and you've nothing to bring to the dinner tomorrow for mitsuki?

Great way to impress your mother in law

"Listen, she won't care if you've nothin in your hands sweets, trust" Katsuki says to distract you from your storming thoughts.

"I just don't know what to do babe, I've tried so many ideas. I don't have to give up but what choice do I have–"

"Quit your ramblin and go wash up before dinner," katsuki cuts your rambles with instructions. He knows it's best to distract you if you're having working thoughts.

You make your way to the bathroom to wash up before dinner. Your head is still flooded with last minute ideas of presents to give mistuki.

"Where's all the soap gone? Why doesn't katsuki refill the container when it's empty? Typical" you say, reaching into the press to grab and refill the soap dispenser. You make a quick note of things you need to get in the shops before you go to dinner tomorrow as you're almost out of some essentials.

As you rummage through the bathroom cabinet, your fingers brush against a small, inconspicuous box tucked behind some toiletries. Curiosity piqued, you retrieved it, your heart quickening as you read the label. With a mixture of trepidation and hope, you take a gamble with this last chance of a home made present.

Birthday dinner

Mistuki has been filling yous in on her latest fashion looks she has been in the process of designing since last spring. Masaru has just set down the tea post dinner as you've all settled into the sitting room to unwind after that very tasty dinner katsuki scrubbed up. Who knew your man was so kind?

"Here's your present ma..." katsuki sheeply hands over his gift knowing his mother will make a deal out of the concert he has gotten her tickets for. You watch as mistuki stumbles over with glee as she hugs? Katsuki and thanks him. You haven't seem them hug since you had gotten married!

Masaru thanks katsuki for getting him a ticket also, placing the present aside waiting for the two blonds to settle down.

" it's something small, hope we can all share this special present" you hint towards the box you hand over to mitsuki. Katsuki looks at you knowingly you done fucked up the blanket and the cake, so what did you get her?

Mistuki opens the box to find a tiny baby blanket you had hand knitted from the rags you started with, paired with a tiny test signaling your little life growing within.

Mistuki stumbles over the test, clarifying with you that what she is reading really is coming true!

"YOUR PREGNANT?!"  She gleams as she jumps from her seat shuffling over to hug you. Katsuki looks at you with hope in his eyes, why hadn't you told him?!

"Yes , I hope this trumps katsuki present mistuki" you hug Mistuki back as masaru looks into the box reading the little note beside the blanket

"Cant wait to snuggle you in this blanket made out of love, sweat and tears,

Love, baby bakugo due 2X25"

Yep. You've finally outdone your husband in gift giving.

Now how will you out do Masarus birthday..

What did I just write...

Ew

[ataraxiaspainting]

Heaven Can Wait.

Yan (College AU) Juno x GN Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, descriptions of violence, implications of dub-con sex (not with the reader), Chrollo is the worst, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Can be considered to be an honorary part of Hier Encore. (Or as a standalone for a soft yandere hot woman)

*~*~*~*

You could have chosen a better place to eat. Everything was less than half the usual price compared to the more expensive places, yes. But the customer service was ghastly though, the food was near inedible, and everything smelled of cigarettes. Cracked white bowls and filthy cups littered every table, including the one you two are sitting at.

Well, Juno thought, at least I can smoke here.

That would ruin the mood though, perhaps. She wants you to only have the best opinion of her after all. She wants it so bad that she has dressed up to the nines for a simple late-night fast-food run. Like a single cloud hovering in a bright blue sky, she stands out like a sore thumb.

It’s half past midnight now, much later than she usually stays up on her days off. Not that she had many off days, to begin with. It’s a prison of her design honestly; always wanting to know more and do more sometimes gets her nowhere.

But most of the time it gets her somewhere.

It was easy enough to befriend you, having moments not too intimate but not too distant either.

Yes. Yes… you remind her of him, in some ways.

You tell her sweet words and your touch is as soft as the pillows she sleeps on. Those were not the only traits Sebaste had Juno sees in you, though.

You’re not the most aloof person she knows, that easily goes to Camus, but you still don’t know how to control your facial expressions much. You like the beach, but not necessarily like the ocean’s water. 

“How can you just eat all of that?”

“Pardon?”

You point. Juno looks down at the many empty plates on her side of the table, all piled high on one another and all having a thin layer of red sauce inside them. There must have been at least five, she thinks. She was too zoned out to feel the spice of the food most likely. 

Your bowl, on the other hand, was more than half full. Your side of the table was also covered in little splotches of hot sauce, while hers remained mostly clean. You were avoiding the vegetables maybe, or maybe you didn’t have as high of a spice tolerance as she did. Juno is undecided on which one would be more likely.

…Has… she really eaten this many bowls while her imagination roamed free?

She has dealt with far worse pain. Though around forests in the middle of the night only to be threatened with a taser was on the much lower end of the spectrum of unfortunate situations she has been in, the spiciness was somehow even lower. The device was set to the lowest setting, but her skin still felt like it was about to jump out of her body and run away. Being held with an ax right below her neck while another hand held her up by her hair was another one only slightly above the last two. She only had a slight cut just above her collarbone when the grip loosened and she was able to leave.

But she cannot tell you all of that; she wouldn’t want you in more danger than she has already made you be in.

“I’ve simply dealt with far worse… ‘dishes’, [First].”

You look confused at her answer but decide not to pry – another trait she loves about you, your ability to not invade others’ privacy – and decide to instead delve into the now cold cup of admittedly diluted green tea you ordered mere minutes ago.

*~*~*~*

When Juno locks the door behind her, she notices the tall lamp by her desk is on. It’s no mere coincidence, she knows it, but somewhere deep down she hopes that tonight it will be. Hell has to take a break sometimes, right? 

Juno has to remind herself that though the demons may have today to do whatever they please, Lucifer himself does no such thing. He enjoys making life for others unbearable – he lives for it.

She can’t make out Chrollo’s face because of the book he covers over it.

“The Collector, huh?” Juno sets her purse on the coat rack along with her cardigan. Her high heels come off soon after, though they do make a blunt thump when she puts them by her dorm’s entrance. Chrollo just turns a page, almost as if he is ignoring you entirely, almost as if this is his home and not yours. “I recommended that one to you, did I not? I thought that perhaps you could metamorphose into a better person if you see the damage you could potentially do to your crush.”

Her teeth push against each other as she says the last word.

“Is that how my lovely girlfriend greets me after cheating on me in the middle of the night?” He looks down at his watch – one of the many he wears on the regular, though she can swear that this one was the most expensive from the little diamonds around the outer rim of the clock. “At such a cheap place too.”

“A crush is all I am.”

“Are you now?”

Chrollo doesn’t even look at you as he stands up, the book still covering his face as he steps towards you. His posture is upright like it normally is, but his suit is without a tie and the button-up is a third way undone. He must have been in quite a rush to break in here – she hopes he did.

“Then what are they to you, huh? A crush as well?”

She shakes her head, and somehow he sees it because he nods in response.

“Then what are they?”

“Something you are not.”

“Are they really, Juno?”

Slowly but surely the book falls to Chrollo’s side – a blood-red curtain that does nearly nothing to hide the scene about to be revealed to the audience. The actors are not there and neither are the special effects done by the stagehands, but the props stay where they were placed.

It’s horrifying.

She struggles to come up with a coherent answer to the question despite her expecting it. It is like Chrollo used his damn book without even opening it – her painted lips feel dry and her freshly washed hair feels like it is about to fall off from stress. It is like a diabolical curse has been put over her like she will become a haggard old woman with a humpback in mere seconds. If that did happen, Chrollo would have her beg for months on end until he is satisfied.

She doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want that any more than she wants you to get hurt because of her.

She doesn’t want you to see her hideous real face, nevertheless Chrollo’s.

You’ll stay with her, won’t you? You’ll stay until her flesh rots and your flesh rots and Chrollo’s flesh rots. If you allow her, she won’t let go of you even when she is long dead. Her pretty nails will dig into your skin and refuse to leave. You’ll stay – because you are all she has left in this cold, uncaring world. 

“Don’t hurt them.” Her fingertips hold onto her skirt like they are flies and it is a spider’s web.

He points – a clear order, a clear demand.

“Get on the bed then, dearest.”

[half-dead-writer]

Inspired by those two fics, go read them first! -> Oh oh sexy vampire (NSFW) -> My roommate is a vampire! Kudos if you got the title reference

Indoor Boyfriend

Matthew wanted to repay you for all the dinners you gave him with an attempt of his own.

character: Vampire AU Matthew Patel (Scott Pilgrim Takes Off) words: 1,1k reader: gender neutral warnings: none

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦���� 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Few weeks went by ever since you (kind of unwillingly) adopted a stay-at-home vampire. Even if the deal didn't really favor you, you got used to this way of living. It wasn't that bad, though. Now, instead of one creature that depended on and loved you, you had two! And he could hold a conversation with you, unlike your pet.

You felt relief after finally arriving at your doorstep. Today has been busy as hell, and you couldn't wait to just melt on your couch and do nothing for the rest of the day. You could even say, you were looking forward to lazily cuddle with Matthew. Most days his attachment to you felt overbearing, especially when you wanted to be left alone. It took you some time to get used to living with someone, but on the rare occasions you craved affection, it came in pretty handy.

Coming inside, you expected to find your roommate (boyfriend? you didn't really have a discussion about what you two were yet) sleeping upside down on your bed, per usual. He would wake up just as you walked through the doors to your bedroom, getting all giddy from seeing you again. Depending on your mood, it was one of the highlights of your day - you appreciated someone caring enough to be happy about your arrival, aside from your pet. With that thought, you walked thru the hall, not expecting any changes in your routine.

It didn't take long for you to smell the nice aroma lingering around the house, lightly tickling your nostrils. It was- uncanny, to say the least. You quickly investigated the source of the smell, leading straight to your kitchen. There, you saw your counter full of dirty bowls, cooking supplies, lots of spices laying around, and your vampire standing in the middle of it all. Astonishment overtook your face. The sound of your footsteps alerted him, turning on his heel he faced your way.

