#i think that. if there was a perpetual soup | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burinazar · 21 days

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I'm sure you've mentioned it before, but I was wondering who your favorite Made in Abyss character is and why they're your favorite? :3

I love all the main kids as well as many other characters so it's hard to choose but I think I'd have to say mine is Faputa. Not only is she a super interesting and cool character, but she's also A Creature. A little ball of fluff that can kill

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Thank you very much for the ask, anon! haha, "little ball of fluff that can kill"...yes, Faputa is great, and I think the main cast of Abyss is very endearing and very well fleshed-out. I was having a nice exchange on AO3 the other day regarding how GOOD the characterization of Abyss is and how it's often overlooked in favor of the also-extremely-good worldbuilding and plot, and why that might be, and was considering how it links together with some of my other Thoughts about ways this fandom is different from my other ones as far as what people are into (I need to finish the self-reblog I was gonna do about that on a recent related post actually). Anyway, pretty much the whole cast is endearing and/or enjoyable to watch in some capacity. But there is a definite answer as to favorite(s).

I put these up on my wall this evening, which may help to answer your question.

(Please note the scrolls. I missed the Amiami preorder period for those two because they closed earlier than the rest for some reason, but was able to get them from Suruga-ya eventually. They'll be on the wall at some point too.)

The story and cast prior to s2 I enjoyed in a, like, normal way, and then the Ganja squad arc hit me like a damn asteroid. These people...I've thought and felt and said so much about them, and after a year and a half I'm still brimming with something that feels like it has to be poured out, onto blank canvases and into the written word, and there's no end in sight. I have never had characters that were such good muses to me except perhaps for a couple I made up myself. Belaf has to be called my favorite at this point, but for a long time it was Vueko, and I really, really like Waz too; the manner in which these three characterize one another makes it a little painful to try to separate and rank them, but yes, that's the order. I dote on B and V in particular.

(Self portrait circa August 2023.)

At this point I have so much to say about them that being asked why I like them is hard to answer succinctly. Belaf is so, so sweet, but in an unusual weird, intense nerd way that I find incredibly endearing .....and then that kindness and strength of character fucking destroys him and it's tragic and beautiful and there is so much to pick apart in the manner and meaning of his transformation and his absolution, and it's also a great deal of fun to depict him as he was before. "Before" Belaf is such a fun sort of quirky nerd and his relationships wth Waz and Vue and Iru offer, like, SO much to turn over and look upon fondly, humor and friendship and loyalty and love.

And yet, when I write about his years of friendship with and loyalty and closeness to Wazukyan and Vueko and his parenthood and tutelage of Irumyuui and (note: hallucinatory) camaraderie with the other Ganja, hanging over my shoulder always is his downfall and it makes all of those things so much more beautiful, the tinny note of tragedy that is always playing at the edge of our hearing once we see it all and know how it must end.

(Another crispy fried self portrait from last year. I don't really draw myself these days at all EXCEPT in the context of making fun of my sages obsession.)

As for Vueko, since she's fairly popular maybe explaining her appeal isn't needed...or maybe it is, because it's so much more than the shy and gentle and somewhat silly person she is on the surface, it is so, so much more. Under the Layer of Fuheh she's made of steel --it's just that she's very, very softspoken, which people mistake for passivity and spinelessness. Even fans who purport to like her sometimes reduce her to victimhood and weakness. Perhaps because it's a misconception she clearly holds about herself, and a viewer can be forgiven for not putting together that Vueko might literally be the sage that acts with the most agency. There's so much more I can say that I love about her and her story, especially in the context of the other characters and the way she subtly skews some narrative and trope-related expectations, but I think that's the heart of it -- yes, she was endearing as soon as I met her, but when I saw the subtle yet unmistakeable strength under it all (and parsed that she never saw it herself, I think that little pop of tragedy really makes it hit for me lol), I think that's what made me adore her.

This next little bit might be kind of fucked up but what really makes that strength into something that haunts and compels me is that Vueko has so much determination and strength of character that she will unhesitatingly act to destroy the people she cares about very very much if she has decided at that moment that it is the best thing for them (Irumyuui, Belaf, Irumyuui again.) I can trace the real beginning of my obsession with these characters to when s2e8 aired and this is pretty much why.

So...yeah. Belaf and Vueko! Aaaand there's no way I can write about Waz here without making this post way too fucking long but.

One more shitty self portrait from earlier in the obsession should do it.

Yep!

#made in abyss #Orphan hole tag #i say she 'destroyed' him because 'Perpetuated His Soup Based Mindbreak' would not fit the tone of the post.#at that juncture this was the only way she could save his life. and after all he'd done for her...she would be strong for him now.#no matter how he might beg her not to. : (((#also obviously i like irumyuui and pakkoyan a lot as well. i think my fanworks make this clear #but i can't deny the sages are the Obsession Provokers #btw i know i refer to the anime a lot in this post but i've read various portions of the manga as well and am 'caught up'#but like. .... ...this is weird but for me it felt like s2/Ganja arc is 'the part i'm in the fandom for/of'#i'm interested in the rest and will enjoy it in the same way as s1 but the part my heart will continue to dwell in is the story of the ganj #and the sage obsession is unlikely to transfer to further characters. this is why i sort of say i'm in 'a fandom in a fandom' sometimes.#anyway thanks again for the ask and sorry the answer is. So. Much.

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gxlden-angels · 3 months

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What if Hell was just a big pot of perpetual stew? Oh you killed 5 people in cold blood then stole candy from babies? Sorry you're going in the Forever Sin Soup

#So apparently perpetual stews are real and I want to make one with friends now I think it'd be fun #I thought you had to have a microbiome based food to do that #like how you use the bacterial or yeast growth from sourdough starters and fermented drinks #I want to learn the science behind it now I'm so fascinated by it #people are so so cool I love people #jesus is the original forever soup #what if instead of wine he turned water into soup is that anything?#anyways that's my rambles for the day they can't all be bangers #I gotta talk about soups and stews instead of jesus #ex christian #religious trauma

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saturniidd · 2 months

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there are too many stories to write and too little time

#my brain is a soup of thoughts and its perpetually boiling over #I think I need a bigger pot (silly)

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just-aro · 2 years

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me: a loveless aro

me: introduced to the End Poem of minecraft for the first time literally this week

me: and the universe said i love you because you are love *starts sobbing*

#no but seriously what the fuck #minecraft has no rights to make me cry what the fuck #(also guess who is perpetually the latest person ever to join a trend and is planning to play mc for the first time in xyr life soon)#also hermitcraft is my latest interest-based obsession #so far i've watched ~10 episodes each of s9 for doc/impulse/scar/joehills and <5 for xisuma/tango/zedaph #i plan to watch a little of everyone and kinda see all the Vibes #but ngl so far impulse joe and scar are my blorbos #doc is great but my attention span is not the length of his videos #grian is a lovely chaos gremlin to view from other perspectives but a Bit Much for me to watch directly #joehills is a fucking sweetheart and i adore him #scar is a chaotic neutral disabled icon with the voice of a god #impulse is like. dad friend to the max and i adore that #the soup group is really freaking cute #xisuma seems nice but he cuts so many interactions with other hermits :( i would like to see interactions pls sir #i do think i have to watch the queer ones - iirc geminitay and iskall + one more and i am forgetting who #and regretfully... i know myself and i will probably be Unable to watch far in any one person's stuff without catching up on everyone else #OH! i forgot mumbo!!! mumbo is also good and i hope his mental health break is going well #i do also plan to watch double life. probs not third life or last life though #anyways yeah i. uh. have an interest-driven brain can u all tell #that i got into this. last week.#back to the original reason i wrote the post though lol #the end poem fucking wrecked me #like bro. bro. you can't just.

