#not knowing how ill be able to keep having chickens

[pennaraptor]

you should be able to keep chcikens everywhwere in the world and if you rent a place the landlords give you a discount for having beautiful chickens outside and they love you so much

[transgaysex]

i am so stressed btw

[cheyisagirlkisser]

—Charity Girl—

Jackson Ellie x Fem! reader one-shot

Content: Slightly enemies to lovers, Ellie’s an asshole, AFAB reader, mentions of death and slightly graphic description, smut, nipple play, oral sex (r! receiving), making out, Ellie isn’t very cannon so if that peeves you don’t read this, mentions of weed, set in TLOU 2 universe, Joel is alive!!, this is unedited so lmk if there is any typos

Word Count: 5k

Description: You love Jackson, and you like helping people out. From farm chores to playing chess with the elderly, you’re liked around Jackson for being a charitable girl. You think everyone deserves some kindness. Everyone except Ellie, who can’t seem to find it in her to be nice to the one person who doesn’t deserve a harsh word.

God, you hated Ellie Williams.

You didn't want to say you hated her. You were a friendly person and you tried to be respectful to everyone. You even tolerated Seth, who was one of Jackson's conservative-minded guys. You rightfully disliked him, but you still remained civil when it came to professional matters.

However, it was just so hard to remain that way with Ellie. You didn't even know how truly irritating she was just seeing her around town, glancing over at her before she left for patrols with usually Jesse, Dina, Tommy, or Joel. She seemed pretty likable, at least from what you had heard. She moved to Jackson a while ago, before you even arrived at the settlement. You had never really needed to talk or had any interest in becoming friends.

You were a kind girl, and everyone in Jackson knew that. You liked helping out even if patrols weren't your strong suit. You felt insecure in that category being a bit less into scavenging and the dangers that lurked outside the town, so you decided to at least make yourself a bit useful. You made it a habit to use your love of baking to bring cupcakes to the playground for all of the children to eat. Sometimes it made you a bit sad to think about how little they had growing up in a post-apocalyptic world, but that wasn't a thought you could dwell on. You also made sure to keep the few senior citizens company because most people just didn't have the time to spend with them. Not that you didn't understand that, but you didn't sign up for patrols voluntarily unless someone else was ill and needed you to cover for them, or Maria needed an extra person. But it was just heart warming to know you made an impact since many of the old folks in towns didn't have family to keep them company. You'd spend hours playing board games with them, baking those little pastries they all complimented, asking them about their days. You were an angel amongst Jackson.

You were also extremely known for helping with food related jobs, such as gardening and farming. It was rewarding, since even though currency was quite useless in the world nowadays, you had the income of being able to take home vegetables, milk, butter, and even eggs when the chickens were active.

You mostly got along with anyone, and you tried to be a humble person. You just wanted to make the most of what you had. However, Ellie was..well, she was something. You'd soon be learning that.

It was summer, and everything was going fine for you. The sunlight hit Jackson in the most divine way and birds were flying over the settlement. You finished up with collecting eggs from one of the henhouses, so you grabbed a few as payment and headed to the diner to drop off a few. Everything was relatively normal. You glanced over at the gate and noticed that Jesse and Ellie had just gotten back from a patrol. Jesse was laughing about something and Ellie looked amusingly irritated. You couldn't help but think to yourself about how she was a pretty girl. She always wore her hair in a low messy bun, bangs framing her freckled face. You always were curious about her, but you just wrote your thoughts off as simple appreciation for her.

After you distributed the eggs to the diner and the supply building, you headed home. It was a short walk since Jackson wasn't a majorly huge place. Your house was small since you moved there alone, but it still home. You opened the front door and stepped inside. You still smelled the candles you'd lit from the previous night when you had been watching movies on DVDs found outside of Jackson on your small television. It was always the same movies. 10 Things I hate about you, Forest Gump, Scream, the Blair Witch Project(which had scared you so badly you were afraid to go patrolling in the forest for 3 months straight; you pathetically begged Maria not to make you do patrols), and E.T. It was just a random assortment of movies you had found in an abandoned house in a town outside of Jackson, but entertainment was entertainment. Who were you to complain?

You opened your fridge and stored the eggs inside, and then spent the next few minutes internally debating what you could do with your free-time. You still had a few books on your shelf that were mainly unread, but you hated staying indoors and reading like a hermit. Well, it was a nice day. You shuffled over to your shelf and picked up a book you'd borrowed from Cat a while ago and never read: Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu. Apparently, it was a classic a few centuries ago. With the book in hand, you left your house to find the well-used bench outside of the Tipsy Bison. It was where you loved to just sit and socialize with people or read when you wanted to breathe in fresh air.

One thing about you was that you enjoyed nature. While you did hate patrols, the idea of having to fend for yourself being unappealing, you loved the beautiful parts of it. Some debated that the infection was a part of nature, and you knew that, too. But still, you preferred being in the safety of a settlement. You knew what it was like to spend time in the outside world and it wasn't pretty. You enjoyed inhaling the air, watching as people lived their lives. Mortality was so precious right now, and maybe that's why you tried so hard to get along with everyone. You thought everyone deserved kindness.

Still, this life you led was mundane and boring at times. You were slightly envious of the patrollers. People in the current world were often restless, and as much as you’d think Jackson’s residents would love a mundane life with safety, they craved the survival. Maybe it was from their own personal trauma, but you weren’t able get that same lapse in routine everyone else got. It made you crave something extra from life, always feeling as if something was missing. Life this way, spent working and your free-time devoted to simple things, felt too easy. It felt like a deal in which you didn’t know the conditions of, and you subconsciously believed every good thing in the world had a cost. This easy lifestyle had to have a price.

For the next 15 minutes, you began your reading on that small bench. That was, until you heard someone sit down next to you. You glanced over to see Ellie there, alone next to you without any of her companions. Not that she was incapable of being alone, of course, but Ellie was the type of person to be reserved to her select group. Not a social butterfly like you, but well liked in an ironic way. She was so effortlessly able to get people to like her while not caring about whether or not people liked her. You gave her a warm smile and quickly doggy-eared the page you were reading, closing the book and setting it down into your lap.

"Can I help you with something?" You asked, remaining polite. You knew you probably seemed short with her, but if you were being truthful, the girl made you a tad bit nervous. Really, she had a positive impression on your brain. Before you really got to know her, at least.

She shrugged, feigning indifference, and answered you in a voice that was slightly teasing, her voice lacking the type of friendly amusement you'd expect from her. "Just wanted to say hi. Why is it that you sit out here everyday? Do you not have anything else to do?"

You were a bit shocked by that reply to say the least. You didn't ever expect Ellie to be even slightly rude. However, you were trying to be friendly. You'd kill this with some kindness. "Well, it's a nice day. I like the fresh air, you know?" You answered, trying to not sound too defensive.

The girl simply gave you a look you couldn't identify. Slight disapproval, and something you couldn't read. "You like fresh air? I thought you hated being outside. You know, since you never volunteer to go outside the walls and contribute?"

Now, that started to peeve you. Ellie was gorgeous, but even your little crush on her that you didn't realize you even had would save her now. Still..you tried to be friendly. Kindness is a virtue, you reminded yourself. "Everyone has their preferences. I personally like helping with the animals and harvesting crops." Once again, you tried to not sound too defensive. Something about Ellie's demeanor, the way she was looking at you intently, it made you feel as if she was trying to tease you to get a reaction out of you.

"Well, suit yourself then. But people risk their lives for you. The least you could do is return the favor. That's all I had to say." And with that last comment, she just stood up and waved at you before walking off.

It was so hard not to catch up to her and ask her what her deal was, but that would cause more problems than it would solve for you. You sat on the bench, confused and frustrated.

The next few weeks, these little comments Ellie made to you continued. It was either some slight judgment about the book you were reading or that you spent too much time trying to look sweet that you were actually just useless. It was always with a tone that was so rude yet seemed teasing. You wondered if she meant any of it. You always tried to defend yourself, but you were starting to really despise Ellie. You considered talking to someone like Maria, Tommy, or Joel about it, but would they even believe you? Ellie was usually not so rude from the conversations you had overheard. She seemed like a normal girl. It was frustrating having nobody to tell this to. Your friends always laughed you off, saying that Ellie was probably just joking with you to be friendly and that you were misunderstanding her. Everyone in Jackson loved Ellie, and she seemed to get along with everyone just fine except for you. Still, you tried to be sweet. You would simply brush her off, pretend like she was just some old person who made subtle criticisms and not anything serious. It was just really starting to get to you, though. You wondered how long you could manage.

Turns out, you would have to manage a patrol with her. Someone did in fact become ill and had to turn down a patrol, so you volunteered. Only then did Maria seem to mention that your partner was Ellie. You wanted to beg to swap with someone else, but you didn't want to inconvenience anyone, so you accepted the fate. It was a foot patrol among the south trails. 8 hours of pure torture.

Foot patrols were entirely different matters than what usual patrols entail. For starters, usual patrols require horses and cover more distance. They’re less dangerous. Being on foot also requires you to trust your partner more, which you struggle to do with your current partner. You have to trust that they’ll cooperate with you and have your back if things get tough. However, foot patrols do not require patrollers to hit up the main buildings or hot spots. You only check into the small places around the area, such as the office downtown or the gun store a mile from the grocery store. You’re less likely to get ambushed by a horde of clickers that way.

The fact that it was a summer patrol instead of winter made it slightly better. You imagined what it’d be like if you and Ellie got trapped in a snowstorm and were locked into some grocery store together. Annoyingly enough, the idea of having to share body heat with her made your heart flutter more than you’d like to admit. Summer patrols meant you’d probably have to take a lot of rests so neither of you would overheat, however.v

The cork board outside of the supply station mocked you in a way with your name being beside Ellie’s. You truly began to wonder if you could handle being alone with the girl who subtly tormented you for weeks straight without finally snapping. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you snapped at her. Would she yell back, or maybe even report you to Maria? You just knew that your usual patience was wearing thin.

You went home and collapsed onto your bed, hoping that a good night’s sleep would somehow save you from the situation you’d be facing tomorrow. As if Ellie would suddenly leave you be if you got enough sleep—you were just truly desperate.

Night didn’t last forever, and you woke to the sight of light streaming through your curtains in small patches. You groaned and forced yourself to get out of bed. The alarm clock read “6 A.M.” Much too early to have to deal with Ellie Williams.

You took a quick shower just to freshen up and got ready for the day, messily tying your hair back and putting on a pair of tan cargo pants, a light button-up, and a pair of combat boots. Simple, but safe. You packed a bag with some emergency medical supplies including gauze, alcohol pads, and a bottle of ibuprofen. You knew that you'd be given a care package from the supply crew, but you liked to be safe.

You would always grab a shotgun and a pistol from the weaponry building. Most people would choose to take the rifles, but you found it easier to shoot a light pistol and shotguns were easier to aim with. You knew the more trained people, Ellie included, would bring knives or machetes to clear infected with. You didn't trust yourself to get so close to the infected, at least not without something like a gun. Extra ammo, and extra MREs. You always felt a bit more safe bringing just a few extra things in case of emergencies.

You remember when you arrived at Jackson, and you were assigned your very first patrol at 17. You spent hours before patrol preparing with extra equipment, and it soon became a habit to overthink the experience. Your partners would ask about it, maybe give you an odd look, but most people just got used to it after a while. Everyone assumed it was because of your life before Jackson, and they'd guessed right.

The children that were raised in Jackson were unfortunate to have even been born in such a dangerous world that can snatch away the people you care for most, but they at least grew up into safety. You were nomadic, moving from settlement to settlement, group to group, or even just setting up camp in the middle of a forest or abandoned city. It was a dangerous life, and it left you constantly losing sleep, waking up and wondering if your father who you traveled with would be able to protect you if something truly happened. If the two of you had the misfortune of stumbling upon a horde of infected or run into a slaver group. It was often that you'd sleep so lightly, even the sound of a mouse scurrying across an abandoned office floor would wake you. You were terrified with the thought of being eaten alive in your sleep or worse, bitten, and left to slowly lose your humanity.

The day your father was killed off wasn't much different than any other, and that resulted in your current state. Always being overprepared because maybe you could prevent sudden death. Just maybe if you brought one extra gauze strip, you'd somehow prevent past you from watching your father be torn apart from a clicker. Jackson was supposed to be a fresh start for you, so you always found yourself repeating the same phrase.

"Make the best of what you have, and don't dwell on what you've lost."

Sometimes you break your own rules, though.

It was around 6:45 when you arrived at the gates. The sun wasn't up yet, and that meant flashlights would probably be necessary. One downside to summer patrol was that the sun set late, but the sun rose late, too. You anticipated the hues of orange and pink that would paint the sky and give you light.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ellie cleared her throat, signaling she was here and ready to go. You stole a glance at her and your heart fell into your stomach.

She looked messy and somehow so gorgeous that it hurt. She had a slightly masculine energy to her with a pair of brown leathers boots and boot-cut dark jeans that still found a way to hug her thighs so deliciously. She wore a short-sleeve t-shirt you'd seen on her before and her low bun had strands falling out of it, strands you secretly wanted to tuck behind her ears.

You scratched those thoughts out of your head when she opened her mouth.

"Are you conscious? We need to get moving." She had a slightly scolding tone that made you want to bite back with something just as condescending, but you held back.

Instead, you simply nodded, and Ellie probably could've sworn that you had veins popping out of your forehead. Who could've blamed you? Ellie was such an asshole to you.

Ellie's mind was an extremely complicated place. Her thoughts were quick, and she felt the need to always be on task. However, one difference between the two of you was that she got into trouble at times. It was quite inevitable though, especially when she was friends with Dina and Jesse.

Incidents like getting high off her ass on patrol, messing around with a squeaky toy and accidently attracting a group of walkers, losing her temper and pissing off a group of stragglers, or when her and Jesse abused the walkie-talkies.

She was naturally in need of routine breaks, and maybe that's why she teased you so much. She felt a little envious. You were this perfect girl, sweet as they come, who cared for the people in town who didn't usually have company. You didn't do patrols and you were still an incredibly hard worker in ways Ellie felt lacking, because there were so many people around town who kissed your ass for doing something as simple as milking the cows.

That wasn't all Ellie's thoughts about you were based around, though. Something about how boring your life was somehow appealed to her, and she hated herself for even thinking about you. She also shouldn't have been obsessing over a girl who was probably straight, like most girls in Jackson, of course. But something about you really made her want to break you and see you snap. Maybe that's why she spent so much time trying to get a reaction out of you. She knew she was being a dickhead to you, but she still just needed to see that snap. She'd finally be able to know that you were more than just some nice girl, then.

Truth was, Ellie was probably in love with you with the amount she thought about you. Insulting you was so easy, though. It was so easy to pretend that she didn't like you than to make an effort to impress you and be herself. She was scared of letting you know who she actually was because you may reject her forreal, and she couldn't handle that.

So it was best to pretend like she enjoyed being extremely condescending to you.

The first two hours of patrol was spent walking in close proximity on the trails south of the creek. You could practically smell the water, and you could feel the slight breeze that gave you some relief the extreme heat. Every now and then you'd take a sip of water and look around cautiously. Caution was something you couldn't live without, and Ellie seemed to take a notice to that. It was just your lucky day that she was in the mood to be an asshole to you again.

She'd make small remarks to you, sometimes questioning the way your hands trembled anxiously, or asking you why you didn't bring any good weapons. When it was lunch time, she laughed at the ridiculous amount of rations in your backpack. Slowly, you felt peeved. Why was Ellie such a bitch to you? You knew she didn't actually care about these things, yet she loved to point them out in the most grating voice she could muster up. After one particular comment that was something along the lines of "You know, it's embarrassing that someone else had to get sick for you do take a patrol shift" that finally made you snap.

You halted along the trail and turned to face her, a sudden irrational wave of anger flooding your system. "What the fuck is your problem?! Are you just mad because you hate me? Is that it? I don't understand what I did to deserve you constantly criticizing me!" You snapped, voice clear with anger. You stepped forward and you wanted to slap her across the face, hardly holding back from doing so. Ellie sensed this and maybe she felt a twinge of fear and something else you didn't even notice. This was odd seeing as she could easily kick your ass. Her back hit a large tree, her eyes widened as if she couldn't have possibly predicted this reaction. This only made you more irritated.