"You're back!" He beamed, holding the wooden spoon in his grip. He quickly put it back it into the pot, intending to run up to you and greet you properly with a joyous embrace.

"You're gonna clean that up, right?" You were quick to ask the most important question, making him stop in his tracks.

"I-" He got taken aback, clearly expecting a different reaction from you, "I made you dinner, and that's the first thing you say to me after coming home? Not even a hello?" The bangs covered half of his pout as he crossed his arms in dismay. You realized you came off way too harsh, too occupied with the mess to acknowledge his efforts.

"Right- sorry," you resumed to your regular tone instead. His expression softened, returning to his usual self. You approached the man with curiosity, smelling the unfamiliar scent of spicy food in your house. "What's this?"

"Well- as I already said, I tried to make something for you," he suddenly turned a bit coy after seeing your cocked eyebrow, "I don't really know if it came out right, human food doesn't really taste good to me, but I carefully followed the recipe I found on the internet, so..." His explanation made you smile, you felt nice knowing he prepared it specifically for you, even if he knew jackshit about your diet. You looked inside the pot as he continued, "It's called uh, tikka masala? I just thought it looked good." He judged your stare, hoping it would be something up to your liking.

You fished out the wooden spoon, grabbing a piece of sauce covered chicken with it. It didn't look inedible, on the contrary, it smelled really good. You were quite surprised he managed to not burn it, assuming it was his first time cooking anything. You guessed he had a lot of time to spare and made sure he did it correctly. He watched intently over your shoulder as the chicken disappeared from the spoon and into your mouth.

First thing you felt was... Hot. Hot, spicy, burning nightmare. You felt the tears gather in the corner of your eyes, quickly dropping the spoon back where it was, running up to your fridge to get some milk. He just stood there, wide eyed at your intense reaction. "Man, it's spicy as fuck," you wiped the droplets of milk stuck to the corner of your lips, "did you throw the whole packet of chilli into it?"

He grinned bashfully, rubbing his arm, "I... May have overdone it a little. I tried it myself, and couldn't taste it at all, so I poured more until I finally felt it sting. Which- thinking about it now, might have been because vampires aren't meant to feel much flavor." You didn't comment, choosing to point out his stupidity with a simple, disappointed sigh. "B-But I made everything else correctly, right?" Slight hope reflected in his eyes, even if the odds were against him. After you calmed down from the sudden assault of your tastebuds, you took a moment to actually process what you ate. Aside from the overwhelming spiciness, the dish was actually quite tasty. He waited with bated breath for your review.

"Mm... Yeah, skipping the fuckton of chilli, it was pretty good." A big, proud smile formed on his face.

"So- Are you gonna eat it?" He asked, leaving you in an awkward position. You didn't really wanna break his heart (or waste any food) by refusing his gift, just because it destroyed your tongue. You didn't expect to come back home just to feel guilty about your dinner. You sighed, giving up.

"Yeah, I guess I will. Can't wait for that tummy ache," you complained, but still made sure to reward his behavior - he had good intentions. A soft peck on his cheek made him flash you his sharp, pointy teeth in delight.

Even though the dinner physically hurt you, after some time you just ignored the the numbness in your mouth. Overall, it was a 6/10 experience. Matthew watched you as if your reaction would differ with each bite, which you thought was adorably stupid. Done with this painful experience, you finally got to do what you planned from the beginning - that is, absolutely nothing. You lazily laid yourself on the couch, turning on the tv. Matthew was quick to get all over you, placing himself on your chest like a disrespectful cat. You didn't mind it this time, granting him your affection by playing with his hair. He absolutely melted under your touch.

Maybe getting yourself a vampire wasn't such a bad idea after all?

[nyxthepixystick]

The Worst Person to Get Gifts for

Jude Jazza x Lillianne (oc)

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Word Count: 992

A/N: I did it! Posted a fic for a holiday on time. Happy Holidays to everyone! I hope you enjoy this fluff centric fic with Jude. Sorry for the bad title, couldn't think of anything else. Also thanks to @wistfulwanderingone for beta reading it.

Grey clouds gloomed over the busy streets of London. Only a few days before Christmas, and Lillianne closed up her shop early to look for the perfect present for her partner. He was the only one who she struggled to get a present for, even though they have known each other for so long. Placing her shop key into her pocket, Lillianne crossed the street to start her hunt. She better find the perfect gift. All of her lovely Crown members had a present wrapped in her room, except Jude. Jude was nearly impossible to get anything for. For the first year, she tried to get him a new pocket watch, and he did not care. She even just slid money at him once, and he didn't care. He was impossible. She felt like she could never make him happy when it came to gifts. 

Lillianne entered a small jewelry store, hoping she could find him something. Why was her favorite person in the world also the hardest person to give gifts to? She did not want to give him another birthday disaster. She did attempt to bake that cake, but it ended up being burnt and inedible. For the past decade, it had been impossible to give him two good gifts. At this point, she’d just accept debt letters from him to repay somehow. 

She smiled at the shop attendant that greeted her as she peered within the glass. The cufflinks were gorgeous, but nothing would suit Jude. Nothing in this store seemed to fit him. She started to look at the chains and decided to get something simple. It was just a small gold chain, but she was sure he might like it. 

Lillianne paid the attendant and took the small box with the chain. She left the store and started to walk the cold streets again. She shivered as she started to walk towards Crown Castle and wrapped her crimson cloak around herself tighter. 

Even though she was in a hurry to get home as fast as possible due to the cold, she couldn't help but stop at the bridge and glance at the river below. It was frozen and had a slight sheen glistened over the ice. As she stared at her reflection in the frozen river, she began twiddling with the box that she held. She just hoped that Jude would even like this gift. 

The smell of cigarettes hit her nose before she even realized that a hand snatched the box in her hand. “So whatcha got, lil wolf?” His voice made her turn around and try to reach for the box that he decided to hold above her head. 

“Give that back, Jude!” she complained as she tried to reach for it. “That box is none of your concern.” 

“Oh really? Then ya don't mind me openin’ it,” he started to open the box as Lillianne tried to lunge. 

Lillianne lunged to get the box, “I do mind!” 

Jude stepped back as Lillianne only managed to pull the second half of the box away from him as the chain went crashing to the ground.

Jude leaned down and picked up the chain before Lillianne even had a chance to get it, “So what's this for?” 

Lillianne blushed as she realized he had seen his own gift. “It's just a gold chain. You know for things…” 

“Things? What idiot needs a gold chain for things?” 

“Christmas gifts…” she mumbled definitely embarrassed at this point. Why did he have to be so judgy? 

“And who needs this?” 

Her face was as dark as her cloak as she looked up. “It's your stupid gift! You're impossible to shop for! I ruined your birthday with such an inedible cake and for these past years, you've been impossible to shop for!” 

Jude chuckled a bit as he looked at the chain, “Lil’ Wolf, ya really think I care for Christmas gifts or gifts in general?” 

Lillianne scrunched her eyebrows together, “Well, yeah. Doesn't everyone need gifts? I mean it's Christmas the season of giving. You're also you. You get mad at me when I drool on the sheets and make me pay it back!” 

Jude sighed and flicked Lillianne's forehead, “Princess, for ten years, ya been givin’ me a headache. I don't need no stupid gift.” 

“But-” Lillianne tried to start as she was rubbing her head from the impact of him 

“No buts. I don't give a shit about them. Most times, they're meaningless items.” Jude wrapped his hand around his partner's waist, “People give things and don't mean it. An empty promise.” 

Lillianne looked up at him and nodded. “I do it to thank you for saving me all those years back and keeping me company.” 

“Meh, he just happen’d to break a promise. I did nothin' more than that.” Jude grimaced at the thought of it all before using his other hand to push back some of Lillianne’s hair, “I just got a girlfriend who ended up being extremely clingy and overthinks. I don't care for gifts. Just havin’ ya is enough.”

“I promised to never leave your side, and I didn't,” Lillianne wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned up to give him a kiss. As she gave him the kiss, it was like a romance book opened. Snow started to fall from the air. 

Jude pulled back from the kiss, “C'mon. Gotta get ya inside ‘Fore ya complain bout the cold.” He started to walk back to the Castle as he left her standing there. “O, ‘fore i forget,” he stopped as she caught up to him confused. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made 

Lillianne blush. He laughed as he started to walk as she stood there dumbfounded at his words. Before long, she was yelling at him to get back and talk to him again about what he said. She was going to have a long few nights. 

[underdark-dreams]

If this is considered a request, feel free to ignore it, but do you have any Headcannon’s on either Lia or Cal??

One of mine is Cal is definitely strong (He has a strength of 16! Holy shit) but has a soft middle. I dunno why I just think that would make him a great cuddle partner.

Another is Lia actually being sappy if she gets drunk enough and would definitely tear up as she tells Cal and Rolan that she loves them dearly. Then she would pretend that didn’t happen lmao

Lia and Cal my beloveds!! I love both of these headcanons, anon!

Cal having 16str at level 3 is honestly uhhhh something I am not over. 😳 Him being a little soft in the middle is so perfect. There's no way his cuddles could be bad either way, I am with you on that

And Lia being soft when she gets drunk! PERFECT. She is so strong and tough but she loves Cal and Rolan to death. 🥺

Personally, I've always thought Cal would be a good cook. Like that was his 'chore' when they were growing up, but he loved it. He strikes me as one of those enthusiastic experimenters in the kitchen when he first started, like half of what he made was inedible and half was the best thing you've ever had. Now that he's honed his skills, he's just a solidly A+ chef

I also think Lia would love animals!! If she had the space for it, I could see her fostering lots of animals or taking in injured ones until they're ready to go back in the wild. Rolan would put his foot down about what was allowed in the Tower, but I could totally see Lia raising a dire hawk from a little hatchling, caring for it and training it, and eventually having a loyal dire hawk battle familiar that just lives with her and eats table scraps

[mdhwrites]

An Analogy for The Owl House

Someone watched a master chef at work create a stew that would mouth watering to all. With meticulous craftsmanship and good ingredients, he made something that could tantalize and satisfy anyone. However, the program never said how much they included or the intricacies of how or when he put each ingredient in. The proportions were a mystery without a very keen eye.