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fazcinatingblog · 1 month

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What is a Bronx cheer compared to a normal cheer compared to a girl screaming TRENT TRENT TRENT AFTER THE SIREN WE WON WE WON

#this guy on Twitter is so dumb though #he's always awful about everything #but never forget that Trent caught the golden snitch at the end and kicked a goal worth 150 points and we won #Trent baby #my hero #still can't believe we won #amazing #Trent is the hero #statue of Trent outside the AIA centre #i live in a world of delusion #Trent still plays for Collingwood and ginnidiot is on a drug ban for 2 years and Taylor Adams is always perpetually injured and #i mean i work for sophia so delusion is easy to tap into #Just think like sophia #what would Sophia do #always the best advice for literally anything in life #tired? have a nap #running out of money? yell at your admin worker to creatively account some invoices #got too much money? buy the house next to one you already own #have four kids? demand they all become accountants and never talk to them if they don't #too lazy to go outside? smoke inside #hungry? 6 cheese biscuits #still hungry? try another 6 cheese biscuits #hungry again? 6 choc chip cookies #water? make sure it's sparkling mineral water #soup? chicken cup a soup without noodles #if it's the wrong soup? reprimand whoever did this atocious act of betrayal and eat it anyway #want more money? hire more accountants #i spelt atrocious wrong #dinner after work and too tired to cook? $20 fish and chips #taxi? use one of your 53 accountants instead

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najia-cooks · 5 months

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[ID: Two large flatbreads. The one in the center is topped with bright purple onions, faux chicken, fried nuts, and coarse red sumac; the one at the side is topped with onions and sumac. Second image is a close-up. End ID]

مسخن / Musakhkhan (Palestinian flatbread with onions and sumac)

Musakhkhan (مُسَخَّن; also "musakhan" or "moussakhan") is a dish historically made by Palestinian farmers during the olive harvest season of October and November: naturally leavened flatbread is cooked in clay ovens, dipped in plenty of freshly pressed olive oil, and then covered with oily, richly caramelized onions fragrant with sumac. Modern versions of the dish add spiced, boiled and baked chicken along with toasted or fried pine nuts and almonds. It is eaten with the hands, and sometimes served alongside a soup made from the stock produced by boiling the chicken. The name of the dish literally means "heated," from سَخَّنَ "sakhkhana" "to heat" + the participle prefix مُـ "mu".

I have provided instructions for including 'chicken,' but I don't think the dish suffers from its lack: the rich, slightly sour fermented wheat bread, the deep sweetness of the caramelised onions, and the true, clean, bright expressions of olive oil and sumac make this dish a must-try even in its original, plainer form.

Musakhkhan is often considered to be the national dish of Palestine. Like foods such as za'tar, hummus, tahina, and frika, it is significant for its historical and emotional associations, and for the way it links people, place, identity, and memory; it is also understood to be symbolic of a deeply rooted connection to the land, and thus of liberation struggle. The dish is liberally covered with the fruit of Palestinian lands in the form of onions, olive oil, and sumac (the dried and ground berries of a wild-growing bush).

The symbolic resonance of olive oil may be imputed to its history in the area. In historical Palestine (before the British Mandate period), agriculture and income from agricultural exports made up the bulk of the economy. Under مُشَاعْ (mushā', "common"; also transliterated "musha'a") systems of land tenure, communally owned plots of land were divided into parcels which were rotated between members of large kinship groups (rather than one parcel belonging to a private owner and their descendants into perpetuity). Olive trees were grown over much of the land, including on terraced hills, and their oil was used for culinary purposes and to make soap; excess was exported. In the early 1920s, Palestinian farmers produced 5,000 tons of olive oil a year, making an average of 342,000 PL (Palestinian pounds, equivalent to pounds sterling) from exports to Egypt alone.

During the British Mandate period (from 1917 to 1948, when Britain was given the administration of Palestine by the League of Nations after World War 1), acres of densely populated and cultivated land were expropriated from Palestinians through legal strongarming of and direct violence against, including killing of, فَلّاَحين (fallahin, peasants; singular "فَلَّاح" "fallah") by British troops. This continued a campaign of dispossession that had begun in the late 19th century.

By 1941, an estimated 119,000 peasants had been dispossessed of land (30% of all Palestinian families involved in agriculture); many of them had moved to other areas, while those who stayed were largely destitute. The agriculturally rich Nablus area (north of Jerusalem), for example, was largely empty by 1934: Haaretz reported that it was "no longer the town of gold [i.e., oranges], neither is it the town of trade [i.e., olive oil]. Nablus rather has become the town of empty houses, of darkness and of misery". Farmers led rebellions against this expropriation in 1929, 1933, and 1936-9, which were brutually repressed by the British military.

Despite the number of farmers who had been displaced from their land by European Jewish private owners and cooperatives (which owned 24.5% of all cultivated land in Palestine by 1941), the amount of olives produced by Palestinians increased from 34,000 tons in 1931 to 78,300 in 1945, evidencing an investment in and expansion of agriculture by indigenous inhabitants. Thus it does not seem likely that vast swathes of land were "waste land," or that the musha' system did not allow for "development"!

Imprecations against the musha' system were nevertheless used as justification to force Palestinians from their land. After various Zionist organizations and militant groups succeeded in pushing Britain out of Palestine in 1948—clearing the way for hundreds of thousands of Palestinians to be dispossessed or killed during the Nakba—the Israeli parliament began constructing a framework to render their expropriation of land legal; the Cultivation of Waste Lands Law of 1949, for example, allowed the requisition of uncultivated land, while the Absentees’ Property Law of 1950 allowed the state to requisition the land of people it had forced from their homes.

Israel profited from its dispossession of millions of dunums of land; 40,000 dunums of vineyards, 100,000 dunums of citrus groves, and 95% of the olive groves in the new state were stolen from Palestinians during this period, and the agricultural subsidies bolstered by these properties were used to lure new settlers in with promises of large incomes.

It also profited from the resulting "de-development" of the Palestinian economy, of which the decline in trade of olive oil furnishes a striking example. Palestinian olive farmers were unable to compete with the cheaper oils (olive and other types) with which Zionist, capital-driven industry flooded the market; by 1936, the 342,000 PL in olive oil exports of the early 1920s had fallen to 52,091 PL, and thereafter to nothing. While selling to a Palestinian captive market, Israel was also exporting the fruits of confiscated Palestinian land to Europe and elsewhere; in 1949, olives produced on stolen land were Israel's third-largest export. As of 2014, 12.9% of the olives exported to Europe were grown in the occupied West Bank alone.

This process of de-development and profiteering accelerated after Israel's military seizure of the West Bank and Gaza in 1967. In 1970, agriculture made up 34% of the GDP of the West Bank, and 31% of that of Gaza; in 2000, it was 16% and 18%, respectively. Many of those out of work due to expropriated or newly unworkable land were hired as day laborers on Israeli farms.

Meanwhile, Palestinians (and Israeli Palestinians) continued to plant and cultivate olives. The fact that Palestinians do not control their own water supplies or borders and may expect at any time to be barred by the military from harvesting their fields has discouraged investment and led to risk aversion (especially since the outmoding of the musha' system, which had minimized individual risk). In this environment, olive trees are attractive because they are low-input. They can subsist on rainwater (Israel monopolizes and poisons much of the region's water, and heavily taxes imports of materials that could be used to build irrigation systems), and don't require high-quality soil or daily weeding. Olive trees, unlike factories and agricultural technology, don't need large inputs of capital that stand to be wasted if the Israeli military destroys them.