You stepped forward, your body close enough to hears that you could hear her inhale and exhale, and it was a shaky sound that you would've questioned if it weren't for your anger serving as a distraction. "Answer me, asshole! Why do you hate me so much?! Just fucking-" And you were cut off with a kiss.

Her hands desperately grasped at your face, pulling you closer as she kissed you. It wasn't the standard type of sweet kiss in which two people would brush up against each other's lips. She was practically devouring you with her need. At first, you couldn't process what was happening. Ellie was kissing you so hard you felt almost lightheaded. But for some reason, all of the anger you felt was flushed away as you began to kiss her back.

Ellie took some initiative and flipped you around so that you were backed up against the tree, the rough bark digging into your back. However, you couldn't focus on any discomfort present in your body. All you could feel was the numbing swell of your lips as Ellie's practically bruised yours. You felt her teeth bite on your bottom lip, and you let out a pathetic moan. Her hands were somehow everywhere, from your face to the sides of your body as if she was trying to pull the warmth from your body.

She tasted so fucking good, it was hard to stop. You could faintly taste copper from where she bit down onto your lip, but you could also taste her in such an intimate way, it was more emotional than it seemed. A mix of her toothpaste, and an Earthiness you'd imagined she'd contain. The two of you were lost in each other that patrol was all but forgotten.

You finally had to pull away to breathe, but she needed more. Her hands trailed across your chest, palming at your tits through your shirt. You tilted your head back against the tree, and she took the opportunity to leave hungry kisses on your pulse point, probably sucking hard enough on your skin to leave hickey's you'd lecture her about later. But for now, you didn't care.

It was all a blur, her pulling at your clothes and the both of you left naked against the tree not long after. She tugged at your hair while lapping at your tits, and this made you breathless. "Ellie, please.." You didn't even know what you were begging for.

She let out a soft noise and released the latch she had on one of your tits. “Fuck, I like this version of you so much better than the other one..” She said, her voice riddled with an obvious sense of need that made your thigh involuntarily clench. She moved upwards, her tongue meeting your collarbone and then up to your jaw. She kissed down the side of your neck, the heat of her mouth and the wetness of her tongue enveloping you. You tilted your head back, your breathing coming out in soft pants. You didn’t understand how you could hate her moments before and somehow be a mess for her now. You really wanted to hate how good it felt, but you really couldn’t even find an ounce of fight left in you to try and push her away. You didn’t want to push her away. 

Her hands moved to your tits, kneading them softly, pinching your nipples while she mouthed at the sensitive spot between your shoulder and neck. It felt like heaven the way her lips caressed your skin. 

She moved much too slowly down your body, kissing both of your stiff nipples before sliding her tongue down your navel. Her hands pulled at your waist and you couldn’t help but arch your back slightly to meet her mouth as it moved against your thighs. She tried to tease you as best she could while being so horny as well, but soon she gave up on the idea altogether. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet..” Was the last thing she muttered before the heat of her mouth finally pressed up against your cunt making you clench around nothing. She parted your thighs gently and you struggled to stay standing against the tree. Your hands tangled into her hand to find purchase as her tongue lapped at your clit like you were dinner. Not like rations or canned soup you’d typically find lying around in an old grocery store, but a michelin star meal. You were far too expensive for her budget and she was taking advantage of the sample she got. She imagined what it’d be like to have you everyday, to be able to bring you please like this for hours on end. But she was too far gone to really dwell on the thought long before she was wrapping her soft lips around your clit and giving it a suck, making you tug on her roots and rocking your hips against her mouth, grinding your wet cunt against her mouth. She was so warm and you were soaking for her, and it was absolutely perfect.

Sometimes, you had overheard philosophical drunken conversions at the Tipsy Bison. People with flushed cheeks would talk of hatred. That was nothing new; hatred was always common in the world, even before the infection. But hearing someone talk about how hatred is just a negative type of love, now that part stuck with you. You could feel hatred for Ellie while she worked at your cunt, you told yourself. You repeated into your head that hate was unglorified love. Maybe it was desire, too. 

But you struggled to keep that notion in your head as her tongue swirled around you teasingly before not holding back one bit. And before you knew it, you were a goner. Your breaths grew shorter as your climax finally took over, your knees nearly buckling as you let out a loud cry against the release you were feeling. You were violently tugging at her auburn strands, making her moan in return, only sending more shocks through your body as you felt her send warm vibrations through your pussy. 

You nearly forgot how to speak. 

Eventually, you went limp against the tree, and she stood up to hold you close. Your breaths were ragged for a while and the two of you remained silent until she broke it with a soft sigh. 

“I am sorry for being a jerk..I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.” She whispered softly, her breath hitting your neck. 

Finally, you found your voice again, though it was unsteady and quiet. “I just didn’t understand..I still don’t. I thought you hated me.” 

She frowned at that and hugged your tightly, which showed to you that this moment was much more than sexual desire shared between the two of you. “No, I don’t hate you. I’m just an idiot, okay? I was jealous, and I sort of liked you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you ever.”

That made your heart beat just a little faster. “You…like me back?” You asked, needing her to say it just one more time. 

“Yes. I like you too. I swear, I think I’m in love with you the way I’m so obsessed with you. You were always taking up space in my mind..it was driving me insane.” She admitted, and it caused you to lean forward to plant a soft kiss on her lips. Both of your lips were still kiss-swollen and your body was shaking with the after-glow of your orgasm, but this kiss was much more gentle than the previous. It was soft and made you even more weak than her tongue did. Which was saying a lot.

She hugged you tightly, her hands finding purchase at your waist. You thought about getting dressed and going on with patrol, but none of it felt right now. The situation gave you that lapse in routine you needed, and you knew you were probably addicted to the feeling of Ellie’s presence now. Somehow, you couldn’t care less. That was a first.

[tpwk-formula1]

Lando Norris, Thin Crust, Red Sauce,Pineapple, BBQ Chicken , Vodka redbull, Sparkling Water, Coke, Yes

With a plus-size reader, if you can. I fear there's not many plus-size fics out there with lando. If you could please and thank you. 🧙‍♀️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

thin crust brother's best friend red sauce rough sex pineapple "Look so pretty wrapped around my cock" bbq chicken “Gonna let me cum in you? I know you wanna have my baby��� vodka redbull squirting sparkling water spitting coke spanking dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Lando x Plus size Fewtrell! reader

TW unprotected sex, squirting, spanking, creampie, rough Lando, talks of insecurities

WC 1600+

Y/N POV

"Love, I'm not feeling the best. I think I'm gonna stay in for the day," I tell Lando softly while he was talking to my brother about the plans for today.

"You were okay this morning, what's going on? What are you feeling?" Lando asks clearly getting worried.

"It's nothing major just think I ate the wrong thing this morning," I tell him softly not wanting the whole house to hear the conversation.

"Do you need us to get you anything?" Max asked clearly being worried. I just shake my head no before turning on my foot and heading towards Lando and I's room that we have been sharing while here on Holiday for summer break.

"Hey love, what's really going on? I can see this perplexed look on your face clearly showing me that you're overthinking something," Lando asks me after he had followed me into our room.

"No I promise I'm just having tummy issues," I continue to uphold the lie. Said lie falling from my lips far easier than it should, but I was used to faking illness to get out of something.

"Love, drop the act," Lando says softly making me groan at being caught.

"Lando, I- um- I'm just a little worried about the hike to the clay. I'm not sure I'll be able to do it as fast as the rest of you guys. Don't wanna hold you back," I tell Lando softly making his face drop in realization.

"Baby, no one cares if we have to take it slow," Lando tells me making me groan and shake my head.

"You don't get it love, you're an athlete surrounded by other athletes, your 'take it slow' is basically my sprinting," I tell him softly trying to hold back tears.

"i'm sorry. Maybe I'm not the best fit person for your lifestyle," I add softly watching Lando's face snap up and turn into a dark expression.

"Hey Max I think I'm gonna stay back with Y/N and take care of her," Lando walks to the bedroom door where he opens it and shouts to my brother.

"Okay! Maybe we can go again tomorrow if Y/N is up for it," Max shouts back before Lando is closing the door and striding towards me.

"Do not turn this into our breakup. As a couple it is our job to figure out how to make our lifestyles mesh. I don't give a fuck if you're not some Olympic athlete, I don't care if a one mile walk took us 100 years to complete, that's 100 years spent with the love of my life, so I'll be fucking damned if you think you're not 'good enough' to be with me," Lando stays while striding closer to me.

"Lan, I just think you might be happier with someone who can keep up with you and your friends," I tell him softly. I wasn't trying to argue and I sure as hell don't want to break up but it's a tough conversation we need to have.

"I've grown up with you and Max our entire life, I'm used to walking in the back with you, not because I was that slow but because even at 12 I genuinely liked you and any time I could spend with you I would," Lando tells me making me think back to when we were younger and he really would walk in the back of the pack with me always the last two to arrive. Even having Lando defend me a few times against my brother and his teasing words.

"I'm sorry I've just really been in my head a lot lately," I tell him softly making him hum and pull me into his arms.

"I know I could tell, but I thought it was cause you were stressed with work not because you had been stressing about our relationship," Lando tells me softly before placing a kiss on my forehead.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you sooner. I was just embarrassed," I admit making Lando scoff.

"I'm embarrassed that my own girlfriend was too worried to talk to me about what was bothering her pretty little mind," Lando tells me while kissing my forehead and leading us to the bed where we climb into it and throw on a random movie to watch.

Midway through the second movie Lando leans down and places a kiss on my lips and climbs into my lap.

"Lando, right now?" I questioned in a hushed tone as if anyone was still home.

"No one is here, and I need to show you who you belong to," Lando tells me while starting to pull his shirt over his head leaving me to start at his tanned chest.

Once Lando had discarded his shirt somewhere in the room he made quick work of pulling off my shirt leaving us both completely bare from the waist up.

"Fuck, love these tits so much," Lando mumbled before leaning down and sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.

"Oh, Lan," I moan softly while arching my back bringing my tits even closer to his face.

Lando pulls away and roughly flips me onto my stomach where he pulls me up by the hips so I was presenting myself to him. I was only wearing a flimsy pair of sleep shorts I had thrown on a little bit ago to get more comfortable. Lando just yanks them down my legs and lets the pool at my knees where he starts slapping my ass.

"Ow, what is that for," I whine when I feel the continued spanking.

"You need to realize how fucking beautiful you are. I'm not gonna let you walk around thinking you're anything less than perfect. So everytime you sit down for the next day, you will be reminded," lando explains with a cocky smirk.

Once Lando had reddened my ass to his liking hi quickly yanks his briefs down before roughly burying his cock into my pussy and giving me no time to adjust before he is roughly thrusting into my sopping wet pussy.

"Look so pretty wrapped around my cock," Lando groans while still keeping the brutal pace.

"So good, Lan," I whine burying my face into the pillow to try and muffle my moans but lando roughly grips on my hair and pulls me face up.

"I wanna hear your screams," Lando tells me while thrusting harder and faster to try and pull the loudest noises from me.

"Fuck," I scream out when Lando continuously hits my G-spot only bringing me closer to cumming.

"Cum for me," Lando groans when he feels my pussy clenching around his cock in anticipation.

I let go almost instantly cumming all over Lando's cock and squirting all over the bedspread.

"Fuck such a messy girl," Lando groans while helping me ride out my orgasm before he picks up the pace again.

"God, I love when you get like this," Lando groans.

Lando pulls out suddenly before he flips me over onto my back and roughly starts fucking me in missionary.

"Fuck Lando," I scream at the new angle not fully prepared for the way I was feeling Lando.

In the midst of my loud moans, I feel Lando lean down over my face before roughly spitting in my mouth. Most of it went straight down my throat but some of it sprayed my face making me whimper slightly.

"Fuck, I love seeing your tears, the way you take my cock, opening your mouth like a good slut to take my spit, fuck you were made for me," Lando groans before starting to place with my sensitive clit again.

"You're gonna cum with me this time," Lando groans while speeding up his actions making me feel the build-up of my orgasm again.

"I'm gonna cum," I warn Lando knowing I wasn't gonna be able to hold back much longer reaching the point of no return far quicker than I would have liked.

“Gonna let me cum in you? I know you wanna have my baby,” Lando groans out.

"Yes, fill me up Lando, wanna have your baby," I beg desperate to cum again.

"Cum with me," Lando groans before his hips started to falter from their rough thrusting before I feel his cum start to paint my walls making me cry out in another squirting orgasm.

"Fuck," I scream as I feel my squirt spray all over Lando and I making a proper mess out of our bedding.

When Lando and I finally come down from the highs of our pleasure Lando is softly pulling out of my pussy before watching his cum leak from my gaping pussy with a smirk on his face.

"God, I love making you mine," Lando groans before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

"So good," I mumble out before turning into Lando's chest for comfort.

"Did so well, gonna have to clean this up before everyone gets home," Lando tells me with a smirk on his face making me groan in embarrassment.

Lando quickly got out of bed before turning the bath on where he let it fill up before coming to get me and he gently placed me in the bath before going into the room again to clean up the bedding so we had fresh sheets for when everyone arrived back.

After about 10 minutes Lando climbs into the bath me, letting my beck rest against his chest.

"I cleaned up all the evidence of how messy you get for me," Lando tells me with a smirk clearly laced in his voice. I just groan and try to hide my face in his neck while he just laughs.

"On a real note though, next time you feel like that promise me you'll talk to me," Lando tells me softly making me turn my head to face him.

"I promise," I tell him softly before leaning up and placing a kiss on his lips.

"i love you," I tell him softly making him smile before he tells me he loves me too.

[catmadeofsalad]

Lucifer: MC, are you feeling alright?

MC: *pale, sweaty, trembling* Yeah, I'm fine.

Lucifer:

No, you are not. Asking was a courtesy. Get in bed human, now.

A professional at making the perfect tea, exactly as you like it. Are you hungry as well? If the thought of eating is too much, he looks up what humans eat when sick and is surprised to find a diet, but he's pleased when you eat the toast he made you.

Your fever isn't breaking for a while, so he moved his office to your room so as to be able to replace the cool cloth on your forehead. The table was covered in his paperwork, but he refused to let one of his brothers have free reign of your room while you were sick.

Lucifer sneaks kisses on your forehead whenever he checks your temperature with the back of his hand.

Demons don't catch human illnesses, so expect him to help you into the shower if you're dizzy or too tired.

He also sleeps in your bed with you after you've already fallen asleep. This isn't something he'd usually do, but seeing you shiver despite your layers of blankets quickly changes his mind.

He brings you your school work and makes sure you stay up to date on your lessons, having previously informed Diavolo of your inability to attend classes.

Lucifer requests a hand from Barbatos in making you a soup from the human world, and with the royal butler's assistance, you're fed the perfect bowl of chicken noodle soup.

The week and half it took you to fully recover was baffling to the eldest demon brother, but nonetheless, he was glad once you were better.

"MC, what is this?" Is surprised at the "Thank You!" basket of poison apples and other treats that appear on his desk. Is he blushing? No, of course not. The lighting is just off.

Those forehead kisses? They become a permanent expression of endearment.

Mammon

His human is dying!? Not again! Not on his watch!

You cough? Here's more water- humans need to be hydrated when they're sick, right?

You're shivering! More blankets, a sweater- yeah, he's getting into bed with you, ya got a problem with it?

Mammon means well, he's trying his best. If his brothers got sick he never needed to worry because they were demons. He still took care of them in his own way, but his human wad sick now! What would he do if they didn't get better!?

You have to tell him that it's just a bad cold and you'll get better soon. He nods, hand on his chin as he thinks.

Mammon gets a list of items that would help you from Lucifer and Satan, and let's just say that you're all set one supplies if you ever get sick again. For over the next five years. Cold medicine? Yep. Ice packs? Lucifer told him he didn't need all 20 in the freezer but what does he know!? You've been sweating nonstop for days, ya need ta cool down.