Then someone decided to recreate the stew from that show but promises that it will be even better! However... none of the proportions right. At first in small ways, like a little too much water or a few too onions. It looked promising though and all the ingredients were there and the smell was divine. But then they only used half the meat and substituted one ingredient for a cheaper version of something similar. They forgot the carrots that had helped just a hint of crunch to it all. The process was still strong but they could still pull through.

Then they misheard a pinch of salt and added fifteen pounds of the stuff, rendering the entire thing inedible and showing their lack of craft that had been there from the start.

Just a fun little analogy I came up with for why it is that even someone like me, who thought we wouldn't be talking about TOH even a year after it ended, still has so much to say. We all dream of the stew that we saw being made and every time someone mentions it, our hunger gnaws at us all anew. Which step could have fixed it? What miracle ingredient could have brought it all together? And was there ever a chance when there had been problems even with the very base of it?

It's frustrating, to put it mildly.

[aline-spice]

Omg your alchemist cookie is demigod? Could you tell more of your headcanons for vampsiblings? Do you have ideas for their parents?

Ughh be ready to read a lot i like to ramble about them. First, for the parents question : vampire and alchemist do not have parents in my verstion. They come from the oven and the witches. No, they were not raised by anyone, they came out almost adult with existing knowledge of the world they're in. Alchemist headcanons ----- �� The grape siblings were made with ingredients similar to other cookies (sugar, flour, butter, moonlight) except there's two ingredients that differs from regular ones : alchemist is made with grape and witch blood ! the latest ingredient was an accident, and cookies with witch blood should not be able to survive (it's an unstable ingredient and there's way too much dark magic in it) but alchemist happened to receive the exact perfect amount of blood for it to mix with her dough.

She's half witch but most cookie call her a 'half-god' since witches are considered as god-like entities on Earthbread. Alchemist consider it as a curse more than a blessing.

Alchemist has obviously a very strong interest in alchemy but she also do reasearches on magic and astrology. She admires those who practices them but refuses to admit it, which is also one of the reason she's wizard cookie's rival and friend.

One of her passion is discovering the origins of certain magic, how to recreate it. She has contributed greatly to the advancement of magic and alchemy.  She even used to be a alchemy teacher at a magic academy a long time ago, but no one but vampire is still alive to remember that –(they are very old after all).

She has a collection of relics, forbidden books, and items that have been cursed...  Both she and her brother feels a connection to those items. (Perhaps because they are cursed as well ?)

Alchemist has photographic memories and retains every information that she sees! when she's bored she learns the ingredients and compositions of different types of food. Also she wears gloves all the time because she's very sensitive to textures

Due to the witch blood inside of her dough she is capable of getting glimpses into the future. This ability pretty much happens randomly or when she comes in contact with something important (much like dimensional screams from pokemon dungeon cough cough i love that game).

She has weird claws coming out of her hair sometimes- it's magic stuff. It may look menacing but she only uses them for holding objects. (*the claws are inspired by her ovenbreak costume) Actually, alchemist is very weak and even if she creates dangerous things she can't do much by herself. - While she creates dangerous potions and artifacts, she wishes to protect the lives of other cookies more than anything and she hates to see one of her creations used to hurt people

Her harsh personality and constant shouting can be a bit intimidating but she's very kind when you get to know her.

Since she's from the same batch of cookies as vampire she does have some vampiric features, but it's very limited. (Night vision, she has sharp ears and fangs..) she's not affected by any of the regular vampire weaknesses and doesn't require life energy either like her brother

Alchemist and vampire likes to annoy each other all of the time. He likes to break into her laboratory to drink her potions, and she likes to replace his grape juice and wine with inedible and failed potions. (Vampire's fine. don't worry about it.)

It happens quite often that she takes trips around the world in search for more knowledge, but she always returns home. She will never say it out loud but she misses vampire  a lot when she's away for too long !

Vampire headcanons ----- 🍷 He has the same ingredients as alchemist except instead of grapes he's made of wine. Like alchemist he also had witch blood inside of his dough but it didn't mix as well as for alchemist with his ingredients and he became a bit cursed, that's why he's a vampire !

He's obsessed with wine. He knows everything about it from it's history, how to identify it's flavors... Vampire never gets tired of drinking wine ! Even if his favorite will and has always been wine, he likes to try new drinks quite often ! Sparkling gets to try his new recipes on him and vampire gets to test them :) !

Even if he's incredibly lazy he occasional travels to other places with his sister, but its only if he finds something that catches his interest (most often a relic or a specific type of wine).

While his main hobby is drinking wine and sleeping, he also has a few other hobbies! he enjoys reading philosophy, collecting old relics, and he rarely practices alchemy when feeling a bit more motivated. He also has decent knowledge in mixology. People are always surprised when they see him make drinks, he thinks it's funny to see their surprised face • He's actually naturally talented and can do many things easily, but it's very often that he finds things boring and uninteresting... He actually puts efforts into the things he likes, but only the ones really close to him notices it.

He's generally a very positive and optimistic person ! he's chilling and nothing can bother him. Despite his constant laziness and him being a bit weird he  somehow gets along well with a lot of people and is friend with people who are way more famous than he is.

Because of his nature as a vampire his magic tends to lean more toward dark magic, being capable of absorbing other's life energy and manipulating shadows.

Being a vampire, he shares most of their weaknesses (can't get near garlic, silver burns, the blessed light and religious objects hurts him…) However he can get under the sun for quite a while even if it does make him feel sick eventually. He's mostly nocturnal anyway, so he doesn't see the sun often.

Vampire requires life energy to survive, he can absorb it from a distance (like the regular attack in cookie run where he regens his health) or bite them which gives a lot of energy but it’s much more painful. For that reason, he prefers to use the first option even if it gives less energy. -- You don't have to be scared about him biting you without permission anyway, if he did he would get in trouble, but he's been allowed to attack enemies if they invade the kingdom so you better behave ! • He can retract his wings. don't ask how, it's just magic. (Fun fact : One of his pair of wings is connected to his hair like alchemist's claws)

Due to the witch blood being not really compatible with his other ingredients, he gets really sick randomly during the year. This can also happen when he's out of life energy too, but these usually leave him feeling very unwell and weak.

Due to the mix of wine and his vampire curse, he's always very sleepy and his memory is terrible… He spends entire days sleeping and even take snaps during the night. It can be a bit dangerous when he gets too sleepy because he just sits down in the middle of the street and just… falls asleep. --- Vampire doesn't mind being that tired, According to him, the constant fuziness in his head is comfortable and he loves taking naps ! • Alchemist and his friends are very worried over his health, but he really doesn't care... as long as he's happy, nothing can bother him !

If you reached the end congrats i hope you enjoyed my little page of silly informations <33 Here's a cup of grape juice for u !

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Wordsville's Official Release -- Is It Really an Odd Squad Clone? (Part 2)

Because Tumblr! Photo limits! Why, uh...whose dumb idea was it to put a photo limit in here? Man, that'll take a while to get used to.

Let's go on with Part 2 of my Wordsville analysis.

(Make sure you read through Part 1 first!)

If this were any other show with a reasonable episode length, I'd be fine with this. Covering all this? Essential to a mystery.

In 8 minutes, though? No. They fill out half of the columns in a rush in the first half, and then leave three open for the second half of the runtime. Read my digital lips: N. O. Not if you want your series to be good.

This is a good time to remind people they are putting out 33 episodes of this shit. That is an entire-ass season of messy pacing, rushed plotlines, and characters that I wouldn't know a single thing about if I hadn't unearthed the series' synopsis and character descriptions.

They have.

Their own.

FUCKING.

CURRENCY?!?!?!

Y'know, even Jackalope Dollars make some sense. Canadian money makes some sense. This? This is repainted Monopoly money and you can get the fuck out of my house with that because it's card-only entry.

I do so remember when WordGirl had a bit of a popularity renaissance on Twitter last year or so.

This show...is like the complete and utter opposite of that.

Ahaha...geddit? 'Cause...'cause she's an athlete, and...she's eating a brownie...which is unhealthy...

ARE YOU LAUGHING, SON? ARE YA LAUGHIN'? DO YOU FIND THIS FUNNY OH MY GOD PLEEEEEEEEASE LAUGH.

makes edible food that is meant to net customers said edible food is not for sale

By all accounts, people, these donuts are meant to be edible. So in what fuck-all world of logic would you use edible food as an advertising gimmick for a bakery? That shit will go bad within a week, and then what? You waste supplies remaking them.

Bro, get some cardboard copies. Fuck, in this high-tech universe you could probably 3D-print inedible donuts that spell "scrumptious" and put them on display!

AND THAT.

IS WHY.

YOU MAKE.

THEM.

INEDIB-

"Official Word Mystery business", "official Odd Squad business", it's all the same and you're not being slick.

You could tell me this was Otto's little brother and I honestly wouldn't even argue with you on that. I'd give you $10 and concede.

Man, and I thought Odd Squad's "Why Did the Chicken Cross the Dimension" featured abuse way too heavily for my liking, and here's this kid feeding donuts to a cat which are made out of ingredients cats really shouldn't eat, let alone digest.

Graham didn't make these treats cat-friendly. They were made for humans. And he's giving them to a cat.

As someone who worked at an animal shelter, of course you realize this means war, Gene Vet Wilder.

I'm not gonna lie to all of you.

I was legitimately going to fawn over the cat...until my eyes drifted down, and I thought the cat was wearing a feline airbag.

It's dude's arm.

...No more BIG BONG tonight.

Naming your cat "Yummy" means you have already committed at least ten cat crimes.

It's also ironic, because cats can and will eat your dead corpse.

Give dude 30 years, it'll catch up with him.

No. No. You know what sounds cute? Nyammy.

You know what doesn't sound cute? Yummy.

You know what name isn't crazy ironic? Nyammy.

Problem solved.

I think I can safely say "Crime at Shapely Manor" handled the traditional mystery a lot better than...uh...whatever this was going for.

Not animated + L + ratio'd + tour an animation school and call me back.

See, the reason why this hurts is because this just proves the entire series could be animated, in full and properly, and there would be no issue.