Olive trees are therefore the chosen crop when proving a continued use of land in order to prevent the Israeli military from expropriating it under various "waste" or "absentee" land laws. Palestinians immediately plant olive seedlings on land they have been temporarily forced from, since even land that has lain fallow due to status as a military closed zone can be appropriated with this justification. The danger is so pressing that Palestinian agronomists encouraged this habit (as of 1993), despite the fact that Israeli competition and continual planting had lowered olive crop prices, and despite the decline in soil quality that results from never allowing land to lie fallow. In more recent years, olive trees have yielded primary or supplementary income for about 100,000 Palestinian families, producing up to 191 million USD in value in good years (including an average of 17,000 tons of olive oil yearly between 2001 and 2009).

Israeli soldiers and settlers have famously uprooted, vandalized, razed, and burned millions of these olive trees, as well as using military outposts to deny Palestinian farmers access to their olive crops. It prefers to restrict Palestinians to annual crops, such as vegetables and grains, and eliminate competition in permanent crops, such as fruit trees.

This targeting of olive trees increases during times of intensified conflict. During the currently ongoing olive harvest season (November 2023), Gazan olive farmers have reported being targeted by Israeli war planes; some farmers in the West Bank have given up on harvesting their trees altogether, due to threats issued by organized networks of settlers that they would kill anyone seen making the attempt.

The rootedness of olive trees in the history of Palestine gives them weight as a symbol of homeland, culture, and the fight for liberation. Palestinian olive harvest festivals, typically celebrated in October with singing, dancing, and eating, have inspired similar events elsewhere in the world, aimed at sharing Palestinian food and culture and expressing solidarity with those living under occupation.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund, and donating to the Bay Area Anti-Repression Committee bail fund.

Ingredients:

For the dish:

2 pieces taboon bread, preferably freshly baked

2 large or 3 medium yellow onions (480g)

1 cup first cold press extra virgin olive oil (زي�� زيتون البكر الممتاز)

1 Tbsp coarsely ground Levantine sumac (سماق شامي / sumaq shami), plus more to top

Ground black pepper

For the chicken (optional):

500g chicken substitute

5 green cardamom pods, or 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

4 cloves, or pinch ground cloves

1 Mediterranean bay leaf

1 Tbsp ground sumac

For the nut topping (optional):

2 Tbsp slivered almonds

2 Tbsp pine nuts

Neutral oil, for frying

Notes on ingredients:

Use the best olive oil that you can. You will want oil that has some opacity to it or some deposits in it. I used Aleppo brand olive oil (7 USD a liter at my local halal grocery).

If you want to replace the taboon bread with something less laborious, I would recommend something that mimics the rich, fermented flavor of the traditional, whole-wheat, naturally leavened bread. Many people today make taboon bread with white flour and commercial yeast—which you might mimic by using storebought naan or lavash, for example—but I think the slight sourness of the flatbread is a beautiful counterpoint to the brightness of the sumac and the sweetness of the caramelized onions. I would go with a sourdough pizza crust or something similar.

Your sumac should be coarsely ground, not finely powdered; and a deep, rich red, not pinkish in color (like the pile on the right, not the one on the left).

For this dish, a whole chicken is usually first boiled (perhaps with spices including bay leaves, cardamom, and cloves) and then baked, sometimes along with some of the oil from frying the onions. I call for just frying or baking instead; in my opinion, boiling often has a negative effect on the texture of meat substitutes.

Instructions:

For the onions:

1. Heat a cup of olive oil in a large skillet or pot. Fry onions on medium-low, stirring often, for 10 minutes or until translucent.

2. Add 1 Tbsp sumac and a few cracks of black pepper and reduce to low. Cook for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are sweet, reduced in volume, and pinkish in color.

For the chicken:

1. Briefly toast and finely grind spices except for sumac (cardamom, cloves, and bay leaf). Filter with a fine mesh sieve. Dip 'chicken' into the pot in which you fried the onions to coat it with olive oil, then rub spices (including sumac) onto the surface.

2. Sear chicken in a dry skillet until browned on all sides; or bake, uncovered, in the top third of an oven heated to 400 °F (200 °C) until browned.

For the nut topping:

1. Heat a neutral oil on medium in a small pot or skillet. Add almonds and fry for 2 minutes, until just starting to take on color. Add pine nuts and fry until both almonds and pine nuts are golden brown. Remove with a slotted spoon.

To assemble:

1. Dip each flatbread in the olive oil used to fry the onions, then spread onions over the surface.

Some cooks dip the bread entirely into oil; others press it lightly into the surface of the oil in the pot on both sides, or one side; a more modern method calls for mixing the olive oil with chicken broth to lighten it. Consult your taste. I think the bread from my taboon recipe stands up well to being pressed into the oil on both sides without tearing or becoming soggy.

2. Top flatbread with chicken and several large pinches more sumac. Bake briefly in the oven (still heated to 400 °F / 200 °C), or broil on low, for 3-5 minutes, until the sumac and the surface of the bread have darkened a shade.

3. Top with fried nuts.

Musakhkhan is usually eaten by ripping the chicken into bite-sized pieces, tearing off a bit of bread, and eating the chicken using the bread.

Some cooks make a layered musakhkhan, adding two to three pieces of bread covered with onions on top of each other before topping the entire construction with chicken and pine nuts.

#Palestinian #Palestine #palestinian food #recipes #long post /

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scoobydoodean · 4 months

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the way dean gives so much love and receives love in return always makes me so soft 😭

people love him and connect with him because he's always reaching out - he tries so hard to bond with people and make them happy and he's so thoughtful and kind. truly, genuinely, kind. he's not ~nice~ (nice people are fake!) he's honest and real and beautiful and true and everyone he meets responds to that. his milkshake really does bring everyone to the yard and thank you for the reminder!!!

Think even of how many times Dean has snapped people out of mind control! John, Bobby, Cas, Rufus, Sam, Mary. How many HUGS he’s given how many people he’s said “I love you” to without saying it. Think about how he got through to Lucas in 1.03 and got him to begin communicating with him when no one (not even his MOM) could by empathizing with him and telling him he was listening. When he pulled John out of mind control with a simple plea. When he pulled Bobby out of mind control by telling him Bobby’s like a father to him and he won’t let him die. When Bobby was suicidal and Dean sat down with him and when Charlie was grieving her parents and Dean saw and he listened. When he perpetually cooled Sam’s self-destructive desire for revenge in 1.21/1.22. Think about Dean and Victor’s instant, easy camaraderie in Jus In Bello. Think about Dean instantly gaining Ronald’s trust in Nightshifter. Think about the lawyer he convinced to help him and Sam in “Folsom Prison Blues”, or the cops in “The Usual Suspects” and “The Benders” who he got to believe him just by being sincere. Think about Crowley lovesick flipping through Flickr albums and Dean talking him through his toxic relationship with his mom. Think about Cas being tortured and conditioned to kill Dean thousands of times but not being able to do it when the time comes because of a simple plea. Think about Dean fighting through 360 degree combat looking for Cas even though Cas abandoned him and didn’t want to be found and Dean was the only source of fresh meat around. Think about Jo and Lisa swooning and Dean and Cassie accidentally breaking each other’s hearts. Think about Dean cleaning wounds and putting blankets over Sam and Cas’s shoulders when they’re sick and making people food, and sharing movies and music he loves with his best friend. Think about Dean kissing Charlie on the top of the head and cooking Kevin eggs and cooking Sam soup and burgers and cooking a birthday cake for Jack and making a Winchester Surprise with Mary and playing Words With Friends to try and connect. He’s the most loving guy in the whole wide world everyone wants to be loved by him or to be him or to hold him or be held by him there is blood and dirt under his nails he gets called a killer but he loves so so fiercely so so deeply he uses his hands to nurture and care for others he hugs so so tight and while the people he loves are beating him bloody he is reaching out to them snapping them out of it with love. He saved the world with love TWICE.