If you were a plant you'd live the longest, but as a human, it'd take a while for you to become dehydrated again. Even with all the eness sweating.

If you thought Mammon was attentive before, watch out. He'd hugged you a lot through your sickness to keep you warm, so the slightest shiver even once you're better? Get ready for hugs!

He's surprised when you start hugging him more, too. Mammon is super tsundere at first, complaining about the affection, but he doesn't stop you. The Avatar of Greed stops complaining not long after, just happy with the affection.

Leviathan

You what? Ew, gross, no wait, don't leave - he'll take care of you!

Wait. How does he take care of a human?

It can't be that hard. He can do it!

Where did he get that lab coat- never mind, it doesn't matter. You're tightly wrapped in blankets, snacks and drinks supplied outside of the tub he calls a bed before he sardines into the porcelain bed with you.

Levi runs cold, something he forgets about until your fever spikes. He's about to ask what you need when his cold chest is perfect for your overheated face.

He sputters about how he can get you cool cloths or something and about how you shouldn't cuddle up with such a gross otaku like himself until you start to pull away.

As soon as you start to pull away, he pulls you back to himself and holds you tightly. You're not leaving his room until you're better!

Lucifer disagreed almost as much as Mammon, the former being more so upset that he hadn't been informed and almost uad to tell Diavolo that the human had gone missing.

While your sick Levi let's you join in his online classes, and keeps you up to date on them.

When you're sweaty and gross and actually cold, he runs you a warm bath. He gets some soothing bath bombs and scents from Asmodeus for your bath.

N-no, he's not joining you cause he's worried! He likes the smells too, and besides, you've been snuggled together, and your sweat was all over him!

Even though you were sick, he knew you saw through his excuses.

Once your health was back to normal, Leviathan indulged in cuddle sessions in his bed more often.

The biggest jump for the two of you? Cuddle sessions in the actual bath. Nothing inappropriate or suggestive, just sincere cuddle sessions in the warm water that you two held each other in.

Satan

Of course you're sick, he could tell based on how you were dozing off during movie night. Here's some tea and light soup, go lie down.

How he's one step ahead of your cold you'll never know, but when your fever spikes he has cool cloths already next to your bed.

Satan can tell how dizzy you are when trying to help you walk to the bathroom, and he swoops you up into his arms.

The blonde talks about his favorite recent book as he helps you bathe, helping you dry off and change into fresh, warm clothes before getting you back into bed.

One of his brothers wants to help you? Nope, he's got everything you need. Lucifer is only kept up to date on your well-being from Mammon or Beel, asking on behalf of the eldest.

When you start to feel better, he makes sure that you're active. Sore joints after being sick was miserable, and he didn't want you to feel worse.

As soon as you're better, cuddle reading sessions become a popular activity. You both have the same book, and you take turns reading chapters or pages while you sip on tea.

Asmodeus

Oh honey, he can see your clammy skin a mile away. Not to mention those dark circles and slight hand tremors.

A relaxing face .ask and a warm bath are going to help ear your lungs, and also make your skin feel better. Trust this demon, he knows his way around a rejuvenating bath!

You have a headache? Time for a scalp massage dear, close your eyes!

Seriously, Asmo is all about you getting better as fast as possible. He hates getting sick and knows some little tricks to help.

A rejuvenating bath bomb with coconut butter, oats, and a hint of lavender? Your skin is soft, and despite being sick, you feel so clean!

You're sick for about a week, but the fifth oldest is your personal nurse- eccentric nurse costume and all!

He has herbal teas, a lotion with massaging pearls to help with under eye soreness, and not to mention his full body massages for of you get achy while your sick.

He waits on his human hand and foot, but if you call on him too much he'll definitely complain or stop, "so don't abuse my perfect care and sexy nurses outfit, okay?"

Asmodeus takes you out to his favorite spa once you're better, and you surprise him with a new nail polish and face mask set as thanks for his help.

Those full body massages? Once you're completely better, those become a regular form of comfort, closeness, and lead ups to...well, I'm sure you know MC.

Beelzebub

Beel doesn't notice at first, he just thinks you've been studying too hard again.

When you don't eat as much or decline heavier foods, he gets concerned. Buffo milk tea is your favorite when you're overworked...

He doesn't want to make you upset by asking why you aren't eating as much. After all, Asmodeus scolded him once for asking when he was trying a new diet.

Beelzebub carefully asked if you weren't feeling well, and when you said you were sick everything changed.

Nurse Beel to the rescue!

Seriously. He made you soup, and you almost asked if Barbatos had made it but the orange haired demon mentioned how he scoured many cookbooks with Satan before finding the right one.

The light's bothering your eyes, and you have a migraine? They're all off quickly and the curtains are closed as well.

You're cold even though you have many blankets? Beelzebub is your personal heater.

He definitely gets concerned when you decline a new soup or meal because you're nautious, but he gets assistance from Lucifer on making you the right tea.

Beelzebub is extra gentle with you when you're sick, and he cuddles with you so carefully while he plays with your hair/massages your scalp. Not to mention, he has a great humming voice and helps you get to sleep relatively quickly.

Once you're all better, you buy him a variety party pack of his favorite chips and cookies.

Those soft cuddles and singing to sleep? Yeah, that becomes a near constant for you two when you're stressed or upset. You've sang him to sleep a couple of times, too, when he was having a rough day.

Belphegor

"I told you not to get out of bed, come lie back down MC."

Belphegor takes full advantage of you being sick to cuddle you constantly. Or at least, as much as he can. He won't cuddle you while you use the bathroom, but he'll carry you there.

He complains when you can't lie still due to shivers, but he does so as he pulls you tighter into his arms and wraps you up into the blanket tighter.

Belphie doesn't really know how to take care of a human when their sick- especially one so important to him. He relies on Satan for help in that department.

"How are you still cold?" He whines softly, holding you closer and pressing kisses to your face and neck softly. Belphegor tries to be your main heat source, but he does eventually get you more blankets, socks, or hoodies. It's his hoodie, though, so don't share your weird human germs.

Despite all the rest you got and Satan's help, it takes you a long time to get better, but once you do, you surprise him with a set of eye masks and slippers.

Those cuddley and kisses? Oh, they stay, and you two take turns kissing each other to sleep fairly often.

[calmcoldevening]

Sup! What do you think Bubba would be like (maybe his family too?) with a reader that is really compassionate but with frail health (gets sick easily, kinda weak, etc)?

Bubba Sawyer x reader with frail health

• Bubba cares about you very much and worries when you feel bad. He is a rather soft-hearted and kind man, so your health and safety are above all for him. You're part of the family, and Bubba doesn't like his family to suffer.

• Bubba always tries to keep you out of danger and overload, so sometimes he fights with Drayton, who insists that you participate in family life, do various chores and even help catch victims. Bubba knows how bad it can be for you and tries to show it to Drayton.

• At first, the boys really didn't understand why Bubba was so desperate to keep you and take care of you, because you were quite weak and too kind, you cried almost because of the murder of each victim. It often got on his nerves.

• Over time, Drayton also got used to you. He began to realize that for a person who has such poor health, human meat is not the best food option. Perhaps unconsciously, or perhaps out of pity, but Drayton began to bring home good, really healthy food more often. For example, some kind of fat chicken that he cooked in the best way especially for you. After all, he's a good cook and has a pretty good understanding of nutrition.

• The twins didn't really like the fact that you could be so easily brought to illness, because it meant that you weren't even involved in the simple capture of victims. But they're also used to you. You have become a caring older sister/brother to them.

• You were by nature a kind and merciful person, so you can say that you became the parent of all these men. You may not have been able to do all the work, but you always greatly improved their mood, helped them in any way you could, and just made them feel happy and loved.

• Maybe they were all a little crazy, but they really loved you and got attached to you.

• If they came across a particularly violent victim, the twins always made sure that no one hurt you. If this did happen, they finished the victim on the spot. Nubbins was particularly vindictive and sophisticated in this regard, he would make sure that after a while the victim would begin to beg for forgiveness. And after that, he will certainly make sure that everything is fine with you, and hint that he is waiting for praise.

• Yes, they all love these men when you praise them. Nubbins and Chop Top usually wait for a kiss on the forehead/cheek or stroking on the head. Drayton doesn't mind hugs, as the oldest and most collected. Well, Bubba, he always craves your affection and approval. Kiss him gently, hold him closer to your warm body, call him your good boy. Tell him that he did everything right, that he did a good job for you and the family.

• You often showed mercy to victims, and sometimes it went sideways. The first couple of times you even freed them, and they almost escaped. The boys were arguing for a long time then, but Bubba tried to shield you from them with his big body. He was mumbling nervously and just trying to calm you down, because you were already starting to cry.

• That's why most of the time, when there are victims in the house, the boys don't leave you alone. Although you didn't let anyone out of the basement anymore, you had to be safe.

• Perhaps one day, out of your kindness, you even left a small toddler of some victim. The toddler was so small and innocent, you just couldn't let them kill him. You held it in your arms for the rest of the evening, cradling him gently and whispering lullabies to it. Bubba fell in love with you like the first time.

• Bubba takes great care of you when you get really sick. He starts running around you and your bed like a hen with eggs. The boy blames himself for making you sick. He will carefully adjust your blanket, change the damp cloth on your forehead and bring you light food like chicken soup and warm tea into your room. And he'll make sure that while you're sick, the victims don't make a single loud sound. He doesn't want to disturb you.

[pan-problemed]

The Radio and the Press

tags ; alastor x reader, platonic, human!alastor, human!reader, gn!reader

synopsis ; the radio-press wars were in full swing, and you were a loyal journalist. your best friend and supposed rival was alastor, a radiant radio host whom was hiding a dark secret - one that you were oblivious to.

a/n ; this is not betad, so apologies for any errors! this is also my first time writing alastor, so i'm still trying to learn how to write him. i tried to make this as inclusive as possible! let me know if there are any errors or issues, i'm always happy to learn! also, lmk if i should continue this! i have a lot of ideas for this au ^^

cross posted to ao3

“I appreciate your time, Mister Marston.” You said as you tucked your pen behind your ear and pocketed your notebook. “I look forward to readin’ your future works.”

Mister Marston gave you a reserved smile, following you out of his kitchen and into the mudroom, politely helping you shrug on your coat. “You sure y’can walk home by yourself?” He asked. “Not tryin’ to be rude, but it's gettin’ late, and I'm sure you've heard about those killin’s.”

“I'll be quite alright, but I appreciate the concern. I've got someone waitin’ for me.” You smiled back and shook his hand again, stepping out through the screen door. “Keep yourself safe, Mister Marston.”

“You too.” You could feel his eyes on you as you trotted down the street, going over the interview in your head, mentally picking out what would and wouldn't be useful for the article you'd be writing on him.

You made your way back to the office, collecting your things for the night, squinting at your watch as you locked the doors. Alastor would be wrapping up soon, perhaps you’d be able to beat him out of the station.

Alastor - your best friend, your partner in crime, your other half. A brilliant man with a bright smile, always so thoughtful and caring, the man whom you spent most of your free time with. The two of you were practically attached to hip, and when one of you went out the other wasn’t far behind. You knew people turned their heads and speculated on the nature of your relationship behind closed doors, but you didn’t really care. The two of you were perfectly happy where you were.

Sure enough, you made it to the little cafe under his station with a few minutes to spare, sitting down at one of the empty tables and squinting at your notes as you waited, studying your frantic scribbles and notes. Your parents used to tease you on your messy handwriting, calling it ‘chicken scratch’ - but you called it efficient.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft clicking of his heels on concrete, signalling his approach. He leaned over you, peering at your notes over your shoulder.

“I really don’t know how you can read that.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sparkling in mischeif.

“It’s in code, so annoying radio hosts don’t try to steal my news.” You sniffed, grinning as you tilted your head and angled your notebook so he couldn’t see. “Honestly. Always trying to bank off of the success of better mediums.”

He grinned as he stepped away, circling around the table and sitting across from you. “Ah, but radio is the future, my dear. Soon your medium will be all but extinct!”

You scoffed. “Newspapers are going nowhere - they’re timeless. You’re just jealous, because when all’s said and done no one’s going to remember your silly broadcasts.”

You were a journalist - and a good one at that, despite the sidelong looks people would give you constantly - working for the a small newspaper operating out of New Orleans. Alastor was a radio host, and (depending on your ask) your sworn enemy. You had heard of the fighting between radio and press, and decided to do your part by taking on Alastor as a rival. The two of you bickered constantly over the better medium, though it was all in good fun, as neither of you held any ill will towards each other. You recognized the power of the radio, and he the papers - but you took great delight in your constant back and forth.

“How was the interview?” He asked as he stood, you pocketing your notebook and stepping in beside him.

You answered, the conversation then shifting to your analysis of his works, to other interesting stories you had read. He was a wonderful conversationalist, and the two of you always found talking so easy, so natural.

The sun had set completely by the time you arrived at his little home, making your way to the kitchen as he rolled up his sleeves and you turned on the radio. You practically lived at his place, only returning home to sleep and on the days he was busy. The only thing preventing you from moving in together was his privacy and the eyebrows it would raise. Still, you had a routine of dinner at his place (which he always made), and in exchange you would help with general maintence and housekeeping.

“[y/n], dear, the bathroom’s been giving me trouble again.” He told you as he began prepping dinner. “Would you take a gander?

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the kitchen table. “I just replaced those pipes. At this point I’m starting to suspect you’re doing this on purpose.”

He smiled at you, opening the cabinets under the sink which unofficially became your toolshed. Originally, the tools lived in the shed behind his home, but he didn’t like you going in and was tired of stopping his work to retrieve them for you. You never questioned it, despite Alastor’s natural charisma and social nature you knew he could be private when it came to his home and life. He would allow you in when he was ready, just like he had for personal rooms like his bedroom or study.

“On purpose? Now why would I do that?” He teased, voice slightly sing-song as he handed you your toolbox. “Just making sure you have a backup plan for when the papers collapse.”

“In your dreams.” You retorted, the sound of his vivacious laughter following you as you went to work on his bathroom.

He retrieved you about 40 minutes later for dinner, a delicious Red Beans and Rice, and joined him in cleaning and an impromptu dance session in the sitting room.

He walked you home as he always did - the two of you lived fairly close to one another, preferring to live in the outskirts of New Orleans. He lived there for hunting freedom, being a city boy a heart, and you lived there for the relative familiarity of the nearby woods. You had grown up in dense trees and sprawling fields, the city still something of an alien world to you, and preferred to keep nature within reach.

You said your goodbyes under the light of your porch, the conversation going rougly the same as it always did - thanking him for dinner and walking you home, reminding him to keep safe, him reminding you that he was perfectly capable, and the promise to see each other tomorrow.

It had been like that for two or so years now, and you wished for it to continue like that for the rest of your lives, as unrealistic as it may be.

Two months later, your life would be ripped to shreds by the police and your dearest radio host, but for now, you could live in simple bliss and familiarity.

taglist ; (let me know if you'd like to be added! requests and anons are also welcome) @greenteaanon @chewbrry

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Since ive been playing Stardew again, mainly thanks to Stardew Expanded, and have been on a Stardew kick in general:

How would the different villagers (base game, no mod villagers, with maybe the inclusion of Marlon, Gunther, Krobus and the dwarf maybe?) react to a cottagecore (actual) witch (wizard, spellcaster, whatever you wanna call this version of the farmer) who, while making artisan goods like jellies and mead, also makes potions and enchanted knick knacks that help people too?

Hewwo :D

As you can see, dear anon, I got rather... carried away with the question, so I apologize for the long reply. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks again for the ask! 💕

SDV townies react to the cottagecore wizard/witch!Farmer who, in addition to artisan goods, makes potions and enchants trinkets:

_________________________________________

Shane doesn't mind the home-brewed beer and hot peppers from the garden that the Farmer regularly treats him to, but doesn't need to be told about the trinkets and stinky herbal concoctions and other weird stuff. The chicken lover doesn't believe in that (even though he's facing a real wizard/witch), and he has pills for his hangover.