What we got is Sinking Ship's brand of creation applied in one of the worst ways possible, and I'm still as disappointed as when I walked in here.

At the very least, I'll give them points for not having Glory and Wilder and Graham voice themselves. Given how they weren't there when Gabby and Sly were solving the case, it would be too weird.

And this is why you don't make edible food as an advertising gimmick to get people to buy your shit aaaaaaaaand I have a headache again.

But- I- br- HOW DID BRO GET A BOX FOR THE DONUTS. H O W . NOT GONNA EXPLAIN THAT SHIT ARE YOU YA SORRY FU-

It's pretty much standard business knowledge that the advertisement-making comes first, before you serve the customer.

But this guy made his advertising while on the job. You...uh...well, you can do that, but in this particular case, that's what we call "a dumbass move".

FWIW, returning bought food to the bakery you bought it from is also a dumbass move.

I don't care if these haven't been touched. Eat them, and then help Graham make new ones. Inedible ones.

Cool!

TOSS THEM THE FUCK OUT.

Seren puts on a tight smile. "No," she utters. "No. When Odd Squad does it, it's funny. Not here."

Seren then spends 34 years eyeballing the Hollywood music industry aggressively.

In 7 minutes, with rushed pacing, and I have no idea what the hell your personality is even supposed to be.

Sly's, yeah, a little. Yours? I- no. Mm-mm.

...Okay, I don't know what the hell her personality is supposed to be besides loving gingerbread.

Seriously, this is one of the few times the sample script is actually better than what we got.

Oh fucking hell. No wonder I didn't like this episode -- it was written by the same person who created it.

And it's been a while since I've had to whip this out, but I'm going to take the criticism I had about Season 3 writers not watching Odd Squad before getting hired and apply it to here. If Christin had actually watched Odd Squad prior to writing and creating this show, I guaran-goddamn-tee we would have gotten something leagues better. And I know they've written for other SSE shows, but this is focusing on Odd Squad and Wordsville specifically.

Credits rundown to avoid hitting the photo limit:

Mia SwamiNathan plays Gabby. She also voices Zadie in Work It Out Wombats (haha Canadian actor pool, dive in suckers!), and while Zadie is my favorite character, that will not give this show any sort of a saving grace. The actress, yes. The show, hell no.

Matthew Bishop is the animation Executive Producer. He also worked on Odd Squad. Which makes the stuff in this show seem a lot more insulting.

Ah, yes. What I want all my songs for my show to be made by. A company called Daysun. (Hey, FWIW, I've seen worse.)

Wait, wait! It can get worse! Smiley Guy Studios did the animation! And y'know, I could make a "they hired people from Walmart to animate this shit?" joke, but instead I'll say how Sinking Ship has a whole-ass animation division and they couldn't animate the show themselves. If they did, it would have been a lot better than what we got.

----------------------

So I might as well address the elephant in the room to kick off the conclusion: is Wordsville an Odd Squad ripoff, really and truly?

The answer...no. Not exactly. If anything, it's more like an inferior copy, if the word "copy" were hanging fast and loose like a shoe on an electric wire.

I'm going to use "Crime at Shapely Manor" as a direct comparison. In that episode, we get a sort of traditional mystery similar to what Wordsville gives us. We have suspects lined out, we have what they did, we have clues, we have a summation, all that jazz. The difference, though, is that "Crime at Shapely Manor" not only had 14 more minutes to flex their skills in the mystery genre beyond what spin Odd Squad in and of itself as a show puts on it (typical of police procedurals, it does have mystery elements), but they did it incredibly well. Even with the suspect being a downright fucking cliche, they still managed to do it while leaving the audience entertained and opening our minds to the personalities of "I can emote like a Discord chat server" Olive and "I do not understand financial concepts when it comes to very valuable furniture pieces" Otto. It can breathe. It does mystery well. Wordsville...doesn't. Eight minutes is not sufficient for the mystery genre. And if you want to prove me wrong by showing me a piece of media from a mystery show made for kids that is 8 minutes long, go right ahead. Enlighten me. Prove me wrong. But there my opinion stands.

I really could bore you all with the differences I managed to unearth between Wordsville and Odd Squad. I really could. Even more than that, I could bore you all with all the negative shit I found in what has to be the craziest combined 40 minutes I ever wasted of my life. But I'll boil it down to key elements only.

So first of all...the characters. The side ones are confined to a single career just based on their names, and as far as I can tell, the only trait they were all given was "serious about their jobs". (Gene Vet Wilder also does...magic, I guess? I mean whatever floats the boat...) Gabby and Sly, on the other hand...I genuinely can't pinpoint them. Best I can gather is that Gabby is the serious one and Sly is the silly one. So basically, an Olive/Otto dynamic where their little siblings take the spotlight. That's about it. Their friendship, let alone their personalities, are barely touched on in favor of shoving the mystery in your face. For an example: one episode revolves around their "Friendaversary", and them disagreeing on what they're going to do to celebrate it. Now, we already got this as an Odd Squad conflict in a similar way, and it was amazing. I loved "Happy Halfiversary"! Otis busted his ass for Olympia, and she did the same for him. We got some worldbuilding, some good old character interactions, and some funny jokes to boot. For "Uncompromising Community", what we get is a shitty plot that only serves as gift wrap for the mystery of the episode, which revolves around Firefighter Ember giving a fire safety course that Reporter Read plans to make a new story out of, while Baker Graham has a prior engagement with her. And if you're thinking "that sounds fun", then watch the episode and get back to me. That's good for an 11-minute plot. Not for 8 minutes with a full minute dedicated to both opening and closing credits.

Second on the list is the lack of worldbuilding. Lore. Basically anything of substance. Wordsville is, at its core, episodic. So's Odd Squad, to an extent. For Wordsville, if I hadn't read the synopsis of the series prior to watching it, I wouldn't know what the fuck was going on or what it was even about. I wouldn't know that the main cast are supposed to be only children, or that Wordsville is apparently a town...somewhere...on a map...somewhere. Does the Wordsville Online Detective Agency only have Gabby and Sly? Why is it online-only? Is there air? You don't know! I don't know either, and that's the thing that gets to me. I wasn't expecting anything heavy and lore-filled a la Odd Squad, but I wasn't expecting anything simplistic and bland, either. I've seen slice-of-life kids cartoons, and a lot of them are more enjoyable and have a lot more stuff to work with while also expanding on the world and telling me more about it. Wordsville...ain't it. It gives a big "fuck you" and trucks along.

Third of all, the educational aspect of it. Old-timers who have been watching the show for a long time know that one of the things that makes Odd Squad appealing is how it hides math into the plot in a way where it isn't super obvious and all up in your George Foreman grill. It's there, sure, and it does hinder the plot at times, but for me, I don't mind it. I'm still engaged. I want to know what happens. For Wordsville, the education is, indeed, all up in my George Foreman grill. It is fucking everywhere. Not hidden, just completely out in the open. WordGirl is probably the best show I can draw a comparison to, even though it's in a different demo -- while WordGirl does have word lessons, they are slipped into the plot much like Odd Squad and aren't shoved in there with an attitude I dare to even call obligatory. Wordsville is the entire opposite, and they absolutely do not, cannot, and will not miss a chance to educate you on words any chance it gets. Do not let the 4-7 age bracket fool you; this is a preschool show on something far more fucked up than "I'm having an 18-hour seizure with the cockroaches on a public bathroom floor" meth. And don't let Odd Squad's 4-8 age bracket fool you; that's a kids show people have watched while high on weed and had hella crazy trips. (And acid, in one case, which got far crazier.)

And finally, the animation, which I mentioned before but I'm bringing up more to summarize. Like I said, Odd Squad has good animation. Not 2D, though; it's CGI. It's not stellar, but it's solid. The creature designs in particular get real crazy. In Wordsville, the "animation" is drag-and-drop stuff that's half-done and has characters' heads and expressions on them for the lawl unique 'n quirky. I'm not shitting you when I said I was thinking of South Park when I was watching the animated bits. Hell, you could tell me the animated bits were a South Park parody and I'd believe you! But it's not. It's not a parody at all. And before you go at my throat saying "that is a literal child", I'd like to remind you that I know people under 18 who draw and animate a lot better. (I'm looking at a good chunk of you reading this and giving you a thumbs-up. Keep up the great work!) It's just like I said before: they had the potential to do something better, and they completely threw it away. Animation is hard. It's expensive. Sinking Ship is not a rich company. But they've done better in terms of 2D animation. They could have done better here.

What my opinion of the show overall boils down to is that I would have been happy with just the show synopsis and the sample script. I would have been happy with the one Seren's Study. Now, not only have I been proven fantastically wrong, but I've been proven fantastically wrong in the worst way I could have ever possibly imagined, because it somehow got worse than what I was expecting.

Now, I'm going to put a disclaimer out that this is my opinion. If you wanna go and watch Wordsville and decide for yourself how it is, go for it! Be my guest! No one's stopping you, and if you happen to like it then I will respect your opinion. But as it stands across these first 5 episodes, it's not my cup of tea. I think I'm better off giving WordGirl a rewatch.

Thanks for reading. See you all in the next Seren's Study!

[raspberrylover28]

"Alexa, can turtles eat candy?"

EDIT: Fixed the past and present tense switching through the fic

My gift for @fxliciq-a for the ROTTMNT Trick or Treat Exchange organized by @rottmnt-secret-gifting  !

Made it extra light and fluffy with lots of banter between the brothers, trying to give most of the prompts a moment to shine and had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy! (≧∇≦)ﾉ

 [Takes place after season 2 but before the movie]

___________________________________________________

-...I'm just saying that you had an unfair advantage! Why did you get to be the one who went with him?

- I shall remind you once again, dear brother, that the teams were completely randomized and I had no say in who went with who.

- Yeah, randomized by you with your tech! You probably just rigged to whole thing to get all my jelly worms and rub it in my face.