#dean the narrative heart #the hearth of the house #mail

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Scarabia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #I've been dreaming...#twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twst anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #twisted wonderland anni

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 3 months

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Hi! Could I request something for Erwin? Just a platonic situation where the reader is a young cadet that joins the Survey corps and they keep bumping into each other

pairing: erwin x reader, tried to keep it gender neutral

tw: cursing, mention of grief & death

a/n: i know i said i wouldn’t get to this but surprise!! i made a creative decision and decided to keep it short and sweet! i hope you enjoy this. this can be interpreted as romantic or platonic. it’s vague and is whatever you want it to be, babe.

you joined the survey corps, heart in your hand, ready for the challenges of being a solider. you expected the horrors, the anxiety, the feeling of never knowing when you’d return to your hometown, or if you’d even return at all. what you weren’t prepared for was how hard it’d be to allow yourself to make friends. not sure if you were even interested in forming relationships, thinking it’d be pointless in this field, you kept to yourself.

it was amazing how fast people were taking to each other. everybody seemed to know their place and where they stood with each other. it was painful watching your comrades mess around each day at breakfast. the sound of their laughters put a pang in your heart. you wanted so badly to sit with them, to feel the warmth of a shoulder to cry on. however, the feeling of perpetual doom was enough to deter you, as you pictured how they’d look with missing limbs. but fuck, you were even jealous of eren and jean’s bickering. you felt so alone.

of course, you weren’t. there was always somebody watching you. he knew you were different. commander erwin could see the grief you carried in your chest and the fear paling your face. he wanted so badly to ask you what the hell you were doing here.

the commander was everywhere you went. he even started dining in the mess hall with all of the cadets. you noticed he’d watch you. it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable; it felt…comforting.

soon enough, erwin and you were always bumping into each other. literally. there was one time he had walked right into you, making you spill your soup all down the front of your uniform. steaming hot and scalding your battered and bruised skin after a particularly long mission, erwin found himself stuttering an apology.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright? Let me get you a new uniform.”

the collisions between you two didn’t stop after that. you were starting to think it was on purpose. he was everywhere you went. he had lingering eyes and you were growing irritated. you couldn’t stand it; you felt like you were being babysat, like you couldn’t do anything right. eventually, you find the courage to confront your commander.

slamming your hands down on his desk, you raise your voice as much as you were willing to. “what the hell? why do you think that i can’t do anything without you there? i’m perfectly cable of anything the other cadets can do!”

erwin set his bundle of documents on his desk. he placed them so gently, so nonchalant that you wanted to take them from him, rip them apart and demand an answer. but you knew better, he was still your superior.

“i know you’re perfectly capable.”

“then why are-“ you started, words tumbling out of your mouth.

“(y/n.)” erwin raised his voice, coaxing you to fall into silence. waves of embarrassment, tinged in red, rose to your cheeks. you bite the side of them. “why are you here?”

“somebody has to do something about the titans.”

“that isn’t true. that’s not why you’re here.” his voice is the same as it was minutes ago, not once changing in tone. it was the same familiar, monotonous voice he always spoke in. as pissed as you were, you found it soothing. “you’re running. i can see that you’re running. and there’s something i want you,” he cleared his throat. “need you, to know if you’re going to continue to be a scout.”

the crimson in your face drained. skin turning ghostly, there was nothing you could say. erwin had called you out on your bullshit, on your lack of relationships within the squads, and the utter determination you had on missions, often pushing your body to the brink of exhaustion.

“i need you to feel.”

“what?” you questioned.

“i need you to feel the food in your stomach. i need you to pay attention to the growling when it’s empty. how can you expect to succeed if you can’t nourish yourself right? feel friendship growing in the darkest parts of you, feel the unexplainable, inevitable loss. how else will you remember what you’re fighting for? how can you call yourself a scout if your comrades can’t rely on you? i don’t just mean outside the walls. i need you to feel, (y/n.) i need you to be the scout i know you could be.”

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beedreamscape · 7 months

Text

I love how we get introduced to John's powers in the most casual and/or stupid ways:

*necro dead on the floor after bleeding herself for him* oi--? for fuck sake! *casually resurrects her* sorry, luv, did I say you could die? No, back to work

*water full of bodies approaches his shoes* ew ew hell no *lifts the fucking earth and moves the waters*

*tries being funny to his friends* guys guys meet Ulysses and Titania hhahah *puppets two very dead corpses*

*after eating shitty soup and watching his oldest friend explode* *freezes everyone and everything around him* casually: harrow dear what the actual fuck?

*rematerializes himself from bloody powder after stabilizing the sun* well, that was awkward...

Ugh! you're pissing me off *explodes your heart and cracks your skull*

*needs a sample of your dna* so anyway I ripped his whole arm off, don't worry, he didn't feel a thing

Oh look, peaches! *turns somebody's bone into a can opener*

Shit shit the cops are after us *raises 2 acres worth of a meter-thick meat wall with perpetual bone foundation* i think this will do for now

*gets outsmarted by some trillionaires* well well well not so fast *kills the entire solar system and puts out the sun and still fails to catch them*

#i love him so muuuch #go off king mansplain manipulate manwhore #but don't forget your best. manfailure #john gaius #tlt spoilers #htn spoilers #ntn spoilers #so many spoilers #the locked tomb

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windvexer · 1 year

Text

I really don't think animism is that easy of a worldview to adopt, actually, either that or I'm just bad at it

Shortly after embracing the animism worldview, and this is a true story, I had a meltdown over whether or not my soup spoon was mad at me for not asking it for permission to eat my lunch.

Witchcraft and spirituality are supposed to make you empowered, you say? Nonsense, I say. Try being paralyzed over your increasingly soggy bowl of cereal because you're too exhausted to perform spirit work to request permission from cutlery. That's real witchcraft.

And if I asked the spoon for permission, what did that say about my treatment of the bowl? Of the milk?

I think people treat animism sort of as paganism lite, like you get all the mysticism and wonder of everything being alive, without actually having to like pick a pantheon and research specific gods and spirits. Sort of like easy magic - all you gotta do is believe.

I'd actually like to propose that adopting a worldview that everything might be alive is in fact terrifying and requires a lot of forethought, integration, and personal development in order to internalize in a way that makes your life better instead of worse.

And after several years of soul-searching, experience, and a heaping dose of UPG, I've come to the following conclusions that has helped animism move away from a destructive force in my life and into a stable platform that inspires harmony and communication.

Here are my thoughts on it. Take what you will and leave the rest behind.

No, not everything is alive.

The reasons why I believe this is a whole metaphysical discussion, but no. Not everything is alive. Plastic sporks mass-produced in a factory are inert hunks of matter. There is no point in that process where the spork gains a soul.

(Mass-produced tarot decks, runes, wands, pendulums, spirit boards, etc., roll off the factory line with about as much soul as a spork does, by the way)

In fact, not even lovingly hand-crafted things are automatically "alive," not even lovingly hand-crafted magical tools.

It actually takes a lot of work to imbue life into an object, so much work that it's not easy to have happen on accident.

This ain't a post on how to alive an object, but suffice to say if you've really set your heart on it, it's not that complicated.

It's just also not really that easy to do on accident.

You can use your magical bell, wand, tarot deck, etc., for years, and they will simply never become alive.

Spiritual life doesn't "just happen" just because you interact with something a lot and involve it in a lot of energy working or magic or whatever.