No matter how hard Marlon tried to talk the Farmer out of it and explain that they didn't owe him anything for his help (a.k.a. "how once again Marlon had delivered the unconscious Farmer home"), but the new member of the Adventurers' Guild was stubborn and left on Marlon's table a dozen life elixirs that they had brewed themselves, as well as a whole basket of fresh apples. Well, it was rude to refuse, but the old adventurer still wanted the Farmer to be careful in the Mines next time.

A good luck bracelet? Ha! Thanks, Farmer, but Alex doesn't need one. He's a real sports star (not yet recognized, but soon!), and he relies solely on his talents and muscles. Although, if an athlete knows Farmer very well, he won't turn down a bracelet. Although he's not superstitious, a gift from a friend as a token of attention really touched him. Not that he'll admit it out loud, of course.

"Will I be able to fly?! Or talk to animals? Will I be able to talk to trees too? Will I turn into a dinosaur? Or invisible? I'd like to become an invisible dinosaur!" Yeah, I guess it wasn't such a good idea for the Farmer to announce to Vincent that they were brewing potions in addition to farming. Who knew the boy would be so intrigued by the Farmer's activities, after all, where else would you see a Farmer who could not only make cheese, but also do magic things?

Jas is a pretty smart girl, and quickly guessed about Farmer's unusual talents. She promised to keep it a secret.... If the Farmer promised to show her those unusual black chickens. Given that the farm is not far from her aunt's ranch, Jas often comes to visit the hospitable Farmer, just to watch them conjure or make cheese. And for black chickens. So cute!

To be honest, Marnie is a little... confused. She doesn't really believe in magic and all, but one event has made her reconsider. The Farmer recently gave her an totem that they say protects her lovely chickens from forest predators (poor Marnie is still grieving over hen Matilda, who was stolen by a fox). Now foxes approaching the coop howl, as if wounded, when they see the totem and run away. A coincidence, or does the totem really work?

"Ah, fellow craftsman! Glad to see that the practice of the arts of alchemy and enchantment is still not extinct." Wizard knew from the beginning that Farmer was connected with the magical world, but even for him it was a surprise that the young talent could cast complex spells and brew potions. And most importantly, help the locals (well, or at least not harm anyone). Hm, he was just looking for an apprentice, and Farmer would be perfect candidate...

Leah isn't much into elixirs and talismans, but when the red-haired girl fell ill, the Farmers were the first to help and gave her some funny-smelling potions that made her feel better instantly. They also treated Leah to some homemade goat cheese and fruits. Witch or not, Leah was glad to have such a caring friend and promised herself to do something for the Farmer in return.

Even though Demetrius had no desire to offend or insult the Farmer in any way, the scientist will look very sceptical at the amulet the Farmer offers him for protection against evil spirits. And for all the spells that the Farmer shows, desperately trying to prove to Demetrius that they are real spellcasters, he will wave his hand, saying that it is all scientifically explainable. Farmer is levitating, the hell you mean scientifically explainable?!

Clint wanted to ask something about a love potion, but quickly silenced himself before the Farmer could hear anything. It would hardly be true love if you put that magic stuff in there.... What?! No, he didn't mean anyone in particular, they heard nothing! In general, the blacksmith doesn't care if the Farmer grows strawberries, enchants bracelets or practises fortune-telling.

Abigail has become a very frequent visitor to the farm. The violet-haired girl sometimes likes to sit in the Farmer's kitchen, helping or watching them make blueberry jam or pickled tomatoes. But most of all she is interested in watching them brew potions or just the way the spoons stir themselves thanks to magic. Abigail will also ask them to make her a elixirs taster ("Pretty please!").

Perhaps Lewis would have just politely ignored the Farmer's statement that they were a wizard and that they would be happy to help him and the people of the Valley with potions, but still the Pelican Town Mayor decided to try his luck and ask the Farmer one specific question. Hmm? Why did Lewis need a stamina potion? Erm, well, Lewis wanted to start doing, er... exercise, and- Never mind, forget what he just said, Farmer.

You know that look on some parents' faces when their little child hands them a craft made of dirt or leaves, and the adults try to squeeze out a smile and say what an interesting thing their kid made? That's what was on Jodi's face when Farmer gave her the gift with a proud smile. Thank you so much for the fresh vegetables, Farmer, and, umm.... What's with the skull pendant with the glowing eyes? "Luck pendant? Ahahaha, how nice, thank you!" (Jodi dies inside).

A small woven basket, containing some fruit or goodies, and a small vial of purple liquid.... Almost everyone in the Valley had received a gift from the unusual Farmer, and Robin was no exception. The carpenter doesn't know what's up with the "potion to cure diseases", but she's just glad that the Farmer has fit into their little community so quickly and takes care of everyone like family. Robin smiles genuinely and is already on her way home with peaches given by the Farmer to treat her husband and her children.

One day Haley is sure to drop by the Farmer's to visit and ask them to let her have a photo session of their farm. Because this place is sure to be a winner in Zuzu City's "All About the Country life" photo contest! Plus, the blonde-haired girl discovered the delights of rural life, and the Farmer themself turned out to be a very interesting person. But Haley can't stand the smell of the cauldron. Why would the Farmer have a cauldron in his kitchen?

For about an hour now, poor Maru has been racking her brains and searching medical books and scientific articles for any information about the ingredients that the Farmers, as they themselves claim, put in the "potion". It's phenomenal - a liquid that instantly cured Maru's burn on her arm! (the result of a failed experiment). Poor Farmer only wanted to bring the young inventor the cure and fresh strawberries, but ended up being showered with a mountain of questions from a exited Maru. "Magic? Witches and wizards? Nonsense!"

Kent had been standing by the front door of the farmhouse for some more than ten minutes now, keeping his eyes fixed on the broom that was brushing the porch steps by itself. Either his nightmares had made him crazy, or those pickled mushrooms the Farmer had treated the military man with (and given several jars of mushrooms as a treat to his family) were laced with some sort of hallucinogen. Farmer stepped out onto the porch. "Ah, I can use magic to make a broom sweep!" Apparently it was the mushrooms after all, Kent thought.

Did someone say pendants with stones that have magical properties? Or dreamcatchers? Then Emily's on her way! Nothing brings the blue-haired girl more joy than discussions about amethyst, that ability to enhance the wearer's intuition, or the positive emotion-filled bracelets she's made for her friends. Granted Emily has a slightly different field (and Farmer's pendants are enchanted for real), but she would be the one closest to Farmer's interest in making trinkets of all sorts to help others.

Oh, Gus knows well that if he needs the best quality produce for his meals, the owner of the Saloon can ask the hard-working and kind Farmer for help. Admittedly, at times he is a bit taken aback when the Farmer still offers him unfamiliar herbs and products that they have made themselves. "Moon salt", what is that? Seems edible, even delicious! Definitely going into his escargot.

"That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life." Whoa, Pam, you don't have to be that blunt with the person you're getting a gift from. Yes, the bracelet may not have the most adorable look, but the Farmer is a spellcaster with experience, and this trinket will help bring Pam happiness, wealth, and- "Thanks for the mead and the parsnips, kiddo, but I'm not taking this creepy bracelet." Pam, don't be rude to the Farmer, where's your manners and gratitude?

Yoba, Harvey tries to be polite and patient, but he can't stay away when he sees Farmer offering other residents elixirs that, they say, will "instantly cure illnesses"??? He is a doctor, and has devoted years at university to curing people, while Farmer is engaging in, pardon his harsh words, quackery?! However, when the doctor is convinced that Farmer is a real wizard/witch, he quickly apologizes and goes into a crisis. Someone give this man a glass of wine or Harvey is about to freak out.

Oh, no, no, no, no! Pierre had already made a mistake once in his youth when he bought a "talisman that brings wealth and good luck" from a stranger who claimed to be a sorceress, but it turned out to be just a cheap glass craft. So he had to create wealth with his bare hands. The shopkeeper would refuse all the amulets offered by the Farmer, and the strange elixirs too. But to buy their homemade strawberry wine of iridium quality is always welcome!

When the Farmer had just arrived in Stardew Valley, Willy had once told them that he had an amulet against all sorts of misfortunes, which he had had to sell because the money was almost gone. The old sailor had already had time to regret it, but you can't bring back the past. Farmer remembered this moment, and out of kindness made a real sea amulet for Willy. And unlike the old one, this will definitely protect him from treacherous sirens or huge deep-sea monsters while fishing.

"So enchanting objects for each other is normal for humans?" Krobus had thought that only the Wizard had knowledge of the forgotten arts, but it seemed he had missed some details when he had studied the lives of the local people of Pelican Town. People usually don't do that? Oh, alright..

The amulet that Sebastian received as a gift from the Farmer looks so cool and creepy that Sebby has started wearing it with his everyday clothes. True, the young man was a little distrustful of the Farmer's words about the "enchantment" of this trinket. He was interested in all sorts of occult things, but was not sure about the magic. Farmer, in order to prove their words, gave him another "frog magnet" talisman. The next day, by Sebastian's surprised face and a dozen frogs jumping after him, it was clear that the local emo definitely believed now.

An enchanted pendant that allows you to see artifacts hidden from human eyes... That explains how the Farmers were able to find and provide Gunther with such rare specimens of forgotten civilizations. Did they make such an amulet themselves? Amazing! What? An amulet for him? Thank you very much, Farmer. Now together, the two of them can not only restore the local museum to its former glory, but also make it even better!

Penny doesn't know what the little bottle of liquid the Farmer gave her, but her flu is gone in just an hour after she empties the contents of the bottle. Thank you so much, Farmer, for helping the young teacher by giving her this medicine. "My pleasure, the elixir of healing diseases isn't that hard to make, the main thing is not to overdo it with the wolfsbane." "W- what?...." Penny didn't have time to ask again, as the Farmer handed her a basket of oranges and wished her good health, running off on their own.

Linus had time to show the young mage (yes, it's no secret to him that they have a magical gift) all the secret places to pick unusual berries and mushrooms. Because he knows that the Farmer will definitely use it in brewing elixirs to help people, and that can't help but please the good-hearted wild man. Plus, he has to say thank you somehow for that wonderful blueberry pie.

From the Farmer's window there is almost always the smell of delicious baked goods or the pleasant scent of flowers, and Sam, without noticing it himself, has begun to walk past the farm often. The young guitarist doesn't need to be told twice when he's invited for pie or maple donuts. Farmer is always happy to have guests, especially if the guests decide to brighten up their mornings with a beautiful music. "What's brewing in the pot?" "Elixir of immortality." "Cool. Wait, what...?"

"These leaves give the tea a rather unusual flavor. And I think I'm beginning to see... flowers in my eyes. Dear Farmer, are you sure you've worked the tea leaves properly?" Caroline, your tea made the Farmer's eyes see a white little man dancing on the edge of your mug. So don't go blabbing about the Farmer's homemade tea. They certainly know the basics of herbology and alchemy, and know how to brew the most complex elixirs. So don't even-

Given Dwarf's suspiciousness, they didn't take any medallions or elixirs from the Farmer at first, because it could have turned out to be a devious plan by the shadow people. What if there's poison in the bottle? Or the medallion reveals their location to the enemy? It takes a long time before they can trust the Farmer, and later they have something of a bartering relationship with potions (the Farmer gives Dwarf elixirs out of the goodness of his heart, but Dwarf insists that the Farmer needs to get something of equal value in return).

Hmm! Why would George want this useless trinket, even if it was free? So they could sit on a shelf and gather dust? Farmer, he doesn't believe in all that focus-pocus, so he doesn't need those strange and ugly bracelets and amulets that also smell weird. A spellcaster? Don't be absurd.

Farmers were so kind to come and visit, and they also brought some goodies: ripe berries, homemade cottage cheese... And they even brought George some ointment for his bad knees, how nice of them! And though it's not clear if Evelyn believes the ointment is magical, and if she knows that Farmers can cast spells and communicate with animals. The granny is just glad that such a kind and caring young person came to their house, and without cookies, which just had time to cool down, Evelyn will not let them go.

A lonely, city-weary man who had been hiding their magical talent was finally able to escape the suffocating clutches of a mega corporation to drop everything and move to the middle of nowhere where they could find their happiness and calling... Yes, Elliott is definitely sure that this would be the perfect story for his new novella. The writer was so taken by his own muse that he wasn't even surprised by the fact that the Farmers, in addition to caring for crops and livestock, can do magic and brew elixirs. Novella now, questions later!

Morris has absolutely no time for nonsense, why did the Farmer give him some strange liquid in a bottle? A cure for back pain? Very funny, but he wasn't born yesterday to believe that nonsense. Except that Farmer's curiosity and puppy eyes made Joja's manager take a sip.... And no more back pain! Hmm, interesting... Farmer, how about a contract to sell this miracle liquid?

_________________________________________

Note: I hope I didn't deviate from the main question because I couldn't decide if the people of Stardew Valley believe the farmer is a wizard/sorcerer/witch by default, or if some know and some don't? And how are talismans and potions even viewed from their perspective (Shane, at least, doesn't believe in magic, judging by the canon quotes). I'm open to feedback! 😃

[xf-cases-solved]

i made more x-files words with my brain, wrote them down, and then put them on the internet for you to read and process into meaning with your own brain, if you're so inclined. cancer arc angst for those who are always sluts for s4 like me

click on the following link to consume my words: She Still Has Her Hair

[cw: suicidal ideation and descriptions of illness/hospitals/ivs/pain medication]

here's a snippet:

She hasn't lost her hair, and that's so much worse.

If she had lost her hair, maybe he would have noticed how bad things have gotten before now. 

Because that's what you think of when you think of cancer patients, right? You picture bald heads and missing brows above sunken, darkly circled eyes. You picture tears in the bathroom as the buzz of a razor shears away the remaining tufts among the patchy surface of a scalp. You picture each fallen strand as another inch marched toward a headstone. When you see a cancer patient with no hair, you know that they are Sick with a capital S. When a cancer patient with no hair shows symptoms of their illness, it doesn't come as a surprise.

However, Scully hasn't lost her hair, and so when she calls him at eleven fifteen on a Sunday night—voice a cracked windshield about to shatter into a million pieces, and a sob lodged in her throat like a chicken bone she can't cough up—he's taken by surprise.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

She still has her hair.

But "Mulder, it's me" has never sounded so frail before, and it terrifies him almost more than the voicemail she left on his answering machine two, nearly three years ago; the one that ended with the sounds of a physical fight filled with cries for help before being abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but horrible questions and no answers.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He'd been dozing on the couch with the lights of a muted infomercial dancing over his face, but at the sound of her voice he is instantly upright and alert. When she doesn't answer right away, he presses, more firmly, "Scully? What's wrong? "

"I was prescribed a new medication at my appointment Friday afternoon, and I can't..." Through the receiver he hears her take a steadying breath. "Supposedly this medication is meant to have a less nauseating effect on patients, but in roughly seven percent of cases, it has actually been shown to increase nausea in certain individuals, leading to severe emesis which eventually culminates in dehydration, presenting with symptoms such as dry mouth, lightheadedness, infrequent or oddly colored urine, confu—"

"And are you one of these patients in the seven percent?" Mulder asks, interrupting her clinical recitation that he suspects is her way of keeping herself detached from her own experience. Scully's silence is answer enough. "When was the last time you were able to keep something down?"

"I don't know," she says quietly.

"More than twelve hours?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty-four?" Nothing. "More than thirty-six?" She's silent. "Scully, you haven't been able to keep down food or water for over thirty-six hours?"

"It started early yesterday morning. Before sunrise, I think."

"Is it just vomiting? Is there anything else going on?"

"I..." She trails off, and Mulder suspects her innate desire to never show a shred of weakness to anyone (but especially him, for some godforsaken reason) is currently at war with the part of her that's spent the better part of two days all alone on the bathroom floor. 

"Tell me, Scully. Don't try to lie or sugarcoat it, just be honest."