- First of all, gross. Getting them anywhere near your face would make them inedible on the spot. Plus, I don't like them anyway. Second of all, I am wounded you think I would sink so low to win a silly game. Third of all, everyone here is aware that I have managed to get the biggest amount of candy from our trick and treating journey, so please stop whining and hand over the candy to their rightful owner - Donnie put his purple, bat themed candy bag right in front of Leo's face, smiling like the menace that he is

- Oh, come on! - Leo shoved it back into Donnie's face instead and turned to Raph - This has to count as cheating, right? You gave him like half of your candy!

Raph rubbed the back of his head and gave him an apologetic smile - Sorry, man. Ya know i can't eat the ones with peanuts, so I gave them to Don and they sorta started piling up.

Leo gave him an unimpressed stare, crossed his arms and spat out: - I'm not giving any of my loot to a dirty cheater.

- I am not-

- Ugh, just give him the damn candy already! - April yelled with annoyance, getting everyone's attention, letting go of Sunita's hand and  gesturing agressively towards the twins - we've been standing here for 15 minutes!

And they actually were. Standing there in their colorful costumes, arguing with each other on the middle of the sidewalk. Great.

At least the worst they got were a few stares since they were in a more chill part of New York. As chill as New York can be, anyway.

Leo looked around, seeing all the mildly (or a bit more than mildly) annoyed faces staring into his skull and groaned as dramatically as he could, running his fingers through the rockstar wig of his costume for extra effect and reluctantly took out a bunch of lolipops and two small packs of purple and red skittles, then snatched Donnie's hat from his head, threw the candy inside and put it back on with just as much force.

- Here. Don't choke on it - he said, his voice only one third playful, turning away and taking out his phone, not seeing Raph and Donnie shooting each other smug looks.

Donnie took off the hat again and threw the candy into his already overstuffed candy bag, securing it so nothing fell out and doing a quick victory fist bump with Raph.

- Great! Now that's settled, me and my girlfriends are going to the cafe nearby to try out their newest spooky menu. And if any of you boys start making trouble, you will receive a baseball bat to the face. Are we clear? - April smirked playfully, but with a dangerous glint in her eye, and the turtles all saluted with a "Yes, ma'am!".

- YES! We finally shall find out the TERROR of the special halloween recipes!

- Yeah, I really wanted to try the pumpkin latte, it sounded amazing. Plus, I heard they even gave free candy corn at the counter!

Cassandra and Sunita chatted, with April joining in and holding their hands as they started going towards the cafe in their matching monster high costumes.

- Alright! - Mikey started - So what do we-

- Okay, whatever you're going to do, do it by yourselves ‘cause I'm leaving - Leo interrupted, barely looking up from his phone, where he was furiously typing in.

- What, bunny boy is done collecting candy in the Hidden City? - Donnie raised an eyebrow.

- Yeah, we're meeting near Hueso's. We're going to try out candy with his friends, since some turtle I will not name decided getting candy from the Hidden City would be "too dangerous".

- Ey, knowin' Raph's luck AND the Hidden City, it would probably end up like the pizza puffs incident. Or worse.

- What, you think they're going to throw drugs into a teenager's candy bag?

- ...maybe.

- Raph, chill! Usagi was raised down there, he knows what's safe and what's not. Plus, I promised him some of my jelly worms in exchange already, so no backing out now!

- Wait, you're willing to give him your candy, but not me?

- We exhange candy, Don, not steal it.

- I don't steal jackshit! I would be willing to exchange, but your demands are just too high!

- Maybe you're just too poor to afford my candy-

- Alright, Raph is not doing this again! - Raph stood between the twins, then Mikey started pushing Leo in the vague direction of Hueso's.

- Come on, loverboy! They're waiting for you, so hurry up!

- Okay, okay, fine! Sheesh... - Leo rolled his eyes, but quickly jogged towards the restaurant, smiling and texting his boyfriend on the way.

Raph barely stopped himself from shouting at him because don't walk with your snout in your phone, do you WANT to get hit by a car??

Instead, he looked towards the other two turtles.

- Great! - Donnie exclaimed - Now that Leo left to bother bunny boy and the love birds left to do something romantic and possibly illegal, we should figure out what we should do next.

- Oh, I know! We should totally check out this one haunted house! – Mikey suggested, quickly taking out his phone and showing his brother a poster of a two-story, victorian looking house with a tall, spiky fence and „A house straight from your nightmares!” written in a spooky font on the bottom of the screen.

His brothers stared at the photo, then at Mikey.

- You want to go to the haunted mansion.

- Yep!

- Of your own free will.

A pause.

-Yyyyes…? – Mikey started sweating under their questioning  gazes.

- It was most likely a dare from someone. Either April or Leo.

- Agreed.

- Oh, come on, guys! Have some faith in me!

His brothers just raised their eyebrows.

-…Leo wouldn’t stop teasing me.

They see the site of haunted house, which had a lot of bad reviews, mostly complaining about it not being scary in the slightest, which they took as a good sign. Having Raph accidentally deck a scare actor in the face on instinct probably wouldn’t end pretty. They decided, with only slight hesitence, to check it out. It was only around 15 minutes away, so they went on foot and rated costumes and decorations they saw while walking, the usual fuss of New York now accompanied by the sound of doorbells and candy wraps.

When they arrived at their destination (which looked nothing like the one on the site or posters) and entered the first room, they all immediately noticed that it was, indeed, very bad. The room was very brightly lit with white leds, the furniture looked like it was pulled out of some old lady’s apartment, covered with plastic spiderwebs and cheesy halloween decorations, like paper ghosts and candles that were probably supposed to resemble pumpkins, but did not look or smell like them at all.

When they walked around, they started to relax more and more, the poor attempts at scaring them being more funny than scary.

- Did anybody put any thought into this? – Mikey giggled, looking at the so obviously drawn with a marker cracks in the mirror of the fifth bathroom they entered.

- This is what projects done 3 hours before the deadline look like – Donnie deadpanned, gesturing towards the oh, so scary writing and hand prints on the walls and floor – This literally looks like ketchup.

- Maybe it is ketchup? – Mikey examined the fake blood with a hand on his chin.

- Doubt it. It doesn’t really smell like ketchup, and replacing it every few days would be way too expensive for the most likely low bugdet the owners probably have.

- Eh, with how little care this place has, they could technically just leave it there and Raph are you trying to lick the fake blood i swear to god-

After making sure Raph doesn’t  eat any decorations, they went into the final room, which was visibly more thought out than the rest of the building. Which wasn’t saying much, but it was something, at least.

It was a longer hallway with almost no light,crookedly hanged paintings they could barely make out, peeled wallpapers with rusted nails sticking out, which were obviously just nails painted orange, even with the poor lighting.

The turtles went in, still not scared but noticing the change. Mikey, who was in the front, walked forward, trying to make out the different paintings on the wall since he was pretty sure most of them were just top results from pinterest, not hearing the (not very subtle) creek of the wood above him.

And suddenly something jumped into his face from the ceiling with a loud screech and he couldn’t stop the shriek he let out, instictively clinging to Raph who wasn’t doing much better. And it got worse when suddenly something wet got thrown right at them, staining their costumes. The wall next to them opened, showing another hallway, where they could see the door with a bright „EXIT” sign.

They left the room and now, in good lighting, they could see that their clothes had splatters of the same fake blood from earlier rooms which, now that they noticed it, actually smelled really bad. Mikey looked over the damage to their costumes in annoyance, already thinking about how hard it will be to get rid of them and-

- Donnie, why is your costume just fine?

- Well, while you two were screaming like little girls-

-We were not-

- I decided to hide behind our beloved oldest brother, letting him take the brunt of it.

- You used Raph as a meat shield??

- That’s one way to call it – Donnie said, already heading towards the bright green „Gift shop” sign.

Mikey pouted, but only settled for a glare in Donnie’s direction, hopping onto Raph’s shell.

- Hey, don’t worry, big man! At least we’re still matching – Raph pointed out, gesturing to their cat onesies.

- Yea, we look like street cats now – Mikey snickered, poking Raph’s forehead – Still can’t believe we convinced you to wear this thing as a costume.

- Raph doesn’t turn away from a dare – the snapper grinned in response - Besides, I can look like a boss in everything!

- Yeah, unlike Donnie with his boring suit no one recognized.

- Excuse you-?!

Donnie started ranting for the next 10 minutes about how he was „obviously dressed up as Robert Oppenheimer” and how „the education system is in shambles if no one can recognize something so apparent”. He stopped after a bit, realizing his brothers didn’t listen to a word he was saying, then joined them looking through different souvenirs in the gift shop. Everything was overpriced to all hell, predictably, but there were a few fun things that they played with, only messing with them and not buying them because of the very poor quality.

There was also some food you could buy at the counter, which they weren’t sure was decorated to look expired or actually sat there for 3 weeks.

They looked over the snacks, their eyes drawn to the „zombie slushies”.

Mikey looked at Raph, already knowing the answer to his question but still asking:

- You’re going to try it, aren’t you.

- Yes. Yes I will.

They bought the slushie, the cashier looking at them like she wanted to be anywhere else but here. It was warm and cold at the same time, looking like a bunch of crushed ice, blue so faded it was practically gray, with water on the bottom. There were also weird, differently colored chunks in it that they decided weren’t poisonous. Probably.

Raph chugged the drink in one go and barely, barely stifled a gag, almost dropping Mikey. Apparently it tasted like battery acid with a hint of blueberry mixed with sewer water.

They left the haunted house, Raph looking a bit greener than usual. He didn’t throw up though, which they still counted as a win.

The turtles decided it was time to get home. The moment they got back in the lair they took off their costumes, Mikey and Raph throwing theirs into the washing machine, then got into hoodies and pajamas, deciding to do a turtle pile in the living room. They turned on the TV, sound quiet and brightness low, just to have something in the background, munching on their candy and enjoying the comfortable silence.

_________________________

Donnie and his backup turtles + April (Donnie stop calling us that) (No die) (fight fight fight) (Lol)

NeonLeon9000: how tf did she even do that

GreenApricot: idk?? turns out you can fix a coffee machine by fist fighting it with an ungodly amount of glitter pens

GreenApricot: the more you know

NeonLeon9000: i swear casey is going to tunr out to be a lab experiment or something and i will not be suprised becuase how does she even exist

Big Brother Who Is The Biggest: do I even wanna know?