You are not in a perpetual mating dance with your magical tools. They are not in a state of permanent ovulation. You are not the spirit of divine fertility. You're not going to accidentally put a soul into your tools.

Objects can appear to gain personalities and aliveness, but that doesn't mean they're actually alive or sentient.

I'm not sure if this is necessarily discussed enough, but an energy reader's (/spirit talker, same thing really) personal beliefs play a huge role in how they personally perceive the energies and spirits they're interacting with.

For example

If I tell you, "spirits are not real, even things which appear to be spirits are just complex layers of energy that, like a computer program, can mimic life," (and you believe me)

There is a really heckin good chance that even if a fully-formed spirit being approaches you and says, "hey, I'm the spirit of that tree over there," you'll just say, wow, this pattern of nonliving energy has a call-and-response inquiry style; I can ask it questions and due to its friendship-oriented programming, it will give me responses back. Neat!

Or, on the other hand,

If I tell you, "spirits are incredibly real, in fact literally all energy is just a spirit in one form or another, and every object and living thing and area and concept you can imagine has a spirit within it," (and you believe me)

There is a really good chance that even if you encounter a very typical, mundane, and nonliving energy pattern , you will say, wow, this is a very precious and smol spirit, its favorite color is red and it likes being taken care of. It's alive in every meaningful sense of the word!

When, in reality, you are anthropomorphizing a nonliving object and reframing this has warm, cozy vibrations into "this object has preferences and needs," which is exactly how we get to having a panic attack over forgetting to ask your spoon for permission to eat cereal.

Which is all to say, just because objects you regularly use may gain unique energy signatures and repeatedly respond the same way under the same circumstances does not mean they are alive, any more than a baseball bat making a loud sound when it hits a baseball means that the baseball bat is alive and yelling.

Even if things are alive, it doesn't make them complex or self-aware

I just don't know how to step this out because it seems incredibly self-evident, but people really are out here acting like just because something is imbued with spiritual life it gives them the depth and mental complexity of a very advanced brain, like a pig or a dolphin or a 45yo human from Fresno, California.

You can, through willful magical action, imbue life into a tool. But that doesn't spontaneously create a self-aware, fully-formed being with a human-like mind.

Spiritual life can be as simple as a single-celled spiritual organism that eats one kind of energy and poops out another kind. Just because it's alive doesn't mean it's psychologically complex and emotionally advanced.

Even if it's complex and self-aware, that doesn't mean it has human concerns or needs

So the problem comes when people decide that all life must in some form or another reflect their own personal understanding of the human condition, so if something gains sufficient complexity it must mean it's essentially human.

Which is how we get to, "now that I've ensouled my tarot deck it will feel taken advantage of unless I take it out on a friends date and watch a movie with it, because it's a complete human trapped in a deck of cards. My tarot deck prefers Film Noir and fruit-palate desserts, and needs me to be a good listener."

(Protip: spirits can take many forms. Just because a spirit appears to you as a human doesn't necessarily mean it is human)

And because people really do believe stuff like that, they then get to, "oh my god, I wasn't performing mindfulness enough while I took my tarot deck out to the park, it's offended at my inattention and that's why my readings aren't working,"

Because there's nothing better than your spirituality making you feel like you're the problem friend desperately seeking approval from a group of cool kids who could take you or leave you.

If your animism makes you feel like you have to prove yourself to inanimate objects, it might be helpful to reconsider your worldviews.

The idea that anything could be alive is not the same as everything is alive, and even if everything is alive, the spectrum of aliveness shifts greatly from a single nonsentient repeating pattern, to bona-fide biological organisms.

Animism can be a wonderful worldview that encourages us to consider that the world around us is imbued with life. But that doesn't mean that your socks have opinions about your feet.

(inb4 "but this isn't what historical animism is, real animism was agreed to by our ancestors in a prehistoric Zoom call and there's only one right way to do it!")

#animism #spirits #theory

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Text

" Hi! Can I request a Lockwood x reader where the reader gets flu and Lockwood looks after them, just really fluff and cute! Thank you "

a/n: for the amazing @nessa-stark, i hope you enjoy! this turned out much shorter than i would've liked, but i think it's still quite cute lol

warnings: mild language gn reader

"When I die, I want chrysanthemums on my coffin. Oh, some lavender, too, for obvious reasons. And maybe cremate me instead of burying me. I'd hate to come back as a Visitor."

"You're not going to die. You've got the flu."

Your body says otherwise. Currently, you're covered in a layer of sweat despite feeling perpetually cold, everything - and you mean everything - aches as if you've been on a very long workout without stretching, and the cough you've had? There's no other way to describe it than it feeling like it shreds your throat every time you cough.

But Lockwood is insistent. It's just the flu and it won't kill you.

"Stay still," he grumbles, bending down to tuck your bedsheets under the mattress and essentially holding you hostage in your own bed.

"I don't like staying still."

"You're telling me."

Through slightly clouded vision, you glare at him, but it's not entirely heartfelt. You appreciate him being here and taking care of you. Really, he'd been going to take a case with Lucy and George while you stayed home and rested, but then you 'took a turn for the worse' and he decided to stay to look after you. Despite feeling like a child when he has to give you medicine or when he's practically spoon-feeding you microwaved soup, it's sort of nice.

It will not prevent your untimely death, however.

"I want you to speak at my funeral," you say, burrowing deep into your pillow. "Say something nice about me, won't you? No mention of that time I punched you after -"

"I think that story holds very true to your character." Lockwood gently brushes hair away from your sweat-soaked forehead, smiling softly. "You punched me because I was being an 'arrogant twat whose head didn't operate right' if I remember correctly. And, besides, you're not going to die. You'll be back to your lovely self in no time."

"You think I'm lovely?"

"Only sometimes. When your mouth is shut."

"Lockwood, you dick!"

You move to lightly slap his arm, but your arms are trapped beneath your duvet. Once more, you glare at him. This is sabotage.

"Such as right now," he says. "You should be resting which means no talking and certainly no assaulting your doctor."

"I'll have you know that talking is one of my favourite pastimes. You've no right to make me stop. As for 'assaulting my doctor', I'm about as close to being related to royalty as you are being a healthcare provider."

One of his eyebrows quirks up, and he picks up a bottle of medicine, watching triumphantly as you cringe at the sight of it.

"Fine. I'll be quiet."

So far, Anthony Lockwood has held you hostage, insulted you, and blackmailed you with the most disgusting substance known to man. His crimes are only increasing by the minute.

"Will you at least lie down with me?" you ask. Your voice is quieter this time, almost shy, despite having nothing to be shy about. The two of you have been together for a few months now. "I can sleep better then."

Lockwood smiles and nods, gesturing for you to shift over. When you do, he lies down beside you on top of the covers, and you curl into his side, resting your head on his chest.

Even though you're ill, it's nice just lying like this, listening to his slow, rhythmic heartbeat and the sound of his quiet breathing. His breaths ruffle your hair a little, which feels funny, but his fingers smooth it down as he gently plays with it. It's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

"Do you think Lucy and George are alright?" you murmur.

"Of course they are. Don't worry."

You hum in response, too wrapped up in Lockwood's warmth and the comfort of his arms to really form any more words.

"Do you need anything?" Lockwood asks, his voice soft and quiet. "More water? Soup?"

"You to be a quiet pillow," you joke. "No, Lockwood, I'm fine. Thank you."

"I thought you were dying?"

"I am. Just more peacefully now. My deathbed has become increasingly more comfortable for some odd reason."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Mm-hmm. Now, be quiet."