"The medication, in conjunction with the physical act of vomiting, has led to a fairly severe case of myalgia—muscle pain—that began and is most prominent in the neck and upper back, but which has since spread to... to... oh God, Mulder"—the crack in her voice is heartbreaking—"it hurts everywhere. Everywhere . I'm in so much pain and I haven't taken a piss in over a day and every time I throw up my head pounds so hard my vision goes white. That's not hyperbole, Mulder, these headaches are quite literally blinding, and what if it's not the pain causing it? What if there's new tumor growth affecting my optic nerves, and this is just foreshadowing for what's yet to come? I don't want to go blind, Mulder, what am I going to do? I can't work if I'm blind. I can't do anything. I don't like the dark, and everything in my body hurts, and I just want it all to stop. Please help. Please help make it stop, Mulder, I hurt so bad." 

By the end of her venting, the sob that had been stuck in her throat has been set loose, and she's crying freely now, pouring out her heart in a way that would probably sound like full-blown bawling if she were strong enough. As it is, her weeping comes out in a strained wheeze, like the squeaky whistle of air sneaking through a small crack in the window when the car is speeding down a highway. 

"Please," she begs again, and the way she speaks reminds him of what it was like to wake up with a stomachache in the middle of the night as a kid and cry out for his mother. It reminds him how desperately afraid and alone he'd feel until his mother was finally roused by his calls, and padded into his room with sleepy eyes and a soft voice so as to not wake up his sister in the room next door.

Maybe, he thinks, it doesn't matter how old you are—that no matter what, being sick by yourself will always be your loneliest moment.

"I'm grabbing my keys right now, Scully, I'm on my way out the door." He jingles the ring of keys in his hand by the receiver of the phone so that she can hear their little chime and hopefully be comforted by it. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," she whispers, no longer crying, but Mulder suspects it has more to do with a lack of physical strength than anything else.

"I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital," he warns. He's sure she expects as much, but it would be easier to get the fight out of the way now if she's going to be resistant.

It's a testament to how utter dogshit she must feel when she says nothing more than another melancholic, "Okay." Somehow, her agreeing to seek help scares him more than if she were refusing. 

"Hang tight, Scully," he tells her gently. "I'm coming."

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 4: piccata, bills, and ghosts

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 3 ch 5

Chapter Rating: T (9.1k)

Chapter Summary: Carmy realizes that this is what joy looks like, and when he looks that truth in the eyes, he finds himself blissfully unafraid. Their company is an indulgence he's finally allowing himself to have in its entirety, and it's beautiful. The world is both unfolding and combining, all for him, all because of them.

Tags: carmy being mentally ill, panic attacks, happy carmy, silly carmy, physical touch

A/N: Here's our fluffiest (and longest) chapter yet! But the hurt/comfort is also on full blast this chapter…This one really has it all. You'll see what I mean. Here's the also start of Act 2, in which Carmy is gonna be realizing…and he won't stop realizing…until he realizes it all. Also I am taking creative liberties with how family actually works. Enjoy!

It doesn’t always stay the same. 

When Carmy looks in the bathroom mirror this morning, he feels as tired as he looks. Exhaustion resides in his dark eyebags and temperamental curly flyways. The fire from last night had interrupted the little sleep he was able to snag. Despite all the weariness, though, there’s something different about today. 

He’s used to a blazing fire in his brain, constant in its sweltering heat and pain, but today, the fire lays low. There’s actually room in his head for quiet, for silence to exist. It’s not the dissociative emptiness he’s used to. He thinks he can only describe it as peace. 

The thought almost makes him laugh with how ludicrous it is. Peace and him don’t typically mesh. 

He remembers the fire last night, crackling in the containers of pots and pans before billowing upwards. He imagines a different outcome, instead pondering a future where his apartment burned down. Where their apartment burned down, and in this alternate reality, he stands in the ashes, unsurprised that he’s destroyed yet another good thing in his life. Then the grief of him realizing that it was the only good thing left in his life destroys him. 

But when he looks at their toothbrush next to his, their shared crinkled tube of toothpaste, he comes back down. 

He doesn’t know how he managed to keep them. Somehow, they’re here to stay, and they’re going to be at The Beef for family in half an hour.

“Corner,” he shouts, breezing through the kitchen with a container and shallots and garlic. He still needs to finish mincing them for family this afternoon—lemon chicken piccata. At least he’s prepped the rest of the ingredients already, along with the plates and utensils. 

The peace in the morning was momentary, because of course it was. There’s a tangled yarn ball of anxiety knotting itself over and over inside him at the thought of them having family with him and everyone else. He pondered on his commute this morning if inviting them was the right thing. If it was an overstep, either with them or at The Beef, but then he remembers the way their face lit up when he asked, and the anxiety grows quiet. Well, quieter. 

And as it grows quiet, it opens up the space for his excitement to be the loudest voice in his head. 

“Lemon chicken piccata?” Sydney observes the prepped chicken, lemons, capers. As she looks, her fingers fiddle with the small golden hoops in her ear. 

“Yeah. Thought this’d be a good way to have everyone try it again, get a better feel for it.” He cuts the shallot into thin slices before cutting into them again, mincing it into tiny pieces. He notes a distinctly ugly slice of shallot and tosses it. This dish needs to be perfect. 

“Heard.” Sydney traces a finger over the edges of the stacked plates before stopping. “Uh, chef, I think you got an extra plate here.”

Carmy stops, looks up from the cutting board. Quickly counts the plates again. Looks back down.

“No, I got it,” he reassures her. When she raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “I, uh, invited someone. My…roommate.”

“Oh.” Sydney doesn’t even try to hide the surprise on her face, or maybe she’s just so shocked she couldn’t. “That’s—that’s great!”

“Sorry I didn’t, um, give a heads up. Or something. Uh…” He pauses, looking at her, trying to search for more words.

“No, it’s fine! I’m just surprised.” She shakes her head, seemingly to herself. “But now that you mention it, yeah, a heads up next time could be cool.”

“Next time,” Carmy promises with a nod. Next time, he thinks wistfully to himself. Maybe there could be a next time.

“So…I’m guessing no one else knows that you invited someone,” Sydney says, harmlessly, just as Tina and Marcus decide to come back into the kitchen. 

“Carmy invited someone?” Marcus makes his way back into the kitchen, a sack of flour in one hand and a tin of cocoa powder in the other. They slam onto the counter at the baking station, resounding with a dull thud. “Lemme guess. Is it the roommate?”

“It's the roommate,” Carmy confirms, before anyone else can get a word in. Now, onto mincing the garlic. 

“Jeff!” Tina exclaims, aghast. “Why didn't you say something earlier?” She’s walking some extra vegetables to her station to prep. “Way to surprise us!”

“Who’s surprising us? With what?” Carmy raises his head, and when he sees who's just come back through the front entrance, he lowers his head with an aggravated sigh. Richie. The last thing he needs right now.

“Carmy's bringing a date to family,” Tina tattles helpfully. Although Carmy begrudgingly acknowledges that he would've had to bring it up eventually.

“Not a date, just my roommate,” he mutters. Not that anyone's listening. 

“Carmen, Carmen, Carmen.” Richie makes a drama production of swinging the door open into the kitchen, stepping through it with arms outstretched. An overpowering scent of pine cologne accompanies him. “So you do listen to your cousin when he talks, huh?”

“I have no idea what he's talking about,” Carmy tells Sydney, who just shrugs. 

“I'm proud of you, cousin. Really proud.” Richie slaps him way too hard on the back, jerking Carmy forward. 

“Don't do that when I'm using a knife, you asshole!” Carmy snaps, elbowing Richie out of the way. “Stupid fuckin’ idiot.”

“Jesus, fine, fine, I'll get out of your way!” Getting cursed at did little to deter Richie's smug demeanor. “Fuckin’ princess. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the back.”

“We won't,” Carmy says, and Richie flips him off as he walks away. 

“Carmy's bringing his roommate, who he is not dating, to family,” Marcus projects to the rest of the kitchen, and Carmy resists a groan. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Carmy slams his knife onto another clove of garlic, crushing it. “I don't see why you guys have to make such a fuss about it.”

“Because it's fun,” Marcus replies with a broad grin. “Sorry, chef.”

“Let us have our fun. We never get to poke fun at you,” Tina says. 

“That is just not true,” Carmy groans, and everyone’s laugh resounds into a mismatched chorus. 

They tease him relentlessly for a couple more minutes until it dissolves into sparse chatter, for which Carmy is grateful. Peaceful lulls in the kitchen are rare, especially in this particular one. He takes it while he can get it, honing in, oiling the pan, pressing the chicken into the bubbling surface until it's golden. The others gradually filter out as he cooks, leaving him to cook on his own. 

Then comes the familiar chime of the front door. 

Carmy turns the stove off, takes the pan off the heat to check to see who it is. Surely enough, it’s the guest of honor. 

“Hey Carmy!” They’re looking cute as ever today, maybe even a bit more dressed up than usual. Part of Carmy thinks that maybe they dressed up for him, and another part of Carmy strangles the other one to death. “Hope I’m not too early.”

“Hey, you’re fine. I’m just about to finish up.” He guides them into the kitchen with him.

“Smells incredible in here,” they comment. “Also, before I forget. Is there somewhere I could put my coat? Break room or somethin?”

“Yeah, we can put it in my office.”

Upon entering, Carmy becomes acutely aware of exactly how messy his office is. It's not like he didn't know. He created the mess, after all, but having someone new bear witness to his stacks of papers and stuffed file folders is…embarrassing, to put it plainly. To Carmy's benefit and luck, though, they're much too polite of a person to comment.

“So this is where you're holed up.” Their head turns to look at all the posters and papers hung up on the wall, still largely unchanged from Michael's time. 

“Yep. It's all bookkeeping, along with more bookkeeping,” he informs dryly. “Here, you can hang that on my chair.”

“Thanks.” They drape their jacket on the back of his chair, and Carmy is suddenly struck with the impression that it feels odd to see it there. “Oh!” They exclaim, looking at something on his desk.

He follows their gaze to the papaya pills and ginger candies sitting in the corner. 

“Ah, yeah.” Why does he feel embarrassed? “I really need to thank you again for that.”

“No need, but I’ll take it. I hope they actually helped.”

“They did. I actually, uh…” He digs around in his apron pocket and fishes out a candy. “I’ve been keeping them on me.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” They beam at him, visibly brightening. It’s infectious, and he feels himself smiling a little back. 

A period of silence falls between them. This sort of thing keeps happening as recent. It leaves them looking at one another, and it should be awkward. Yet it’s not. It’s strange and peaceful, and then because Carmy is Carmy, his heart starts squeezing and telling him he needs to get out of here.

“Did you sleep alright? After, uh,  last night.” He’s not sure why he’s asking that now. 

“Yeah, I was fine. You?”

“Okay,” he replies instinctually. “Sorta,” he amends. “I’m doin’ better.” 

“That’s good. Better is good.”

“Yeah.” He exhales out his nose, runs a hand through his hair. 

There’s the muffled sound of laughter in the distance, and it reminds Carmy that they’re not quite alone. That he still has dishes he needs to finish cooking.

“I need to finish back in the kitchen. Let me show you where we’re sitting.”

Minus a few faces, everyone’s already seated at the table for family. There’s some idle chatter floating in the air, but it drops to the floor as soon as Carmy enters. Makes him feel like a deer in headlights.

“Everyone, this is my, uh—“ Something in Carmy’s brain buffers. “My friend,” he finally decides. He introduces them to the four that're seated already, those of which being Sydney, Marcus, Tina, and Ebra. There’s a mix of enthusiastic hellos and simple nods in response. He turns back to his roommate—friend—whatever—and they’re waving back. “I'll be back soon. Sit wherever you want.” 

“Sure thing,” they reply easily, and it makes Carmy feel a little less guilty about abandoning them.

To his credit, he does try to finish cooking quickly. All he had left was the sauce, and he already prepped all the ingredients. Between the aromatic browned onions, emulsifying the sauce with wine, and dousing the chicken in it, he couldn't have taken more than 15 minutes. 

He wasn't sure what to expect upon returning. The worst possible scenario would be complete silence. Or screaming, but that was unlikely. On his walk there, though, plates in hand, he hears pleasant chatter. 

“The coffee down the street is overpriced,” Carmy hears his roommate saying. There’s a murmur of  agreement. When he walks in, he sees all the seats at the table are full. “Don’t get me wrong, it's not bad, but you'd get coffee just as good one block down the other way at—”

“At Ironclad?” Marcus guesses hopefully, leaning in.

“At Ironclad,” they confirm, and there's a mix of cheers and boos.

“Grit is better,” Sydney challenges. “More espresso bean options.”

“You make a compelling point,” they reply. “A latte for $4 though? In this economy? Just try and beat that.”

“It's less at 7-Eleven,” Richie chimes in, and everyone boos. “It's one of the pillars of the working class! Admit it!”

They're not like him, Carmy remembers. They're actually socially competent, and they can do well for themself in a group of strangers. Seemingly with little effort, they’ve already assimilated themself. 

“Family's up,” Carmy announces, sliding plates into the table. “Lemon chicken piccata and caramelized rosemary potatoes.”

“Jeff, didn't you show us this last week?” Tina asks. She leans in to waft the savory smell towards her nose, and she hums in approval. 

“Yeah, I did. I just thought it'd be good to make it for you guys.” He finishes getting the rest of the plates from the kitchen, making sure everyone has a plate of food in front of them. He can tell who's started eating by the pleased expressions on their faces. Other than the fact that their food has a dent in it, of course. 

“Carmy. This is on fire,” Ebra praises, nodding in approval towards him. 

“Ebra, it's ‘this is fire’, not ‘this is on fire’,” Gary corrects, amused. “But I agree.”

“Good, good,” Carmy says. He settles into his seat at the front of the table, which is…weird, actually. He doesn't remember the last time he's actually sat and had family with everyone. 

“Actually eating with us for once, Carmen?” Richie points out. He says it like a jab, because that's always how he speaks, but it lacks the fight that it usually does. Carmy can hear what he's really expressing—I'm glad you're joining us.

“I am,” Carmy responds evenly. He feels his roommate's curious gaze to his right, but they don't say anything. That's when he notices that they haven't started eating yet. His mind supplies a million different reasons at once. None of them sound sane, so they'll go unspoken. “Not hungry?” he asks instead.  

“No, I just wanted to wait until you were here.” They say it like it's not a big deal. “I always did it with my family growing up. Just a habit, I guess.” Now that they're saying it, some of Carmy's memories start to make more sense. He suddenly remembers sitting with them at home, and he had to take a call right before they were about to start their dinner. When he came back, their food was still untouched. He didn't think much of it then, but now…

“Oh, cool. That's…” In the time he's searching for a word, they've taken a bite. “How is it?” He asks instead. 

“Fuck.” They're shaking their head like something's wrong, but it's obvious from the gigantic smile on their face that it's anything but. “Carmy. Carmy. You're crazy.”

“Am I, now?” He knows he's probably got a stupid expression on his face. 

“So crazy. This is incredible.” They slice themself another piece of chicken. “These capers too, man. You actually made me like capers.”

“The capers made you like capers,” Carmy jokes, and they snort. 

“No, that's severely underplaying your part in all this. Seriously, this is delicious.” They always get this glowing smile when they're eating good food. He's witnessed it in their shared kitchen, whether it's food from their mutually favorite joint or their own two hands. He's never seen them smile like this, though. It's a joy that's possibly unique to Carmy's own cooking. 

Carmy doesn't know how to handle that. Not even a little bit.

“Glad to hear it,” he says instead, ignoring the fullness in his heart, and he starts eating.

“I’mma start this week,” Marcus begins. “I'm grateful for the fact that my roommate Chester actually managed not to spoil the episode I missed of this show we’re watching this past week. He’s still a jackass, though.”

“You can say it’s The Bachelor, we all already know,” Sydney teases. Marcus huffs, but he’s smiling.

“Just for that, you’re goin’ now,” he replies, motioning towards her with a fork. 

“Sure, sure. Yeah, um, I’m grateful for my dad’s good health.” Sydney shrugs, nonchalant when there’s a group of “aww”s. “I am! He had this, ugh, awful case of bronchitis, but he's good now. It was scary. Tina?”