NeonLeon9000: if you wann sleep at night then no

NeonLeon9000: /srs

LocalChef: Well that’s terrifying!

NeonLeon9000: btw im staying at usagis tonight

NeonLeon9000: we r having a slumber party

NeonLeon9000: more slumber less party but still

LocalChef: Are you coming back in the morning or are you staying there until later? I can save you some breakfast if you want!

NeonLeon9000: Nah me n usagi ar gonna go out and get some food

NeonLeon9000: thx tho <3

LocalChef: <3

NeonLeon9000: btw did you go to that haunted house i told you abt or did you chicken out

NeonLeon9000: i think we can all guess the answer

LocalChef: nvm I’m taking that heart back

Big Brother Who Is The Biggest: We all went together, actually! Lots of fun

NeonLeon9000: no offense raph but i still dont trust you bc of the candy thing

NeonLeon9000: pics or it didn’t happen

BootyyyShaker9000: [A picture of Mikey and Raph clinging to each other while screaming in the haunted house]

BootyyyShaker9000: Glad I could capture this lovely moment.

GreenApricot:SKDSDJHSJKJKDS

NeonLeon9000:LMAOO

LocalChef: WHATT

LocalChef: BETRAYAL ╰（‵□′）╯

NeonLeon9000:bet yall screamed like toddlers

NeonLeon9000: don please tell me you recorded it

BootyyyShaker9000: Who do you take me for?

BootyyyShaker9000: [sound file]

BootyyyShaker9000: Best quality on the market.

GreenApricot: Y’all are never living this down lol

Big Brother Who Is The Biggest: puts head in hands

----------------------------------------------------

Bonus: Favorite candy of all the turtles!

Leo: Blue raspberry flavored gummy bears, jelly worms, Oreos, cotton candy

Mikey: Candy jewelery, any halloween related candy, caramel apples (especially with spooky food coloring), sour strips, candy corn,

Donnie: grape flavored bubble tape, purple skittles, grape flavored „Dum-Dums” -  lolipops, nerds

Raph: Candy jewelery, hard candy, original skittles, peppermints

[brucenorris007]

l'âme d'un cuisinier chapter 1

Summary: Zeff doesn’t remember teaching Sanji how to make broth; Sanji doesn’t remember how he came to wake up back at Baratie. Thankfully neither of them are prone to getting hung up on that sort of thing.

2155 words

Zeff stomped back into the restaurant, sweeping an assessing gaze over the dining room. He clicked his tongue; half of his lily-livered so-called sea cooks jumped ship at the first sign of trouble. Looking around at the bums loitering at the tables, he’d lose another half of what staff were left before tomorrow morning. Slinking out quietly in some effort to preserve dignity.

Finding men with any kind of iron in their stomachs was hard.

The Navy usually didn’t bother him anymore. Not since that first time some big shot showed up to check the legitimacy of his retirement from piracy. The dregs of his reputation as Red Leg still attracted the odd band of weasels, though; most of them working under the assumption that Zeff hung up the crossbones because he couldn’t hack it in a fight anymore.

A stupid, sorely mistaken assumption that nonetheless ate up Zeff’s time and scared off customers.

He made his way toward the back, mind already at work figuring out how another day’s lost business would affect the budget for the month. The ship might’ve been paid for, but he couldn’t reel in alcohol with a lure and line; and Baratie would be a piss poor restaurant if he only offered unseasoned fish on the menu.

He knew the business wouldn’t be an easy thing; after buying the ship, he’d only had enough money to get a few fistfuls of flyers printed. The rest of whatever foothold he managed to claim would come from word of mouth about his cooking and the novelty of a fully functional restaurant on the water. Gaining enough traction to get regular customers would take about a year.

He didn’t put on the chef’s hat for the sake of profits, but he did need to break even to get fresh supplies and ingredients, let alone stay afloat.

The smell of the stoves burning drew him out of his head.

“Eggplant!”

Sanji, working with a dutch oven and at least half a dozen plates gathered from the dining room that he’d arranged around the burners, threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Hah?”

That the brat looked so comfortable and at ease despite needing a stool to see everything in the dutch oven; that he seemed so relaxed despite Zeff raising his voice. It briefly snagged the chef’s attention.

He dismissed it before it could take form as a thought, though, scuffing the floor with his peg leg as he made his way to the stove.

“Hell’re you doing?” He asked.

“Making the most of leftovers,” Sanji said, already focused back on the burner. “The scraps should make a passable broth. Haven’t decided what to do after that.”

Zeff looked over the eggplant’s work, ready and expecting to make multiple corrections; he came up empty for comment, though, even as the water began to boil and Sanji smoothly adjusted the heat. Having nothing to add, he chose to let the kid do what he wanted; he’d intervene if things somehow took a turn for the inedible. He latched onto the distraction from finances in front of him, mulling over what he might do with chicken and bones.

Sanji leaned sideways, reaching to pull the salt and peppercorn into his workspace.

“…!”

Zeff frowned, zeroing in on the wince that Sanji tried and failed to hide.

“Oi, look here.” Zeff said.

“I’m fine.” Sanji said with a flip of his hand.

“Look here.” He insisted, grabbing the brat’s jaw and turning his head to face him.

Sanji rolled his eye, acting put-upon.

“It’s just a cracked rib.” He said, annoyed and flippant.

Zeff pressed a palm against Sanji’s side gently; blood leaked out of the corner of the kid’s mouth.

‘What the fuck?’

Zeff hadn’t realized Sanji had even been in the fight out on deck.

“Fine,” Sanji amended. “A cracked rib and a busted lip.” He swatted at Zeff’s hand. “I didn’t get any blood in the broth, don’t worry.”

“How do you know that?” Zeff demanded.

Sanji wrinkled his nose.

“I do wash my hands and pay attention when I’m working, shitty g”

“Brat,” Zeff said. “How do you know what a cracked rib feels like?”

Sanji blinked. Twice. He shrugged.

He shrugged, too naturally and casually to be the bravado of a nine-year-old.

‘What the fuck?’

Zeff sent the brat to his room, against the expected indignant protests.

“You need to let your bones knit, brat.”

“It’s not even that serious, ch–!”

Zeff shoved the eggplant off the stool, answering the brat’s clicking tongue with a scowl.

“I’ll finish the broth and bring some up in a few hours.”

Sanji’s fight and gusto suddenly stalled out. Zeff huffed.

“I told ya,” he said, pitching his tone low; he didn’t need any of the yellow-bellied bums on board hearing him. “So long as you’re on this ship, you’ll have food whenever you’re hungry.”

Sanji blinked.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You did.”

He turned and shuffled out of the kitchen.

—————

Sanji seemed… different. Not in any readily quantifiable way, yet between one day and the next, it felt as though the air around the eggplant had changed. Nothing was wrong, exactly; he’d already put back on a healthy bit of weight since they were found stranded, and his rib put itself back together just fine. The brat was no more addled in the head than Zeff or any of the other crooks that frequented Baratie.

And yet, at times the way Sanji carried himself seemed smoother, incongruous with a guppy who hadn’t even smelled puberty. No more scampering around the ship trying to match Zeff’s stride; his movements were more fluid, insofar as one could describe a nine-year-olds movements that way. Sanji had always been almost alarmingly skilled at taking up less space than he really needed, but Zeff hadn’t heard one of the usual complaints about the brat being underfoot in weeks.

Granted, putting up with the eggplant was one of Zeff’s unspoken requirements for working at his restaurant. Word might have gotten around about the last bum he’d punted overboard, broken-nose-first.

More than simply not getting in the way, the eggplant was suddenly all but immune to fluster and embarrassment; the bastards who showed up in answer to Zeff’s Help Wanted posters were prone to shooting the shit while they worked, no topic off-limits.

Sanji, without missing a beat, effortlessly fired off shots of his own:

“I call bullshit that you’ve ever spoken to a lady.”

“I have to put up with your shitty breath but you don’t hear me whining.”

“There isn’t enough chocolate in the world to get you laid.”

His delivery and timing were tailored for maximum impact; hearing raunchiness in his prepubescent tones was hilarious, but it was as if he’d either been tutored or else picked up ten years practice at being rude in the space of a night. Never mind that he apparently knew how to make chicken broth out of table scraps, despite only being a junior chef by virtue of being Baratie’s first hire.

And yet there were moments when Sanji looked every bit the petulant, stubborn brat Zeff had given his leg for; when the eggplant insisted on getting cigarettes, he coughed for fifteen minutes before he finished his first stick and glowered at the carton afterwards.

Zeff wasn’t sure if the shift was all in his head or not; no one else on board had really been around long enough to say one way or the other if his suspicions held any water.

Speaking of the staff, while the turnover rate had dropped a lot after the first month or so, there were still more vacant positions than there were actual cooks on board. It left Zeff doing the job of head chef, purchasing manager and at least two station chefs in the kitchen. Sanji helped with the food prep, but it still meant Zeff didn’t get much spare time to plan out menus.

“Shitty geezer.” Sanji said, appearing in the doorway to his office.

“Eggplant.” Zeff answered, matching the precocious brat’s tone.

“Pair of shitheads pulled up to the restaurant,” Sanji said, jerking his head back toward the kitchen. He glanced down that direction. “One’s got pork chops for forearms and the other has a rat tail sticking out of his head.”

Zeff snorted; he heard not a few barks of laughter from the kitchen, along with one shout.

“WHAT’D YOU SAY?!”

“And?” Zeff asked, getting up from his desk.

“They want a job,” Sanji said, with an odd urgency in his voice as he shifted his weight. “Hire them.”

He ran off before the newcomer crooks could catch him, leaving Rat tail glowering after him outside Zeff’s office. Pork chop stepped in and looked around with a critical eye.

“You Red Leg Zeff?” He asked.

“You the bums who wanna work?”

Rat tail and Pork chop traded looks; they nodded.

“Uniforms are down the hall,” Zeff said, gesturing with his thumb. “Toss ‘em on and find an empty station in the kitchen.”

—————

“Quit being a fucking martyr!”