Slowly, you drift off into a nice sleep, coaxed on by a soft kiss on your forehead, latching onto Lockwood and, when you wake up, he's still there, sleeping, too.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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employee052 · 2 months

Text

A Date With Narry WINNERS

The "Date with Narry" event is now over!

Thank you so so so so much to everyone who participated! I didn't expect that there would be more than a handful of submissions, so seeing all of them as the event ends is amazing to me. I can't thank you all enough for participating if you did, whether by asks, or by liking the posts if they came across your dash.

And thank you to everyone new who found @mrthenarrator's blog thanks to this event!

breaking character as the mod of The Narrator's Blog for a bit: I'm so glad everyone was willing to interact with him as a character! I'm not an expert on RP, and this is the first-ever "event/competition" ive hosted, so this event taught me a lot both in hosting, as well as challenged me in terms of roleplay! Plus, thank you for letting me indulge my inner Narry by having him respond to your submissions. Getting to RP as him for the event was incredibly fun and rewarding, and seeing everyones submissions come in through the week was amazing and I loved getting to see all of them appear in the inbox (as well as seeing some of your reactions to his reactions! I do look thru the notes and rbs and i love seeing all your comments to narry's shenanigans) I hope that, even if you didn't win a drawing today, just know that all your submissions and contributions to the event hold a place in my heart, thank you all so so much for participating and I will be perpetually thanking you into the far future for letting me do a little silly event sdkjfgjhg. I hope I can set up more in the future, and hopefully, they won't be centred around getting narry a date /lh

AND NOW ONTO THE WINNERS:

These winners are in no particular order! And, because I am an indecisive little monster, I ended up with FOUR winners instead of Three.

(All of them were so hard to choose it's why this took so long 😭😭😭😭)

@bucketfan427

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@crowzzznest (and @superaurora16 too, since your submission was a joint effort/has both of your characters)

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@give-soup-please

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@notmefoina

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For the winners, feel free to send me a DM on this blog of pictures/picrews/whatever you have on hand of your Characters/Sonas for reference, as well as an idea of what might happen on the date you and the Narrator might be! (We can also fit some other characters/sonas into the drawing if you want. it doesn't have to be just one)

Your idea can be as vague or as detailed as you want, and you don't have it all laid out at first if you can't think of anything. We can always bounce ideas around and find one that you like the most for me to draw.

And if you don't want a drawing, that's fine too! Just let me know in DMs so I can know! (and I promise I won't be upset if you don't want one /gen, I'm going back to uni classes next week so I'll be busy trying to get all the drawings done in my free time. which isn't a lot, so I'll just thank you for the millionth time again for participating and let you move on with your day kjsadhf /lh)

Thanks again to everyone who participated in this event! Hope you all have a good night

#A Date with Narry #adwn #tsp #tspud #tsp narrator #the narrator #tspud narrator #the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #stanley parable #thanks again for everyone who participated #and im so sorry this took so long to announce #I FORGOT THAT IM HELLA INDECISIVE WHEN ORGANISING THIS EVENT IM SORRUY KISJHDF

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Note

can I request 31 and/or 70 on the prompts list you just posted for platonic!steveandrobin? I've been on a major stranger things kick recently and I love your writing :)

ok first of all i wanna thank you for this prompt bc this is the first time i’ve ever cried while *planning* a fic like i hadn’t even started writing it but i was in my kitchen making myself buttered noodles with tears streaming down my face just thinking about what i wanted to write

that being said i used both prompts bc i couldn’t not

31. “If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations, trust that I will save you every single time.” 70. “It’s three a.m. Why are you making soup?” dialogue prompts!!

Steve is a light sleeper.

He’s always been a light sleeper, waking up to loud wind or thunder, to sunlight pressing to his eyelids early in the morning if he forgot to pull his curtains shut the night before, but it’s gotten worse since the Upside Down. Any quiet noise of the house settling, of a branch tapping a window, has him blinking his eyes open and sitting up.

There’s a quiet clatter in the kitchen downstairs, and he sits up, his heart pounding. The room is mostly dark except for the nightlight by the bathroom door. Eddie is still asleep, laying on his belly with his face on Steve’s pillow, his cheek squished. Steve exhales, looking at him, touching his hair for a moment, but he freezes when there’s another noise.

Slowly, he gets out of bed, careful not to wake Eddie up, and he steps across the room as quietly as he can, holding the nail bat as he creeps out of the room and down the hall. He lowers the bat when he sees that the kitchen light is on, and he glances down the hall, his heart still pounding to see that Robin’s bedroom door is open.

He lowers the bat as he descends the stairs, carrying it by his side as he enters the kitchen, squinting in the light to find Robin at the stove, wearing one of Eddie’s t-shirts, a 1979 AC/DC shirt that goes down to her knees, and a pair of mismatched fuzzy socks that Will gifted her a while ago.

“Rob?”

She glances over her shoulder at him.

“Hi.”

He sets the bat by the entryway, glancing at the time on the clock above the window as he steps up behind her and looks at what she’s doing.

“Rob, it’s three am,” he says quietly. “Why are you making soup?”

She shrugs without looking at him, stirring the pot slowly. He watches the vegetables shift in the soup. It smells good.

“Just wanted some soup,” she says softly. Her voice is thick.

“What’s going on?” he asks gently, touching her back.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her voice cracks. Steve blinks at her, quiet for a moment he reaches slowly for the spoon in her hand. She lets him take it, sniffling, and he sets it over the pot, turning down the burner, and he pulls at her hand.

“What’s going on?” he asks again, quieter. She glances up into his eyes but looks at the floor, and he pulls her to the dining table, nudging her into a chair and sitting across from her. “Talk to me.”

She takes a shaky breath, her fingers knotting in her lap.

“You know that… bad feeling I had?” she says quietly. “Before we fought Vecna?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, leaning closer.

“…It’s back.”

Steve’s chest tightens, but she speaks before he can say anything.

“I know it’s— I know everything is fine,” she says. “And Vecna’s dead, and all the gates are closed, and everyone is— everyone is fine, but I… It’s like there’s just this… perpetual pit in my stomach.” Her voice is shaking. “And I don’t…”

“Hey,” Steve says gently, reaching out and taking her hand. He moves his chair closer noisily, and she laughs wetly, squeezing his hand. “You listening?”

“Mhmm.”

“You know everything is okay,” he says slowly. “And you know it’s normal to have anxiety after all that,” he adds gently. “Right?”

“I know,” she says weakly. “It’s just…” Her lip wobbles and her eyes glisten. A tear slips down her cheek, and he reaches out to wipe it away.

“Deep breath,” he says softly. She inhales shakily, closing her eyes, and he leans forward to kiss her forehead. “It’s okay, Rob.”

She sighs, squeezing his hand tightly.

“What else?” he says quietly. She smiles at the floor, squeezing his hand again.

“I think we might actually telepathic,” she mutters. “‘S ridiculous.”

“We definitely are,” he says, smiling. “But you still gotta say what’s wrong out loud for me.”

She lets out a soft laugh again before she looks at the ground.

Her smile falters and falls, and her eyes glaze over, and she hesitates, holding Steve’s hand tightly.

“I have this… this thing in my head. That’s just kind of… I don’t know. Stuck.”

“Tell me,” Steve prompts quietly.

Her lip wobbles again. She bites it, blinking hard and taking a breath.

“I know it’s shitty,” she says weakly. “And if— if you, or Eddie or Nance, or any of kids said this about themselves, I would be so pissed, and I—”

“Robin. What is it?” Steve whispers. She takes a deep breath.

“I feel…” She swallows, breathing heavily, biting her lip. He wipes another tear from her cheek tenderly, his chest aching. “…Disposable.”

His stomach falls, and he squeezes her hand.