“Hm…” Tina chews thoughtfully as she thinks. “Oh! My dumbass son actually passed his finals. Even with some A’s!” She claps her hands excitedly and clasps them to rest under her chin. That gets a variety of cheers. “If he actually tries, he can be so smart. But not without stressing me the fuck out first. What about you, Rich?”

“Easy. I found that pine cologne that Marcus hates,” Richie says, smug. 

“I noticed,” Marcus replies mildly. “Everyone hates it, by the way.”

“I smell like the fuckin’ forest! It's majestic as shit.” Richie makes a show of sniffing his shirt amongst all the booing mixed with laughter. That's when he looks to Carmy’s roommate, who's been politely listening and eating. “You wanna have a go of it, guest of honor?”

“Oh, sure. Something I'm grateful for, right?” They put down their utensils and thoughtfully rub their index finger across their chin. “Well…I’m feeling pretty grateful to be eating this delicious food. It's not often I get to eat food this good.” It's not that good, Carmy wants to say to combat the fluttering in his stomach, but it's far too contradictory. He made sure to make it good since they were going to be eating it. “How about you, Carmy?”

“Huh?” Carmy's been on autopilot, comfortable to watch everyone else. He's not much of a participant. Now everyone's got their eyes on him. “I'm grateful for, uh…”

I'm grateful for that smile you get when you eat my cooking, he wants to say. I'm grateful to have someone like you.

“I'm grateful to be in good company,” Carmy says. That receives a round of hearty reactions, including a look from his roommate that he can only describe as affectionate. He pointedly looks back down at his half-eaten plate when he feels his ears getting warm. 

“Aw, you softie,” Richie snickers. “What, are we embarrassin’ you?”

“Shut it,” he mutters, but there's barely any heat behind it. His reaction only creates more laughter around the table. “Ebra, you go next.”

Little does Richie know what he's really embarrassed about. Everyone's teasing isn't helping, sure, but it's not his fellow chefs, it's them. It's their stupid smile that he keeps looking back at. It's that he knows it's from the food he made for them, it's that he doesn't know what to do with all these feelings taking up residence in his heart. 

Between the energetic chatter and the cleaned off plates, Carmy realizes that a part of what he's feeling is happiness. It's an odd sensation, which says a lot about the type of person that he is. It's the truth, though. He's just cooked a good meal for people he cares a lot about, and the happiness that has come with that is weird. 

Not bad weird, though. Good weird. 

If anyone noticed how strange he looked smiling with a fork in his mouth, they didn't mention it. 

Family goes by faster than Carmy is used to. That's what happens when you actually join in for once, he supposes. He just wasn't expecting it to wrap up so quickly. Or, it's more accurate to say he didn't want to see them go already.

“Guess you guys have to get ready for service now, right?” They've returned to his office to grab their jacket, giving the two of them a brief moment of privacy. 

“Yeah. Service starts at 3.” He sighs, and they sympathetically return his sigh. 

“Right. Well, I really enjoyed eating with everyone. And the food? Seriously, it was so good. You knocked it out of the park. I’m sure you get this all the time, but you’re seriously incredible at what you do.”

“I don’t hear that so much anymore,” he admits. “Not like I used to. Um…” He clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it. I should really cook more outside of this place. Maybe cook for us in our kitchen for once.”

“You know I’m here for that. I could have your cooking any time,” they gush, like it doesn’t make Carmy’s heart palpitate. “I get it, through. You spend all day cooking here, I get that you don’t wanna come home and cook.”

“Yeah, but…it's different.” It's different because it’s for you, he wants to say, but as expected, he doesn’t. 

“W-What?” Suddenly, their cheeks go pink. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“...” The realization buffers in his head before fully forming. He actually said that aloud after all. Too late to take it back. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I just think, I should give you a break from making leftovers for the week,” he stutters in a weak attempt to cover his accidental affection. “And, um, I just want to, because I…”

“Because…?” He’s taking way too fucking long to finish this sentence. Their face doesn’t betray any impatience, though. It never does, and seeing that makes him relax. 

“Because I—like that you like my cooking.” 

“I love your cooking,” they correct, their smile teasing. 

“Um, right—you love—” he tries to fix his words again, but this one’s far too much to say. The butterflies in his stomach feel similar to nausea. The conflict must show on his face in an insane way, because their smile turns into a wide grin full of amusement. 

“It was a good attempt.” That makes him laugh a little. “Hey, if you’re saying I get to bring your cooking to work this next week, I’m not objecting.”

“I’ll try my best.” His eyes catch the clock on the wall. He needs to wrap this up. “I’m not trying to kick you out, but I really gotta get back now.”

“It’s cool. I should be heading out anyway. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah,” he says, poorly hiding the affection in it, “I’ll see you at home. And, uh—thanks. For coming.”

“Of course. I had fun,” they say with a smile. “See ya.” 

He watches them leave through the entrance, hearing that familiar sound of the ringing bell, and they're gone.  

Carmy is left standing there with an odd warmth in his chest. It doesn't overwhelm him, doesn't suffocate him, just sits there. It's a strange, but nice feeling. 

This is what happiness feels like, he realizes, and in this moment, fear is nowhere to be found. 

. . . . .

The dinner rush is fine. It's just fine. It's just another thing for Carmy to get through, and he does. Just another obstacle between him and getting home. 

A wishful part of him always hopes that they'll be able to close before 10, but it is a very lofty wish to make, especially on a Saturday. With great regret, he puts his car into park at 10:44 pm. The night air is frigid and awful against his brittle dry skin and cracked lips. He can't get to his front door fast enough. 

Opening the front door sends warm gusts of heated air across his face. He can't help his relieved sigh, especially not when he sees them sitting on the couch. They’re dressed in a loose t-shirt and bike shorts, a combo that makes his heart pulse.

“Hey, welcome back.” They give him a little wave. He finds it surprisingly easy to smile and wave back. This strange joy keeps finding new ways to pop up. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Fine,” he says, because it was. It was fine. “Busy, but normal. You know how it is. Weekends.” They hum in agreement. He kicks his shoes off by the door, walks over to where they're seated. This is when he notices the laundry basket on the floor with stacks of folded clothes. They grab a sweater from the pile of clothes on the coffee table and lay it out on their lap. “Doin’ laundry?”

“Yeah. I'm trying to be responsible.” They smooth out the sweater, working out the creases in the collar with their fingers. “I think some of your socks ended up in the wash with my stuff.” They motion to a neat stack of miscellaneous white socks sitting on the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah. These are mine.” He picks them up, turns them around in his hand. “Sorry, guess I missed them when I was last doing laundry.”

“It's fine. They're just extra clean now.” 

“And folded.” He does his best to put his socks down just as they were even though he’ll have to move them anyway. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” They pull up another piece of clothing from their basket. Carmy immediately recognizes it as they throw it over to him. It’s his boxers.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes on reflex, heating up with embarrassment. He crumples it up in his hand. 

“It’s chill. Besides, didn’t you get one of my bras once?”

“Ah, yeah. I forgot,” he says, like he needed a moment to remember it. It’s all a facade. He couldn’t get that moment out of his memories he tried. It was very lacy, and it made him more nervous than someone his age should’ve been. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention when I saw you earlier. I paid the water bill today. It was 48 something.” They lean forward to grab a white envelope. The monthly payment from the water company. They flip it open and scan the paper again. “It was—48 dollars and 19 cents, to be exact.”

“Lower than last month.” He is grateful to be discussing the water bill instead of their underwear. “Much lower, actually.”

“I’ve been trying to cut back on my 30 minute showers, and I’d like to think that’s why.”

“Good job,” he says jokingly, and they pretend to bow like they’ve won an award. “I still think 30 minutes is just a little too long,” he teases after. This is a familiar conversation.

“Maybe to you, Mr. 5 minute showers,” they scoff. They kindly don’t mention how little he actually showers. “I have a lot of serious business to attend to in there! Lots of meetings, lots of calls…” They snicker, and he makes a dismissive noise, but he’s smiling. He's never been good at hiding his amusement around them. “So, yeah. Just venmo me when you get the chance.”

“Already on it,” he says. As soon as he sends it, their phone dings with the notification. 

“Thank you, thank you. And, ah, not to bombard you with more housekeeping, but I'm gonna try and go grocery shopping this monday. Wanted to ask if you need me to pick up anything.”

“Uh…” Detergent, coffee, soap, peanut butter, bread, chips, he notes in his head, rattling off a list. “I need a lot of stuff, so don't worry about it. Actually—” He turns to look at them, and they look up from their laundry with a curious look. “When were you thinking about going?”

“It's my day off, so anytime. What, wanna join me?”

“If you don't mind going in the morning, then yeah.” It feels weird, asking for accommodations like this. When you're running a business that keeps you until 10 pm everyday, though, you don't have a choice. “Like, 9 am?”

“Not earlier?” They smile knowingly. “I don't mind. We can do 8 am, if you want.”

“I wouldn't wanna make you wake up any earlier than you already have to on your day off.”

“It's no different to me, really. Besides, I'm offering.”

“Right. Uh…” I shouldn't push it, he thinks to himself with near certainty, but he stops. Takes a moment. They're offering. “Sure, then. 8 am.”

“8 am,” they reply easily. A wistful smile appears on their face. “When's the last time we've gone grocery shopping together?”

“I can't remember, so at least over a month.” That's also the last time I properly went grocery shopping, he remembers, but he doesn't want to share that. 

“Way too long.” They shake their head. “It's just hard to line our schedules up. You think it'd be easier since we live together.”

“Y'think,” he echoes tiredly. “Not like I’m makin’ it any easier, being at The Beef everyday and all.”

“Well…yeah, I suppose not. It is a little scary how long you go without a day off.” They make a face. “When's the last day you've had a day off?”

“Dunno. Just got a lot to do…all the time.”

“All the time.” They sigh. “Is that really how it's supposed to be? Being a business owner?”

“When your business is fucked, yeah.” The growing distress on their face makes the corners of his mouth twitch in an amused smile. “Scraping by from week to week.”

“Damn.” They raise their eyebrows, shake their head. “I don't know how you do it.”

“I'm used to it.” It's the truth. The longer he thinks about it, though, the festering dread starts to creep out from the hole he's kicked it in. So he changes the subject before it can come out and choke him to death. “Mind if I crack open the window for a smoke?”

“Only if you don't let me join you,” they reply with a wide grin, and he laughs. 

After changing out of his work clothes into a tank top and gray sweatpants, he sits himself at their designated window. He cracks it open just a smidge—it's too cold tonight. The cars are quiet, at least. He pulls his pack from his pocket and places a cigarette into his mouth.

“You want a cig?” Carmy asks when they take the empty seat across from him. Their smoking device of choice today is their water pipe. It looks like a juicebox from the packaging, shape, and the plastic straw arching out of it.  

“Can I just take a hit off yours instead? Not really in the mood for a whole cig right now.” He wordlessly passes his lit cig to them. They take a slow hit, the orange glow creeping up it. They look down at it and frown. “Sorry, I got a little lip gloss on it. I didn't realize I still had some on.”

“It's fine.” He takes it back and inspects it. Little oily pink smudges lay in a messy circle on the filter. “As long as it's not like that other lipstick.”

“God, no.” They drag a hand over their face. “I know I keep saying it, but I'm so sorry about that. That was mortifying.”

“Don't worry about it. Dust under the rug.” When he brings his mouth back around his cig, a faint stickiness clings to his lips. He bulldozes through the jittery feeling it brings with it. 

They sit there smoking side by side for a minute. His gaze flickers between the moving city scenery out the window and the sight of them smoking from their bubbler. Clearly one is more captivating than the other. He watches the translucent smoke fill the glass, go up the straw, and out of their lips. 

They catch him staring. His only saving grace is that he doesn't flinch. 

“You want some?” They ask, turning the bubbler towards him. So that's what they thought he was doing. He can live with that. 

“Sure, if you're offering.”

“Yeah, I am. This one's real sleepy shit, just so you know.”

“Good. I need that tonight.” The taste of the weed is strangely floral as it goes down, but he can't place what it is. “Did you mix this with something?”

“Not this time. Tastes weird though, right? It's kinda…detergent-y. One of my friends says it tastes like dryer sheets.”

“So am I smoking laundromat weed? Tide pod weed?” It's a stupid joke, but Carmy finds that the dumber the joke, the harder it makes them laugh. 

“Laundromat weed,” they wheeze. “No, it's not tide pod weed. I can't afford name brand.”

“Equate weed, then?”

“Kroger brand, actually,” they say, “but I hear Up & Up is pretty good, too.”

“I'm sure it's just as good as name-brand shit.”

“Most of the time.” 

Carmy clears the rest of the chamber of the excess smoke before sliding it back across the table to them. 

“Thanks.” The buzz is setting in. The mix of cannabis and nicotine always feels a little weird, but in a thrilling way. “I really just need to get my own shit, stop mooching off you.”

“I steal enough of your cigs, so don't worry about it.” This is when he notices that their eyes have gone a little pink from the weed. He also notes to himself that he shouldn't be looking so closely. “So, did something good happen today?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You just seem to be in a particularly good mood, is all.”

“Oh.” He immediately knows why. Surely he can't just be honest with them, but the high's lowered his barriers, and he decides to just let himself say it. “Yeah, something good did happen, now that you mention it.”

“That's good,” they say, like it has nothing to do with them. “It's nice to see you with a little less stress on you. What happened?” 

“You don't already know?” He asks, because there's no way they don't know. From the look on their face, though, they really don't. “It was you.”

“...” Their face colors. “Oh,” they say, just like he did a second ago. He likes seeing them smile with a blush to match. “I mean, I thought, maybe, I just didn't wanna assume…”

“It was nice. Having you there with everyone, I mean.” 

“They're really cool. You've got some great coworkers.”

“I do,” he replies quietly, faintly. It's true, even when he wants to let The Beef catch on fire. “Everyone really liked you.”

“Really?” The surprise is clear on their face.

“Yeah, really.” Throughout the rest of the day, the others had come up to him expressing some sort of approval. Not that he needed their approval. It felt nice, though. How'd you find someone so…nice? Marcus had asked, entirely genuine, and all Carmy could do was shrug. It was a good question.

How was a person like him allowed to have anything good in his life?

“Am I allowed to ask what they said?”

“You're allowed,” he says, amused. “Marcus said you were really nice. So did Syd. Seems you hit it off with them.”

“I think I did, too.” They sit with his reply for a moment, staring out the window and idly tapping their fingers on the bubbler. “Feels weird.”

“Weird?”

“A good weird,” they clarify. “You ever get weirded out by the fact that people talk about you when you're not there? And it's like, good things they're saying, too?”

“Constantly,” he admits. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.”

“Yeah.” Their hands are fiddling with the ends of their hair. “I guess I just have a hard time believing that people will think the best of me when I'm not around. Like…like, I don't know, just…”

“No, I understand.” Carmy's feels acutely more alert now. “It's like, uh, object permanence, kinda. But with—with people.”

“That's exactly it!” They exclaim, and then they deflate again. “It's stupid, but I just…”

“It's not stupid,” he assures them, and their lips quirk in a tiny smile. “If it helps, I…I don't think the worst of you when you're not around.”

“Hearing you say it aloud makes me realize how crazy it is for me to think like that,” they murmur, “but thank you. That does…that does make me feel better, actually.”

“Sure.” It's better if you don't know the details, he thinks to himself, reminiscing on naked dreams and daydreams around their bright smile. 

He really shouldn’t sit on the couch with them. It’s late, and he needs to be in his own bed at this time of night. Unfortunately, logic isn’t at the forefront when he sees them. He’s high and wants to stick to them like glue, so he does. They’ve turned on these HD videos of people making drinks. It’s like sensory videos for babies, except for adults, they told him, and that got the two of them giggling. 

It’s nice. Far too nice than what Carmy’s used to. But this time, he doesn’t want to let it go, and he’s not afraid of that, either. 

I want this to last, he thinks, unafraid, and he falls asleep listening to their voice.

. . . . .

Carmy wakes up by jolting up from the couch. He’s hunched and heaving for air, and all he can think about is that he needs to see Michael.