Sanji’s body seized, catapulting him back into the waking world. He gasped for air, scrubbing at his face and rolling out of bed to open his window; the smell of ocean and the sound of the waves eventually drowned out his pulse pounding between his ears.

More than a month had passed since he woke up back in this bed, back in East Blue. Perhaps some whim of fate, maybe some freak accident.

“Run, Sanji! Run, and don’t look back!”

Maybe he’d been saved. Again.

The how of coming back didn’t matter; only that he had, and he had work to do.

He reached under his mattress and retrieved a single sheet of paper; he pored over his map. His shitty, rudimentary, completely shoddy map with something like five locations in total; no accounting for an accurate representation of distance between them. A fish head for Baratie, a shitty triangle for Reverse Mountain, and only names in bold print to differentiate between the circles he used to mark what islands he knew. That he’d lived so many years of his life exclusively on board Baratie was all too apparent in his ignorance of East Blue’s geography.

The mediocrity of his work didn’t bother him; the lack of artistry and personality, however, the absence of finesse and grace in each line…

It punctuated the hole in his heart where his nakama belonged.

(“USOPP!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Calm down, I’m not mad; is this a Sea King?”

“Ah, based on my expert opinion, having fought a half dozen before I was”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you draw another?”

“R-really?”

“By some miracle, you didn’t obscure anything important. And I think it adds something to the map.”)

“Fuck.” Sanji muttered, swiping at burning eyes with the back of his hand.

He shoved the memories back into the recesses of his mind and frowned. He’d never been the one to make plans. He knew a thing or three about how to sabotage the best laid plans, but he’d always been much more dreamer than schemer. He had ten years before his captain came calling; yet only a paltry two to figure out a way to save Nami’s mother.

Sanji was sick of dead mothers.

He had no bearing on where to go save the general direction of Cocoyashi from Baratie, no way to traverse the sea save his own body, and a body sorely untrained and only months out of recovery from near-starvation.

His greatest boons were his yet-intact Haki and that he’d already developed his own black leg fighting style off what he’d inherited from Zeff. The impact his younger, weaker body could handle would be an obstacle, but at least he wasn’t starting from zero.

He stepped outside onto his balcony, eyed innocuous clouds. He looked down at his feet; flexed his toes. Canted his weight sideways and stretched what meager muscles he had. Breathed in, and…

Sor­–!

He faceplanted onto the wooden planks, hissing between clenched teeth against the burning agony in his legs.

He’d managed three of the necessary ten consecutive kicks.

“Shit.” He grunted, thumping his fist against his thigh.

The groan of floorboards had him going still; he listened through Haki to the restaurant, holding his breath.

A minute without movement from the floor below and he exhaled.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he wondered how long it would take to build his body back up for even one of those shitty assassin’s techniques.

One of the many, countless bittersweet echoes living in his mind that he treasured and dreaded in equal measure came forward as if in answer.

“Sanji; fly!”

He opened his eyes to the moon; pressed the heel of his palm against the wood beneath him, clutched at the banister in front of his balcony.

“Roger,” he whispered, pulling himself onto legs screaming in protest. “Captain.”

[rewrittenwrongs]

Whumptober day 11: Convenience Store

Read on Ao3 (registered users only) | Day 10 | Day 12 coming soon | Whumptober masterpost

CW: food issues, sensory issues, child spending time with little to no food available

I’m not gonna lie this fic completely got away from me. This was supposed to be a 1k angst oneshot about child!Tim having to buy food ‘cause Mrs Mac took a day off, and somehow this is what I ended up with?? I don’t even know if it fits the prompt anymore, but I already wrote a fic for tomorrow’s starvation prompt.

When Tim was five, his parents started going on digs and vacations again. Not that they stopped for long, just a year or so when Umma was pregnant and Tim was too young to leave alone. But when he was a toddler they stuck to trips and seminars no more than a week long, with the exception of their Christmas vacation, on which they always brought Tim. Now Tim was old enough and smart enough to stay home alone for longer periods of time.

They hired some staff to keep him and the home in order. Mrs Melanie did shopping and meal prepping, and Mr Burton cleaned the house every Saturday. Stacy Smith, a teenager from a nearby Condo, drove him to and from school every day, and took him out for fun while Mr Burton cleaned. It wasn’t long before his Halmeoni started visiting.

Halmeoni had visited quite a few times before, especially after the trip to Haly’s Circus, but now she visited every Monday. Then she started staying the night, and occasionally two nights, and it wasn’t long before she was taking him to school and making dinner on those days.

She noticed that he was a picky eater pretty quickly. Instead of making him choke down food he found inedible, she taught him to cook. They made omelettes and spring rolls and stew and sourdough, and she would write down all the recipes he liked in a thick, hardcover notebook. She made a list of foods and brands for Mrs Melanie to avoid, and another of all the things he especially liked. Halmeoni started adding dishes from other cultures to their cooking lessons, especially Korean and Jewish food. They also tried different restaurants and diners, warming Tim up to the idea of trying unfamiliar dishes. And half the time the food wasn’t even that bad! A lot of it was delicious!

One day, several months into this new routine of theirs, they were watching the Winter Olympics and Halmeoni noticed Tim was particularly enthralled by the ice skaters. On a whim, the next day she took him to watch a competition being held at their local ice rink, and that night he asked her if he could sign up for classes. Jack and Janet were coming home just that week, so she talked it out with them and the next week Tim got his first pair of ice skates.

That was a particularly fond memory of his. He loved ice skating, and would be forever thankful to his Halmeoni for introducing it to him. He loved her. She was fun and kind and sweet, and he never doubted that she loved him back.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when she died.

He was just a month and a half from turning nine. His parents cut their dig short and rushed home. The funeral was a somber affair, too somber. Halmeoni would’ve tutted if she saw how sad and melancholy everyone was. She never did like the colour black.

Several months after that, after the school year ended, Tim’s parents decided to give boarding school a try, so they wouldn’t have to worry about him or pay so many people to keep an eye on him and their home.

He hated boarding school with every atom of his body. All the students were stuck up pricks, the teachers were strict and horrible at their jobs, his dorm room was cramped, his roommate was annoying, and the cafeteria food was disgusting. There were only four things on the menu he could stomach, and no more than one of them was available at any time. He spent every cent of allowance he had on food he could actually eat. There were many nights where he ran out of money and went to bed starving, and after the third time he started collecting a stash of packaged foods to store away in his room. It physically hurt to buy food only to not eat it, but after a few weeks he had enough saved up that he could eat at least one thing every day, even if it wasn’t always a meal.

At least he was close enough to the ice rink to keep skating. And, thank god, by the end of the year he had managed to convince his parents to let him stay home. He joined a public school, his parents hired new help, and things felt like they were settling down again. Not as nice as before, and far more lonely, but this new normal was decent enough.

(With the exception, of course, of the weekly ‘bird watching’ sessions. He did actually do some bird watching, but on those nights he had his sights set on Robin. His parents had him take self defence classes pretty regularly, and he used a magical artefact they picked up to hide himself from observers. It was uniquely exhilarating to see Robin and Batman soaring across the sky.)

Mrs Mc Ilvaine was nice, and a good cook, but she rarely cooked foods Tim genuinely loved. He could stomach it, usually, but she didn’t have the list of foods to stick to or avoid. She made carrot cake on special occasions that was delicious, at least, and her soups were amazing. And, when he worked up the courage to ask her to stop making him pumpkin pies, she listened without even a glare.

But. Mrs Mac had her own life. Her own family. This wasn’t even her only job.

The first time she took a sick day, it blindsided Tim.

Usually, when he came home from school on Mondays, he was greeted by delicious smells and containers of food on the countertop, fresh produce in the fruit bowl, maybe some plates drying in the dishwasher. But that day the kitchen was exactly as he left it that morning.

He pieced together what happened pretty quick. He found some cereal and milk and ate that, since he was pretty hungry, sitting on the kitchen island and staring at the empty counters as he ate. Some of the restaurants nearby did delivery, did he have enough money to last a week off UberEats? Probably, but it would be cheaper to go to a grocery store—did the one nearby sell to ten year olds?

Once he’s eaten he opened the doors to the pantry, grabbed a notebook, and wrote down every edible thing in there—edible to him. Once the pantry had been investigated he did the same to the fridge, and any food in the cupboards. There were still a few stale slices of bread, a half-full box of cereal, a couple potatoes slowly sprouting roots, several jars of kimchi, nine eggs, two packets of instant ramen, a mostly-full bag of rice, a bunch of frozen apricots from Mrs Mac’s tree, and a jar of blackberry jam. There was also butter, two jugs of milk, several sauces, sugar, a bit of brown sugar, baking soda, vanilla extract, a bag of flour, and their usual collection of herbs and spices. And, he managed to find a slightly freezer-burned serving of Mrs Mac’s curried sausages, buried under some meat cuts he didn’t know how to cook.

This was okay. He could make pancakes, maybe some gnocchi or baked potatoes. The bread and cereal would go first, obviously. He could cook rice in the ramen broth and top it with kimchi. He’s not above eating frozen fruit out of the bag with his fingers. He could go to the store and get some more instant ramen, maybe more eggs.

Would that be enough? How long did he have to spread this food out? How many meals could he live without in a day, now that he’s back to skateboarding in his free time and stalking the bats on his weekends? He’d been saving up for a new camera lens, but he’ll almost certainly have to spend some of that money on food.

He knew buying in bulk was cheapest. That things like rice, instant ramen, eggs, potatoes and canned foods were cheap and easy to cook. And edible, too—depending on the ramen brand. He didn’t know if the store nearby would sell to a kid his age, but there was a different store that did delivery, he could probably order from them. It would be more expensive though—best to try the in-person store and use delivery as a last resort.

There was still the itchy, restless feeling under his skin. Years ago, after a lot of googling he identified this feeling as ‘anxiety’. He didn’t like it. At all. Not the feeling or this situation. He didn’t like not knowing how long he’d have to stretch these meals, or even how many meals this food could make him, or how much food he had the money for, or when Mrs Mac would be back. He didn’t like any of it. It made his bones restless and his eyes itchy and his breath short.

Tim hopped off his stool and grabbed the weight scale.