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Just… I don’t know, just, like, I can… I can be left behind.”

“Why would you think that?” Steve asks brokenly, his hand shaking as he holds hers tightly. “Robbie…”

“I think—” She pauses, taking a deep breath, wiping her nose on her wrist. “When I was a kid, I… I didn’t have many friends? And the friends I did have were… I don’t know. I was always the one that didn’t go if there were limited invitations. I always walked behind everyone on narrow sidewalks.” Steve wants to cry. “I… I never really talked much because I never knew what to say, and I never had… anything to add. And when I tried, I… They would just…” She sniffs, squeezing his hand tightly, taking a hiccuping breath. “They would just stare at me, like— like I was speaking gibberish. And then they’d just… move on.”

“Robin,” Steve tries to say, but she just takes a gasping breath and squeezes his hand again.

“And then I didn’t go with them one day,” she says, staring at the floor. “And nobody… called. Or came by to check on me, or anything, so I just… gave up. And then on the first day of seventh grade, I sat all alone at lunch, and I—” She cuts off with a gasp, closing her eyes as tears fall, and Steve releases her hand to wipe them away gently, his own eyes burning. “They were all sitting together, laughing, and smiling, and— and it was like they didn’t even notice I wasn’t there, because they didn’t need me.”

Steve’s whole body hurts. He wants to run her brain under water, wash away all the self-deprecating thoughts she’s ever had. He wants to tell her that he needs her. He needs her more than air.

“And I think— I think also my parents?” she says, her hand finding his wrist and holding it tightly. Her voice is weak and squeaking and almost broken, and Steve can feel his heart breaking with it. “They always— They always went to dinner and— and on day trips, and I thought all parents did that until my friends said their parents didn’t do that, so I just… thought they loved each other and went on— on, like, dates, but then they— they went out on my thirteenth birthday—”

She sobs, squeezing his wrist, and he leans in to kiss her forehead again, trying to take a steady breath as a tear falls from his eye.

“And I realised they just don’t like me.”

“I like you,” Steve says firmly. She laughs wetly, wiping her face, but he holds her face and moves to kneel on the floor in front of her, looking up at her. “Robbie.”

“I just…” She takes a stuttering breath, closing her eyes. “Feel like I’m the… left behind one.”

He takes her hands.

“What does that mean?”

“Like I’m… If something happens,” she says, avoiding his eyes. There’s a pit in his stomach. “I’ll be… I’ll be the one that’s left behind so everyone can get away.”

“Robin,” he says breathlessly, his eyes burning, because she's wrong. He can’t even put into words how fucking wrong she is.

“I know,” she says, crying. “I just… That’s me.”

“No,” he says firmly, desperately. “It’s not. You’re not fucking disposable, Robin.”

She finally looks into his eyes, and they’re swimming with tears.

“I love you,” he says firmly. “I love you so much.”

She sniffs, staring back at him.

“I know,” she says weakly.

“No,” he says, his voice too loud. “You don’t know, Robin, you’re— you’re the best fucking friend I’ve ever had, and I love you.”

She sobs, squeezing her eyes shut, and he reaches up, wrapping his arms around her neck, pulling her down into a hug. Her hands grip his shirt tightly. She’s trembling.

“I love you so much,” he says softly, running a hand over the back of her head gently. His knees ache on the tile floor, but he doesn’t care. “You are not disposable, Robin Buckley. I don’t know where the fuck I’d be without you.”

When her crying quiets, he pulls away enough to touch her face, wiping her tears and under her nose before he wipes his hand on her leg, on the t-shirt. She scoffs, still crying, and he smiles up at her, his chest still aching.

“Look at me,” he says softly, wiping away a tear that falls down his cheek. She does, holding the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders tightly, like she’s scared to let go. “If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations,” he says slowly, watching her smile weakly, “trust that I will save you every single time.

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall to his, pressing their foreheads together.

“…Okay.”

“I love you, Robbie.”

“I love you too, Stevie.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, and he closes his eyes, his arms sliding around her waist. He buries his face in her shoulder. Her shirt smells like some odd combination of her and Eddie. It smells like home.

“Okay?” he asks when they pull away slowly. She nods, her eyes still closed. He kisses her forehead. “Your brain is lying to you,” he says softly.

“She’s really mean,” Robin murmurs.

“Yeah, fuck her.”

Robin laughs softly, wiping her nose one last time.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He lowers back to sit on his calves, looking up at her, almost in physical pain from how much he loves her. Like every cell in his body is bursting with it.

It looks like she’s wearing heavy mascara, her eyelashes clumped with tears, her cheeks and nose rosy red, her eyes still shining as she looks down at him, holding his hands. His lip quivers and his eyes burn.

“Let’s have some soup,” he says.

A giggle escapes her.

“It’s three am.”

He shrugs.

“Let’s not waste anything,” he says. “Let’s have soup.”

“Okay.”

“What do you need help with?” he asks, using her knees to stand up, and she snorts.

“Like I’m letting you near the stove.”

“Wow.”

“Go get Eddie.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He takes the bat back upstairs as Robin takes a deep breath, turning the burner back up at the stove.

“Eddie,” Steve says softly, sitting in the bed next to him. “Baby.” He touches his hair, gently nudging him awake.

“Hm?”

“Robin’s making soup.”

Eddie blinks blankly at him in the dimness of the room, squinting, his face still squished on the pillow.

“Am I awake right now?” he asks, his voice rough. Steve laughs softly, leaning in to kiss him.

“Yes,” he says. “C’mon.”

Eddie sits up slowly, stretching.

“What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Like three.”

“Why’s Robin making soup at three in the morning?”

“Uh…” Steve hesitates, looking at him. “She’s having a rough night.”

“Nightmares?” Eddie asks, looking at him. “Or something different?”

“Something different.”

Eddie nods.

“Will she want a hug?”

“Probably,” Steve says softly, smiling. “Maybe ask her.”

“I will.”

He kisses Steve chastely before he follows him down to the kitchen. He’s wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts from high school, with a tiger on the front. Steve realises he’s wearing one of Robin’s old sweaters, a size too big for any of them. And he almost laughs. They might as well just move all their clothes into one wardrobe.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Eddie asks, stepping up next to Robin to see into the pot. She laughs softly.

“Veggie soup.”

“Veggie?” Eddie says dramatically, making her laugh again. Steve sits on the table, watching them. (He never got to sit on the table as a kid. Now it’s his favourite place.)

“Keep an open mind, Munson,” Robin says, stirring the soup.

“Only for you, pretty lady.”

Eddie can tell she’s been crying. Steve watches as he goes to the sink and pours a glass of water, bringing it to her and murmuring something quietly to her. She nods, taking the glass, and he hugs her, kissing her temple as she sips the water. Steve wants to cry again.

They join him on the table to eat the soup, all three of them with their legs crossed, holding the bowls carefully. Robin beams when Eddie says firmly that it’s good shit.

And when the sun finally rises, they’re all tangled together on the sofa, snoring quietly.

#and now trauma for robin #physical affection!!!#words of affirmation!!!#quality time!!!#acts of service!!!#you get a love language!! you get a love language!! you get a love language!!#robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #stobin #steddie #stranger things #platonic soulmates stobin

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stellar-constellations · 7 months

Note

ive got 0 idea if you takes reqs, but i recently finished your yuri briar x reader AND IM IN LOVE

so.

we got a slightly sick yuri, but what about an extremely ill y/n that yuri has to take care of ? with his stubborness theres sure to be some aruging

of course, if youre not feelig up to oneshots, some cute headcannons for them whould be awesome !!

youre such a great writer mwah i hope you have a good day !! :3

Sick! Fem! (Y/N) x Yuri Briar

This can be read with or without reading my Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! (Y/N) series: An Alliance (part 1).