“Mike,” he calls out. His voice is raspy and shaken. His body feels like a piece of stretched twine. He’s about to call out for Mike again until he lifts his head to see his roommate who is definitely not Michael. 

Fuck.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Their expression is alert, but gentle. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just keeps his mouth shut and breathes heavily through his nose. He manages a nod. He imagines it doesn’t look very convincing.

“Just need a second,” he gets out. God, he sounds awful.

“You’re fine. You don’t need to explain anything, just…take your time.”

“I thought today was going to be a good day,” he gets out between gritted teeth. “Stupid. Fuckin’ stupid of me. Fuck. Mi—” He cuts himself off. That indescribable fear he thought was far has resurfaced, pushing in between the cracks in his ribs, desperate in the space it’s vying for. 

Why the fuck are his eyes hot? He shouldn’t cry. Not over this. Not over anything.

“Who’s—?” They stop themself, mouth closing in a thin line. “Sorry. I don’t need to ask.” The question starts and ends there, but he knows what they’re asking. 

Who’s Mike?

It feels like two knives sharpening each other, the tinny sound of steel against steel. It pierces him once, twisting, turning into a dull, painful ache. Like an old wound that hasn’t had enough time to heal, an old throbbing scar.

Michael.

“He...” Carmy starts, but it’s too much. It’s too much, and his hands are trembling, shaking terribly. It’s gonna happen again. He can’t do this. 

Softer hands hold his, thumbs rubbing soft circles on the back of his dry hands. With each rotation on his skin, with each lap, Carmy slows down. He returns. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” they whisper. Their hands are so gentle. “I didn’t mean to ask, it just sorta popped out.”

“No, it’s okay,” he responds without thinking, surprising even himself. Even though it’s not really okay, even though he doesn’t really wanna talk about it, maybe he does, because he hasn’t gone completely silent yet. “He was my brother.”

“Ah...” Realization sets in their voice. “I see.”

“He was a drug addict,” he explains, pretending like saying it doesn’t feel like crumbling dough, like sugar dissolving into boiling water. “Killed himself.”

The grip on his hands tighten. He appreciates the feeling. 

This is the mark you’ve left, Carmy thinks suddenly. How fucked up is that, Mike? The first thing I tell people is the last thing you ever did. When did you stop being my best friend and start being my older brother who killed himself?

“I’m sorry,” they say quietly, because of course they do. That’s all anyone can think to say. Carmy’s too tired to feel angry about that anymore. “When did he pass away?”

“Last February,” he answers like it’s a quiz question, like it doesn’t mean anything. “It’ll be a year in a couple months.”

“I see.” Their hands are holding his gently again. Carmy finds he prefers this. “That must’ve been really hard. Still is, I’m sure.”

“...Still is, yeah. Especially with the restaurant. It was his,” he explains, when he sees the confusion beginning in their eyes. “He was the previous owner, and he left it. To me.”

“So that’s why you’re here and not in New York?” They ask. He nods. 

“I’m trying to fix it.” He doesn’t say I’m fixing it, because that would mean he’s made progress. 

“I don’t know how it was before, but it seems like you are fixing it. I know I’ve barely been there, you know it a million times better than I do, it just...it seems like people are happy there.”

“Happy,” he muses. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Everyone seems to really like you,” they go on. “That’s something, isn’t it?” 

“It is. Doesn’t fix the debt, but...” He shrugs half-heartedly. No, not even half. Quarter-heartedly. “It’s somethin’.”

“I had no clue.” There’s something regretful, rueful in their words. “This whole time, you’ve just been...”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. 

“...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry,” he backtracks. “I just mean...don’t give me your pity,” he mutters. It’s a bitter thing to say. Luckily, he’s so drained it comes out without any of the venom. It’s better that way. They don’t deserve his poison. 

“It’s not pity,” they argue, their reply so instant it sobers him. “It’s...respect, I guess.”

“Respect?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a lot on your plate. I couldn’t handle all the stuff you do, but you’re doing great.”

“I barely sleep most nights,” he says suddenly. He’s unsure why. It’s like he has to prove something. “When I do, there’s nightmares. You saw that tonight and yesterday. I almost burned down the house. My stomach’s still fucked. I’m not...” His eyes feel hot again. Breathing suddenly feels different. There’s ringing, static clogging his ears. “I’m not doing great,” he realizes with stunning, raw clarity, and the pain of it knocks the wind out of him. 

“You’re doing great,” they say again. “Look at me, Carmy.”

He looks at them. Their eyes are warm. 

"I,” he starts, but he’s having an awful time trying to breathe. When he inhales, he feels like he’s splintering, a unified whole breaking into jagged, drifting parts. 

Dread overtakes him in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t want them to see him like this. Hasn’t he already done enough?

“Breathe in with me.” They inhale, slowly, counting to 8. He counts with them like a lifeline, which it partially is. His breaths come out staggered, but he claws forward. Tries his best to keep his eyes interlocked with theirs. “And exhale...”

He clings onto every beat in their voice, every circle their thumbs make. Their words wrap around him, bringing the broken pieces back together, clicking them into place again. They restore his sense of gravity, returning his feet to solid ground with every breath. 

“You’re okay,” they say softly. One of their hands moves up to brush back hair from his face. The feeling of their fingers tucking hair behind his ear makes his eyes flutter briefly shut.

“I’m okay,” he whispers back. It doesn’t sound very convincing. Fake it until you make it, he reminds himself. 

“You’re okay.” They take one last deep breath with him, and when he exhales, his head feels clear again. 

“Sorry. That was...” He shakes his head. “I don’t usually...”

“Never gotten one of those before?”

“No, it’s not that. I’ve had tons of panic attacks before, just...not in front of anyone else,” he finishes awkwardly. 

“Yeah?” Carmy finds himself looking down at their conjoined hands instead of their eyes. “Well, you certainly don’t have to apologize. I get them too, from time to time.”

“Thank you. For...calming me down.” He takes another deep breath to steady himself. “It helped a lot.”

“No problem.” There’s that glowing smile he can’t get enough of. “How’re you feeling now?”

“I…” He tries to pinpoint something in all the noise. It’s proving difficult. “I’m calmer,” he notices. 

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know what to, how to, explain my…feelings.” The words are so haphazardly put together that he stammers as they tumble on the way out of his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, you’re doing great.” From anyone, the sentiment would make him shut down even more, turn his head the other way. From them, though…

“I’m okay,” he says, and it’s the truth. “I think, um, just a lot hit me all at once.”

“I get it. It often happens like that, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I just...” He briefly shuts his eyes, and there’s a flash of Michael. “It’s hard. Doing all this without him.” They nod. “I never wanted to. Not on my own.”

“He must’ve been a great guy.”

“He was,” he starts, and his throat closes up. They seem to understand, because they don’t say anything else. He doesn’t say it, but he’s glad for it. This is all he can bear. 

It’s hard to put into words, the way Carmy feels right now. He’s never been great at describing how he feels, even when he was a kid. Sometimes he’d cry about the wrong things, and he wouldn’t cry at the right things. But there wasn’t quite any right or wrong way to feel. It just was. It just is. 

The grief comes in waves. It always has, and it always will. Each wave is a natural disaster on its own, a tsunami that fills his lungs with water, leaving nothing in its wake. But something about this one just washed slowly over him, leaving just droplets of water in his hair. If anything, he just feels...lighter. 

He supposes this is what really trusting someone feels like.

The moment of peace is eventually ruined by his stomach growling. Loudly.

“Hungry?” They say first with an amused grin.

“I guess.” He hadn’t realized. “I didn’t eat much today.”

“Hm, I do suppose you had a late lunch, too, if that matters.”

“Sure. That’s also all I had to eat today.” He doesn’t know why he lets that slip, but he does. 

“Oh no!” That makes them jump up, detaching their hands from his. He tries not to mourn the loss for too long. “No wonder you’re hungry.”

“It’s fine. It’s like this sometimes,” he says, like it’s a normal and healthy thing to be doing. “Just one of those days.” They frown. 

“What do you do when your stomach gets like this? What do you eat?”

“I don’t eat,” he answers honestly, and they gasp. 

“Carmy! That is not the answer. I mean, like, don’t force it down, but is there really nothing you can stomach?”

“If I start chewing, I just feel worse. I’ll usually just have some water and a cigarette. If I have time, coffee.”

“You can’t be having that French girl breakfast. You just can’t.” That gets a laugh out of him. “You’re becoming a French girl, and you’re laughing. Carmy! This is serious.” That only makes him laugh harder. 

“Do all French girls also have stomach issues?” He wheezes out. That sets off their laughter. 

“I don’t know. You tell me, Ms. France.”

“Wait, stop, I don’t wanna be in a beauty pageant.”

“Then stop following their diet! Look—” They try to speak again, and they cut themself off with more laughter. “Okay. No. I’m fine. I’m not laughing. You, you need to eat. No skipping meals.”

“I usually end up having lunch,” he argues.  

“Y’know, as someone whose whole life is food, I would expect you to know the importance of breakfast more.”

“Just because I know it’s important doesn’t mean I’m gonna have it.”

“Hm. I don’t love your reasoning. Stop laughing! I’m mad at you. I’m so mad I’m gonna give you homework.”

“Homework? Just so you know, I wasn’t a good student.”

“It’s okay, I grade on a curve. Here’s your homework—you are going to use my protein powder that is sitting in the cabinet to the right of the fridge, and you’re going to put it in some milk. And then you’re gonna drink that shit. That’s what I have when I wake up nauseous.”

“I think I can try that.” His cheeks hurt from smiling. “Do you accept late work?” That makes them sigh dramatically, making a show of it.

“I suppose. Just don’t make it a habit! I won’t be this lenient every time.”

“Yeah, you will,” Carmy says without thinking. They gasp.

“No, I won’t! I can be mean.”

“I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body.”

“That’s actually a really nice thing to say, but keep this up and you’ll see my mean side!”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. That just ruffles them up further. 

“You just don’t seem real, sometimes,” he admits. “It scares me.”

“It does?” He has to commend them for their calm reaction. 

“Good things scare me, I think. I know that's…fucked up, but…”

“No, it makes sense. It shouldn't, but…it does to me.” He can't place their expression. It's some mixture of nostalgic and haunted. Or maybe just plain haunted. 

“Yeah?” They nod. “That's not good,” he mumbles, and the beauty of their shared, awful truth makes them both smile. 

“Well.” Their cheeks are less flushed, but there's still a dusting of color, like faint cocoa powder on cake. “I promise that I am, in fact, very real.”

“Pinky promise?” Carmy doesn't know where that comes from. They have a habit of bringing a strange silliness out of him. 

“Pinky promise. I'll even prove it to you.”

“How do you plan on doing that, exactly?” 

“Easy.” They outstretch their arms, and it clicks in his head with a rush. “Unless you're the sort of person that's not into hugging.”

“No, I am.” The words rush out, as if they're desperate to keep the offer on the table. “I mean, I hug my family when I see ‘em.”

“I'll admit, I'm a hugger. I give my friends hugs all the time. I just didn't know if you minded that sort of thing.”

“I don't mind. I like them, um…just don't usually initiate ‘em, I guess.” The anticipation is speeding up the beat of his heart like a coach on the sidelines. 

“Then bring it in, big guy,” they say, and he leans in.

The last time they hugged each other, Carmy was sleep-deprived and they were half-lucid from alcohol. This time is different. It's purposeful, tight, and all-encompassing. Their arms go over his shoulders and link around his neck to bring him in close. His arms naturally slot underneath theirs, meeting in the middle of their back. 

He can feel their hair tickling his neck. His heartbeat is in his ears, and he prays they can't hear it. They squeeze him, light, and his eyes flutter shut. 

“This is better,” Carmy whispers. He doesn't know why he's whispering. He supposes his mouth being so close to their ear makes him quiet. 

“Better than what?” Their voice has gone soft to match his. The vibrations next to his ear send a slim shiver up his spine. 

“Than the first time we hugged.” He pauses. “Unless you don't remember.”

“I remember.” They laugh, breathy and shy. “God. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

“It didn't.” He tightens his hold on them. He doesn't know if they meant for the hug to last this long, but they're warm and perfect to hold. They smell like smoke and a flower he can't place. 

“Good.” He feels them turning their head, shifting their face into his hair, and he thinks his heart is going to explode, turning into a red jam inside of him. “So, am I real or what?”

“Mm, you're real. You've convinced me.” He thinks he could fall asleep like this. Sadly, as soon as he says that, they take it as the cue to unlink their bodies. 

Their hair's messy from where it was pressed up against the side of his head. He notices how cold he feels without them.

“If you need reminding, just let me know.” Their cheeks are rosy again. Cute. “Like I said, I'm a hugger, so…”

“I wouldn't be opposed.” I think I need that, actually, he thinks to himself. 

“Okay. Good to know.” 

“Um.” Awkwardness is suddenly his primary emotion. “Shit, I didn't even think to check the time. What time is it?”

“Lemme check.” They pull out their phone from their pocket. “12:40 am.”

Carmy sighs. 

“Better than I thought.” When he stands up off the couch, he feels every aching muscle protesting in disapproval. “I should sleep in my actual bed. But, um…” He fidgets with his hands, anxious. “Thank you. For staying with me. And talking to me about stuff.”

“You don't have to thank me. Thank you for trusting me with all that.” They cock their head to the side as they look up at him. Cute, he thinks again, unbearably. “I feel like I know you a lot better.” 

“Mm.” Carmy feels his face getting hot, meaning he has to change the topic as quickly as possible. “It feels nice. Being known by you. I…” He thinks about that night he held their hair behind them as they cried into the toilet. I want to know you, Carmy, they whispered, beautifully genuine even in their drunken stupor. “I want to know you, too,” he finally allows himself to say, and he knows by the full feeling in his chest that it's the truth. 

They get that shy smile he's seen so much of today. Carmy realizes he likes that he's the one that keeps making them smile like that. 

“Okay, then. I wouldn't mind that.” They stand up from the couch next, and they stretch their arms far above their head. “Maybe another night, though. It's late.”

“Right. I didn't mean…”

“Hey, if we didn't both have work tomorrow, I'd love to keep talking.” There goes their uncanny ability to wash his anxieties away so easily, a washcloth dissolving dirt. They start walking down the hallway to their bedrooms, and he trails behind them on instinct. “But I think we've kept each other up late too many nights recently.” 

“I think so, yeah.” Without context, that'd make his stomach squirm with the implications. Their bedroom's first down the hall, so they move to hover in their doorway. “Um,” he starts, a sudden unspeakable urge gripping him, “just one more thing.”

“What is it?”

Fuck it, Carmy thinks. Fuck it. 

With only minimal hesitation, he leans down and pulls them into a hug. They make a small noise of surprise, but they reciprocate almost instantly.

“Just wanted to double check,” he mumbles. He keeps the hug short this time, because he knows if he doesn't, he won't be able to let go. 

“Still real, right?” 

“Still real.”

“Good idea, to double check.” They step backwards, one hand on their door. “G'night, Carmy. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“G'night,” he murmurs back. “See you.”

I'm fucked, Carmy realizes once the door shuts. The hallway is dark, and there is an unusual amount of good in his life. I'm so fucked. 

~

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto

[japage3moondog]

Headcanons on how the beatles would take care of their partner when they're sick?:)

sure! i was actually sick for like two weeks before this so pretty good timing anon :)

john lennon

john is the one who got you sick. he doesn't like staying home or resting, he only really wants to go out and do things when he shouldn't. he's very reluctant to admit that it's his fault.

he doesn't keep any medication, so he makes you home remedies to hold you off until he can go down to the pharmacy and buy you some proper medicine. his chicken noodle soup is terrible but this man knows how to make a cup of hot tea.

paul macca

as soon as he finds out your sick, he will forbid you from leaving your bed. he doesn't care what he needs to cancel, he'll take care of you until you're 100% better and then some. he already keeps basic cold and flu meds so he's very prepared for this.

every single day he'll cook you breakfast and bring it to you in bed. the only time he lets you up is when he has to wash the sheets and even then he carries you to the couch. as someone who's been worked to the bone, rest is something he values a lot and he wants to make sure you rest when you need to.

george harrison

george really doesn't want to get sick but he can't help but hold you. if you tell him to leave you alone so he doesn't catch what you have, he'll tell you some adorable corny shit like love is the greatest cure. he is not as happy when he gets sick.

he definitely leans more into the natural rememdies but he still takes you to the doctor to make sure it's just a cold. he cuts you little orange slices and makes you lemon and ginger tea with honey. he makes you a home remedy that his mother taught him.

ringo starr

i feel like ringo also got you sick and while he tries to take care of you he gets sick again, so you're both terribly ill but love each other too much to spend the time apart to get better.

not being able to sing without wrecking his voice makes him sad because that's his favourite way to comfort you. so he puts on a record you both know the words to and lip syncs it to you, if you're not both completely exhausted he'll dance you around the living room to cheer you up.