He weighed everything edible and looked up the recommended serving weights and scribbled equations in his notebook. He looked up the prices at his local grocery store, compared different brands and bulk deals, and the recommended calorie intake for someone his age and weight. It was higher than he’d like. His savings were lower than he’d like.

Well, either way, he should have enough food to last ‘till the end of the week. Probably smart to skip out on bird watching and skateboarding, avoid unnecessary calorie expenditure. His ice skating team sometimes went out and got food after practice, maybe he’d get lucky and they’ll go out this week?

He shouldn’t get his hopes up. The thing he really needs to hope for is that Mrs Mac only takes this week off, and will be back in seven days with fresh groceries and new meals.

(Mrs Mac was sick for two weeks. Tim only bought groceries in person once, because the cashier was nice and didn’t ask about his parents. The rest of them wouldn’t listen and thought he was a homeless kid trying to steal their things. He always thought of Halmeoni and her recipe book as he cooked, and tried not to think of it gathering dust on his shelf. He made it through the fortnight with stomach pains and 70 less dollars.)

(After that he started keeping a stash of non-perishables hidden in his room.)

-

Tim knows he has a complicated relationship with food.

He has all his life. As a child he was, according to his parents, one hell of a picky eater. They had to buy specific ingredients and avoid common foods and at one point he almost went to the hospital because he refused to eat. Through a lot of trouble shooting they found foods he was able to eat, though sometimes they would get tired of accomodating him and force him to eat what felt like poison or starve. He went hungry more than a child should, especially a child from a family as rich as his. It was much better when Halmeoni was around but never perfect. Thankfully, a lot of the pickiness went away as he got older, but there were many aversions that stayed for good.

Leaving behind a clean plate was a concept he was intimately familiar with, and one he’ll despise for the rest of his life.

But despising and disobeying are two different things. Not Alfred nor Bruce, or anyone in the house, explicitly stated that he had to eat everything he put on his plate. They never told him he had to eat everything before he could go home, or held him hostage at the dinner table until he was full. They never even plated food for him, and he was indefinitely grateful that they allowed him to choose his own portions.

But rules are rules, and while Tim has never actually asked them if there was a rule about finishing food, he assumed there was. It was safer to assume that. Not easier, by god it was difficult, but he preferred scarfing down poison than risking the wrath of Batman. More than he already had by becoming Robin in the first place.

And besides, the rules were hidden in the subtext. In the looks Alfred sent his way when he left his plate half empty. The frown Bruce got when he struggled to keep down a meal. The meeting of eyes when he poked at his food instead of eating and took fifteen minutes to finish what was practically a snack. And the comments—they never said ‘you have to finish everything on your plate before you can go home’, but they did say things like ‘are you sure that’s all you want to eat?’ and ‘you’re a growing boy, you need more food than that’, and, the few times he had the courage to feign sickness or being full, ‘just a few more bites’.

Tim despised that phrase. ‘Just a few more bites’—it’s inedible! It’s poison! Was he seriously the only one who physically couldn’t eat porridge? That found peanuts disgusting? That hated the taste of broccoli, the consistency of pumpkin soup, the texture of hummus? Was everyone else seriously just fine with the sticky hands and lips from marshmallows, from jams, sauces, juices and oils? How could they stand half the greasy fast food chain meals? Were they just pretending to like risotto to torture him!?

Tim asked himself these questions a lot, both when Alfred talked Bruce into letting him stay for a meal after patrol, and when Mrs Mac finished meal prepping for the week.

He never asked anyone else, of course. Then they’d realise something was wrong with him, and then they’d notice all the other things, too.

He could grin and bear it.

And he did. He was accustomed to it. He would eat the yuckiest part of his meal first, to get it out of the way, then he would make his way through the rest of his serving, saving the best bites for last. If it was a disgusting meal he would give himself a small serving and eat it as quickly as he could to get it over with. If it was something truly inedible he might fake being sick or not being hungry, make some excuse. If he couldn’t talk his way out of it he’d serve himself as little as possible and eat as quick as he could stomach, before heading to a bathroom in case he vomited.

When it came to Mrs Mac’s meals, he wasn’t so afraid to ask her not to cook something again. When she made something semi-edible he’d stomach what he could, and eat his safe-foods the rest of the time. When she made something entirely inedible he’d hand it off to the nearest food drive and ask her not to make it again. She’d do so for maybe 8 months before forgetting, making it, and the cycle would repeat.

When Cass started hanging around Wayne Manor for meals she kept giving him weird looks. She never directly approached him about it, but she must’ve mentioned it, because Alfred started avoiding making some of the meals he couldn’t eat, and for a few nights Bruce would study him while he ate the same way he studied abuse victims.

And then, almost a year later, when Steph was recovering from what Black Mask did to her and Tim was newly reinstated as Robin, Batman nodded his head to a Chinese restaurant down the street. The expression on his face and the tilt of his head was distinctly questioning.

Grabbing food on patrol wasn’t something Tim was new to. Bruce only did it with him for the first time more than a year into his Robin tenure, but it was a near monthly affair before Tim was forced to quit, and Young Justice often stopped for food. Tim shrugged in response.

Bruce didn’t like that answer. He turned his head to face him properly. “Are you hungry?”

Tim eyed him mistrustfully. Was this some weird kind of test? “Yes.”

“What do you want to eat?”

Tim stared at him. “Uh. What?”

“What would you like to eat?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I want you to eat something you’ll enjoy.”

Tim stared at him, lost.

Bruce looked uncomfortable in that unique way he got when trying, and probably failing, to be supportive. “…I’ve noticed, you often seem to dislike meals we get on patrol, or that Alfred makes. When we eat on patrol I would like it to be something you enjoy eating.”

It. This. He… was Tim supposed to feel this lightheaded and wildly off-balance? Bruce had literally never asked what he wanted to eat. And what does it matter if he enjoys the meal? He always eats it all anyway, and it’s pretty rare for him to vomit it back up these days…

Tim swallowed. “Why does it matter?”

Batman took a moment to pick his words, turning back to the street they watched. “Being vigilantes is. A very taxing lifestyle. I know I’ve drilled it into you how important it is to get enough calories, proteins, carbs, vegetables. You have some habits that suggest disorderly eating. I… it is not safe to have unhealthy relationships with food, especially in this line of work. Identifying foods you like is. Useful.”

Tim continued to stare at him. What was he going on about? Unhealthy relationships—“My eating isn’t disordered,” Tim said snappishly, knowing it wasn’t entirely true. “I get enough calories. I always eat everything I put on my plate.”

“Eating disorders do not always appear as total aversion to eating. And the concept of always having to leave your plate clean is inherently flawed, and actively encourages disordered eating.”

Tim blinked, then swallowed. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”

Batman stayed silent for a long moment. The wind made a valiant effort at tugging on his cape. A car the next street over honked. “What would you like to eat tonight?”

Tim sighed, feeling strangely defeated. What he was in the mood for was loaded fries from this one great shop in the Narrows, but they couldn’t be eaten with a fork and got so messy so easily, and with Robin’s outfit his hands wouldn’t get sticky but he’d have to clean the gloves…

The restaurant Batman nodded to did good chicken fried rice. And he liked their Cantonese spring rolls.

Tim copied Bruce’s earlier motion. “That place is good.”

(The next night, he found a note left on his bed by Alfred. Apparently he was to write a list of dishes and ingredients for him to avoid, and accompany him to the shops tomorrow. It was both anxiety inducing and… freeing.)

(From then on, whenever his kids were arguing over what to eat on patrol, Bruce would text Tim for what he was in the mood for.)

[excess-thought-dump]

So I had a brain ache for today and I decided to read dungeon meshi also know as delicious in dungeon because I keep I seeing it in all my feeds in for of anime clips and I am currently in the mindset that I can read faster than the any show move -

( which might be because recently I see the 20 mins on showtime and I am like that 20 min almost an 30mins which is half of hour and that if I watch two episodes that basically an hour gone and then I feel like a ‘waste’ time)

- so during the brain ache I was like why not start a little manga as a treat then bam I read the whole series on accident so now I want to spill my thoughts/feeelings to process what the fuck happened

Since I read the whole thing I gonna spoil stuff in the manga so this is a warning

I love this series so much It has so many of my favorite tropes

First one is that if it bleeds I can eat it the whole survive of the fittest and such is just so fun to play out on how they will eat anything from muscle armor to magic water

-jester being the ruler

I don’t know were I remembered this but there was like a video saying there favorite trope was like the servant was like the powerful one and let the villain or king keep ruling because they didn’t want responsibility this like this but if the jester want to help the king in what ever way they can

-in-depth biology and fantasy

I love how they explain how everything works from how they cook the monster to how the monster itself works it makes the whole world made sense

- wishes and desires and how they can be corrupted even tho it is good

When the wish are so simple and relatable and they twist it like a genie or the monkey paw it

- doppelgänger episode

Probably my favorite arcs because you can see how each person thinks of each other and see the little details of the characters.

- this person is so good he obviously has to be evil and is just actually stupid good

I love seeing the main characters being seen in different eyes because I would have never thought of them being suspicious but when kabru group were talking about them I see how there action may have an alternate motive

-found family

I love how at the very use to each and there little actions to each other

I now want to talk about how strangely two characters are me ??

-laios being not knowing that people are uncomfortable and thinking they are good friends

I had seen so many “friendship” where I thought they like me or another person because they were friendly but then another person said that they didn’t like me or another person( I hope this is understandable)

-laios want to eat anything

I like to think of how inedible stuff taste like sometimes actually taste stuff and it’s usually tastes far from what I thought

And with laios and fall so interested in how monster taste remind me of myself

-Izutsumi being slient most time and not understanding how friends work

So when there are more than like two people when socializing I usually go silent till address and like when I get into groups I don’t understand why I am there even tho I know we r friends

-Izutsumi don’t understand freedom and what to do now at the

With that last chapter trying to figure out what to do now feels like I felt lost for awhile and to gain a bit of clarity I ask people “what are doing in the future “

I feel like I am a combination of these two and I don’t know why it feels so close too me still

But if you have any recommendations for series like this please give them to me