[em-omer]

Winter Has Arrived, and We Are Desperate

To everyone reading this,

Winter is here in Gaza, and it has brought with it a cold so bitter that survival feels impossible. My family and I are living in unbearable conditions. We have no proper shelter, only the crumbling walls of a garage shared with two other families. The nights are freezing—temperatures sometimes drop to zero—and we don’t have enough blankets or warm clothing to protect ourselves, especially my children. Every night, I wrap my three little ones as tightly as I can, but their small bodies still shiver from the cold.

Food is another battle we are losing. Most days, we manage only one meal—usually canned beans or other unhealthy food, because that’s all we can afford. My children, Omar, Zein, and Zeina, are growing weaker. Their fragile bodies desperately need proper nutrition to grow, but we have no way to provide it. Everything here is outrageously expensive. A single frozen chicken costs 350 ILS, nearly $100. It’s a price we can’t dream of paying.

We are still unable to return to our home in Jabalia because it no longer exists—it was completely demolished. The war has stolen everything from us, and the blockade is suffocating us. There is no water, no medicine, no electricity. Every day, we hear of more deaths caused by this cold and these inhumane conditions. Just two days ago, four newborn babies died because of the freezing nights. Yesterday, a doctor—someone who should have been saving lives—was found dead in the morning, unable to survive the cold.

I am terrified for my family. My husband, who is already battling a severe chest injury, is becoming weaker by the day. And my children, who are so young and innocent, are enduring hardships no child should ever know.

We desperately need your help to survive this winter. My children need warm clothes and blankets to keep the cold at bay. We need food to nourish their growing bodies and medicine to protect them from falling ill. Every single donation, no matter how small, can make a real difference in our lives right now.

Please, I beg you, don’t let my children suffer like this. Don’t let this winter take more lives. Your generosity could be the reason we survive these dark, freezing nights. From the bottom of my heart, I ask you to help us and share our story with others who might be able to help.

Thank you for your kindness and support.

— Saadiya

[raineyana]

What is your normal grocery list? I’m about to be living at a dorm and I am looking for stuff to stock up on, I can’t really keep frozen foods though

i actually dont even cook all that much so i dont keep a lot of frozen foods either. this is my regular list when i go, usually weekly.

FASTING FOODS

okay so youre probably like. raine you arent supposed to eat anything when you fast. hear me out bc this is how i consistently fast a 20-4 schedule everyday, with a lot less binges than before, AND getting all of the benefits of fasting. and yeah, i still binge from time to time, but my binges are far less because my stomach actually cannot handle being fed over 1000 calories anymore, especially not all at once.

these are my ESSENTIALS so theyre pretty much the only things i consistently buy weekly.

cucumbers

chicken broth (0cal kind)

seaweed snacks

pickled ginger

tea (any, but i like trying new flavors ! my favorite is lemon ginger because it helps digestion, and green tea because it speeds up your metabolism. also a lot healthier than diet coke with the same amount of caffeine, also less likely to spike your blood sugar and kick you out of ketosis- which will make your cravings for food much worse)

...dont get me wrong i couldnt live without diet coke. but sometimes ill go for the healthier option.

why i eat these foods while i fast

these are foods that have extremely low cals and carbs (like less than 2 grams per/serving) so they wont kick you out of ketosis (which is the major benefit to fasting, where your body burns fat at a higher rate). when youre in ketosis, your body stops sending you as many cravings, which is why sometimes it feels easier to fast 24 hours after you last ate as opposed to 3 hours.

because i spend the majority of my time fasting, (and i would never be able to do that without these foods) i go through these items pretty quick.

but otherwise i only have to buy other healthy foods on a biweekly or even monthly basis, because i wont eat them as fast ! heres some things i rotate through depending on how sick of them i am lol.

regular food

built bars - essential for me. tons of protein, less sugar than other bars, and relatively low cal.

somebody on here introduced me to these and im soo glad they did. i dont remember who but if youre seeing this ilysm.

tuna creations packets - rly good for on the go, tons of flavors, lots of protein so they're really filling for only being 70-90cals depending on the flavor

blueberries + apples - so hard to over eat these two items, plus fiber

rice cakes - self explanatory

pistachios or sunflower seeds - great for curbing hunger, but im a little sick of them rn

a low cal air popped popcorn - i forget which brand i have rn, but its pretty good and has a lot of fiber.

chobani yogurt + yogurt protein drinks (50cal) - the fact that these r 50cals amaze me for how good they taste. the yogurt drinks are my favorite bc theres actually a shit ton of protein and taste pretty good without actually having to make myself a protein shake. the cookies and cream and peaches and cream are my favorites ive tried. good for breaking a fast with.

thats all i can think of atm ! sry for the fucking essay i hope this was a little helpful at least.

typing this out manically made me realize im a little crazy. i cant say with my whole chest that you should listen to me and my d1sordered thoughts, but i think everyone on here knows that already so... uh

please be kind to yourselves. take ur vitamins (even while fasting) i genuinely love you all every one of you fucked up bitches like me.

goodnight <3

[blakeswritingimagines]

What they do when your sick

Wednesday: In all honesty, it depends on what sickness. If you have a fever and are shivering, she might cuddle you and give you some tea, but if you have some sort of stomach bug, she would rather die. But she usually sits next to you and tries to make you feel safe. She will make you soup, tuck you in, and try to keep you still and comfortable. She can be vulnerable, especially when you’re sick or injured.

Enid: When you are sick, she makes sure she does everything she can to help you feel better. She helps you with any tasks that need doing, and she tries to keep you comfortable and relaxed. She might also make a care package with some of your favorite things inside to cheer you up. She is a very supportive and caring partner.

Xavier: He makes you a hot drink. He gets you some comfy clothes and makes you feel comfortable in bed. He gets the blankets, pillows, and tissues ready for you. He'll get your favorite movies and TV shows ready, then he'll ask you if there's anything else you'd like him to do. He'll also give you a forehead and cheek kiss and tell you how much he loves you and how he hopes you'll feel better soon.

Rowan: He will do anything for you. He makes sure you are comfortable and get what you need. He is there for you any way he can be, doing everything you ask of him. He wants you to know you are his top priority and that he cares about you deeply. He knows that if you need him, he will be there to help you, however possible. He will do anything it takes to make sure that you are able to get better and back to full health as quickly as possible.

Tyler: His instinct is to take care of you and comfort you the best he can. He'll bring you warm soup or tea, make sure you have fresh blankets and pillows, and stay by your side even if it means risking getting sick too. He just wants to be there for you and give you affection and devotion to you when you need it most.

Ajax: He’d take care of you and comfort you by giving hugs and kisses on the forehead. He’d help you out and cook your favorite meal when you feel better. He’d make sure you still felt loved and taken care of. He’d also give you plenty of water to make sure you stay hydrated. Finally, he’d also give you space when you need it and check on you throughout the day to make sure you’re doing alright.

Bianca: When she knows you're sick, she takes care of you with love and kindness. She prepares you a hot cup of tea, a bowl of chicken soup, and asks you how she can help make you feel better. She makes sure you get plenty of rest and does anything else you need her to do for you. She offers her support and empathy and provides you with whatever comfort you need. She tries to make sure you have everything you need in order to get through the illness, and she remains patient and understanding throughout the process.

[weapon-xox]

Could I get fem Cherik fluff with powers?

i hope this is something! i changed their names to erika and charlie, enjoy! 💕

Charlie was sick. And, usually when someone is sick, they become insufferable, annoying and needy, using their illness to take full advantage of getting some undoubtebly much needed TLC.

Needing someone to care for them, rather than being the one to care for everyone else.

Charlie was lucky, she didn't have to put on an act to get her lover to care, to tend to her every need, because the second Charlie sneezed and broke into the sweats late last night, the metal weilding mutant actually became the insufferable one.

She meant well, of course she did, and Charlie really was so grateful, anyone could only be so lucky as to have someone as caring and concerned as Erika. But she tended to worry a little too much and, Xavier couldn't blame her, not after her past and unavoidably her future, but Erikas loud and constant string of worried thoughts, panic and the occasional (hourly) telepathic check-ins only added to the growing headache.

It wasn't all awful, though. Charlie couldn't help but think about how today was a perfect day to be sick. Rain pattered heavily against a slightly cracked window in Erikas dimly lit bedroom where she was tucked into the criminally comfortable bed, and Charlie had decided to cancel all classes for the day. A break for the teachers, and the students, to stay inside and enjoy each others company as they all would see fit.

Charlie tried to keep tabs on everyone, but Erika had scolded her when she noticed the others scrunched up face during one of her in person check ins, twisted in pain from all of the loud and excitable thoughts, and had gave her an order to rest, to let her handle everything, to trust her.

Charlie never doubted her trust in her, so she agreed quickly, and once she was able to drown out Erikas thoughts she even managed to get some sleep.

When she awoke, rubbing the sleep out of a heavy feeling eye with a small fist, a metal tray was carefully floating through the air, over to the bed, and eventually into her lap once Charlie pushed herself up, leaning back against the beautifully carved wooden bed frame.

Behind the tray followed Magneto, popping her head in with that shark like grin Charlie absolutley adored, walking further inside and sitting herself beside her lover while careful not to jostle the tray.

"I made you some soup, darling. Homemade, chicken noodle." Charlie opened her mouth, and Erika held up a long finger quickly. She didn't need to be a mind reader to know what Xavier was thinking.

"The students are all well, I promise you. Minimal rough housing and they all have been fed." Charlies lips curled into the softest hint of a smile. There was no rough housing because Erika was intimidating, Charlie knew that, and without her around to take their sides she knew the kids would all be on their best behaviour.

She looked down at the soup, the warm and welcoming smell broke through what it could of her congested sinuses and it made her mouth water.

"You made this?" She repeated back, reaching for the spoon but Erika beat her to it, lifting the spoon with a twitch of her fingers to bring the metal to Charlies lips. She leaned forward, took the soup into her mouth, and closed her eyes with a soft moan.

"From scratch," Erika confirmed again with a nod, and Charlie opened her eyes to smile around the spoon, pulling off of it at the same time the mutant pulled back the utensil, her eyes focused on those cherry red lips. They sat like that for a while, Erika feeding Xavier, chatting between thoughtful bites or sitting in silence to listen to the rain, which sounded like it had picked up, and although she was sick Charlie couldn't think of a better way to spend her day, in Erikas bed, surrounded by her welcoming scent and abundance of blankets because she was worried Charlie would get too cold, one of her too long shirts hanging off of the smaller girls frame.

She looks absolutley perfect, Erika thought, admiring her partner, and set the spoon in the nearly empty bowl to push back that soft shoulder length hair with a palm, leaning forward, pressing tender lips to that brilliant forehead of hers.

Charlie whined, silently pleading to be held while using that look the mutant could never say no to, and after lifting the tray off of the bed and safely to the top of a dresser with those remarkable powers, Erika kicked off her shoes and climbed under the covers. She wrapped a slender arm around Charlies waist, pulled her close, and the smaller mutant melted into her side while the protective arm of her soulmate held her.

"Thank you, really. For everything, you have been such a big help and I really don't know how to repay you..." Erika looked down with a lazy tilt of her chin, looking almost offended with furrowed brows that Charlie thought she expected something in return, but her face softened when she figured she could take full advantage.

She held her cheek in a careful hand and muttered softly, thumb brushing along her bottom lip, "a kiss will do."

"You will get sick," Charlie pointed out, a small pout on her face, and Erika just chuckled with a breath, leaning in for a kiss anyway, Charlie returning it eagerly despite her complaints.

Erika eventually pulled away just enough to speak, lips brushing against Xaviers own parted ones with every word.

"We'll worry about that when the time comes."

And, as it turns out, Xavier discovered... Erika is even more insufferable when she's sick.

Charlie really wouldn't have it any other way.

[julia-writes-things]

Grian is overdramatic and sick

drabble request by @bluetbluish

on ao3 if that's more your style

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

Grian usually never got sick. Key word usually. His so-called ‘higher status’ prevented him from having to deal with the feeble symptoms of the weather or bacteria. Why would an Eldritch God need to get sick when they could just snap their fingers and wish it away? When Grian felt the first tickle in his throat he did just that, or tried to. He slept comfortably in his bed, knowing his sickness was going away when the sun rose from the sky. It was only when he woke up that he realized his punishment extended from just living among the players. He also had to live like them. Experience something he only enjoyed from a third person perspective in first person. Great. Amazing. Super super fun. 

He tried getting out of bed, but his arms felt like lead. Why couldn’t he move? He took a deep breath, but he couldn't breathe from his nose. When he tried, a horrible noise graced his ears. His nose was clogged with… something. His only option was breathing out of his mouth. He found the experience to be quite horrid after about five seconds. 

He needed to tell people about this. Make sure someone knew his suffering, his pain, his- 

{Grian}: scarrrrrrrrr, I need help with a build.

{GoodTimeWithScar}: omw

Grian thought Scar took his sweet time getting there. His head felt like it was being squeezed by a giant rubber band, yet somehow remained in a hazy fog all the while. Why couldn’t his body just pick one symptom, instead of all of them? It would be so much better if it was only one symptom, but no. That would be easy. Instead, he felt like he was dying. He was dying, for all he knew. He’d never experienced this before.

“Grian? Grian?” he heard the melodious voice of Scar, drawing out the ‘e’ syllable on his second call. “Where oh where could he be? G oh G-man.”

Grian tried to let him know he was, in fact, stuck in bed. All that came out was a weak croak. He cringed at himself. This was all he was able to do? Would he be doomed to this horrid fate forever? 

“Was that a frog I heard? He knows I need them for my zoo train, yet he’s hoarding all of them. The injustice!” 

Grian rolled over in his bed. Let Scar find him in this miserable state, then he’d be sorry. 

“Seriously, where could this man be?” Scar mumbled after a while. His voice was getting closer and closer to where he was. Lying down, dead to the world. Or he wished he was dead. 

“There you ar- oh my god,” he immediately rushed to the side of his bed. “What happened to you? You’re so… pale.” “You don’t think I know that, Scar? I feel like someone just took all of my well being and threw it into the void.” “So you’re sick.” “That’s what you call it?”

“Sickness, illness, maladie if you fancy some french-” “I don’t.” 

Grian didn’t have time for humour right now. He needed to get better, and fast. 

“How fix?” he croaked.

“Well uh- what’re you feeling? What’re your symptoms?”

“Dry throat, stuffy nose, sore limbs, my eyes hurt… I could go on.”

“Wow… okay then. Well, have no fear! I’ll go and make my Scar Safe Illness Fighter. I’m trying to get it patented, but the guy at the permit office is a real jerk. Keeps putting me on hold.”

Before Grian could even say anything, he was gone again. He sighed in frustration, all he wanted was Scar’s company.

It took Scar half an hour to make his reappearance. He was lugging a cart of goods behind him. Quickly assembling a table, he then went on to place chicken soup, pastina, tea, milk, honey, noodles, and a small tin of crackers on it. 

“Oh my…” Grian sat up. “This is your illness cure?” “It’s a work in progress. I just took all the things that make me feel better when I’m sick and made them.” 

“That’s a lot.” “Anything for a friend, right?” Grian nodded his agreement, pouring himself some tea. 

“So, you like never get sick. How’d you manage it this time?”

i'm actually terribly ill rn so if it sucks that's why.