Beware! This fic DOES contain SPOILERS for the manga and for the Yuri Briar x Fem! (Y/N) series: An Alliance!

Setting is AFTER the reader rejoined WISE (so Yuri and (Y/N) are married and [Y/N] becomes an official double-spy).

I rarely get sick. I think part of that is because of all the viruses and infectious pathogens I've been exposed to growing up. Growing up in the poor side of Luwen, Westalis. Joining the Westalis military and watching as doctors with not enough medical experience or knowledge bullshit their way through life-threatening procedures or even unknown viruses from Ostania get tons of syringes jabbed in their shoulders. Traveling through countries and hiding in sometimes very unhygienic places as a spy. All of those factors has probably helped with my strong immune systems.

There's been times where I've been sick that it's completely left me bedridden for days, sometimes even a week or two, at a time. Every once in a blue moon, I'd get a common cold or sore throat, but if I can walk, then I can work.

I figured today must've been one of small common cold days when I woke up with a foul taste in my mouth. You know when you're sick and you have that awful taste when you cough? It's taste like that sour, off-putting taste.

I ignored the system and buried my head back into my pillow, hearing the annoying alarm shut off thanks to Yuri.

"(Y/N), it's time to get up." Yuri spoke.

We've both grown used to this routine now. Yuri spends a good ten minutes trying to drag me out of bed while I lay motionless, purposely ignoring him as I try to go back to bed.

Today, however, I feel even more tired than usual. It feels awfully hot under these covers and my body feels really sore, almost numb.

"Come on. Don't start this today! You know we have an important meeting with the Director!" Yuri groaned, getting back on the bed to crawl over to my side and grabbing my arm.

Right, the meeting with the Director. I'm supposed to go over there and discuss any new information on WISE in correlation to the chase with Winston Wheeler (and Twilight).

Me and Yuri finally healed up enough to where we can be sent back to work. I was getting real sick of that liquid diet, I never want to have soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner ever again (Yuri can agree with me on this). My broken nose is also healed too so now I can stop wearing that stupid bandage.

Apparently, there's been a security breach in the SSS's latest website and I'm supposed to narrow down a list of potential suspects that could've caused the breach. I contacted The Handler last night and had her conduct a list of unfortunate Ostanian civilians to place blame on. I don't like having to bring innocent people into such matters, but I don't really have a choice. If the SSS finds out I'm still working with WISE, I'm royally screwed. The work the agents in WISE are given is far too important to sacrifice, so unfortunately I'm going to have to trade in unsuspecting civilians in order to keep the peace between Ostania and Westalis.

I already know the true perpetuator of who caused that security breach; it was me. I needed information on Winston Wheeler so I hacked into the SSS's security files and emails and got information, then I snuck into city hall and got some public files of Ostanian citizens with the information I learned and was able to identify WISE's mole with just a tad bit of luck. The whole operation almost costed me my head with how I almost got exposed as a WISE agent to Yuri in the sewers along with almost dying to Winston (I'll never say this to her face, but thank God that Nightfall came when she did).

"Fine, fine..." I groaned, moving my hair out of my eyes and slowly sitting up from my bed.

I stood up from the bed and felt lightheaded, whiteish-black dots appearing in my vision as my body temperature raised and a nauseous feeling came over me, my ears ringing as I felt the dull thud of myself collapsing onto the carpet.

I saw nothing for a long time, but a short time as well. I was able to regain my vision and found myself on the floor with Yuri hovering over me.

Damn, I fainted.

I've fainted a lot in my lifetime to the point it's probably unhealthy now. Exhaustion, extreme sickness when I'm bedridden, and sometimes even just from changing position too fast or standing in the same position for too long. By now I'm very aware of the symptoms, I just usually believe I can fight through it and continue on (the amount of times I coaxed myself into believing this then fainting afterwards is absolutely foolish of me by now).

"(Y/N)? Are you okay?" Yuri questioned, a concerned expression on his face.

"I tripped over my feet." I lied.

"You sure stayed on the ground for a while. You weren't responding to me." Yuri responded, a bit suspicious.

"I was hoping you'd leave me alone so I could go back to bed." I lied, again.

"Seriously? Come on, we've got work to do." Yuri sighed, grabbing my nightgown's sleeve.

Luckily my sleeve was covering my arm so he wouldn't come into direct-contact with my skin and feel how hot it is.

"Do we want to cook breakfast or go grab some?" Yuri questioned, lifting me up from the ground with ease, placing me on my feet as I mumbled a "thanks".

"Let's go out. I don't feel like cooking. I'm still sleepy." I responded, watching as Yuri walked to his closet and grabbed a pair of mundane office clothes.

"I was thinking the same thing. It'd be quicker too." Yuri commented.

I inhaled deeply, feeling as though I couldn't breathe through my nose. I still felt light-headed and I feel like I'll topple right over if I take a step forward.

"Can you choose my clothes today? I don't wanna." I breathed out, crawling back into bed and staying above the covers since it felt too hot to get under them.

"Don't plan on falling back to sleep. I will drag you into the car with you still in your nightgown if I have to." Yuri grumbled, shooting me a glare but walking to my closet nonetheless.

He looked through the hanging clothes before grabbing a green sweatshirt and finding a pair of blue jeans on a shelf. He threw the clothes at me as I worked up the energy to get today started.

"You better be dressed by the time I'm done changing." Yuri emptily-threatened, grabbing his own clothes and walking into the bathroom.

I huffed, wanting to do anything but get out of bed, yet I decided to listen to him. He's right, today is an important day. It'll help me prove my innocence to the SSS (and I have to make sure I keep Donnie's little trap shut in case he decides to put his two-bits in and expose that I was gone during the whole mole hunt.

I stood up from the bed, ignoring my wobbly head and aching head as I changed into the clothes Yuri picked out for me. It's funny that even though we're both basically married now (just without throwing a real wedding), we still change in separate rooms. I'm completely fine with that though, it's nice to take things slow.

I grabbed sock and brown boots and slipped them on, then immediately fell back onto the bed to get at least an extra minute or two of rest.

Yuri came out and looked at me, crossing his arms as he stared at me with his laser eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay? Your throat sounds sore. Do you want a cough drop?" Yuri questioned.

"I'm just really tired." I spoke, adverting eye contact.

"Should we get coffee too?" Yuri asked, tying his boots on.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." I nodded, raising my hand up in the air for Yuri to grab.

He grabbed my hand without question and lifted me off our bed, allowing me to plant my feet back on the ground. I reached for my glasses on the dresser (if you wear any) and grabbed my wallet, shoving it into my pocket.

"You're really hot." Yuri commented.

"Thanks." I smiled, still having some energy to mess with Yuri.

"I meant your skin is hot. Are you really sure you're feeling okay?" Yuri questioned, his concerned expression appearing.

"I'm fine! I'd tell you if I feel off, so don't worry about it, love." I spoke, giving him a smile in hopes to reassure him.

His shoulders released some tension, but they still weren't fully relaxed, so he doesn't believe me just yet.

"I just have a small cold, nothing I can't handle. Now let's go, we still have work to do." I spoke, grabbing his hand and leading him to the door through blurry vision.

I bumped into the door and huffed, feeling around for the handle.

"(Y/N), that's a wall. The door is behind us." Yuri pointed out.

On normal days, he'd chuckle about how much of a dumbass I am, but today he seems really in-tune with my physical state.

"My vision is still blurry 'cause I'm tired." I spoke, coming up with that stupid excuse on spot.

"Here, let me help you." Yuri spoke, guiding me over to the bedroom door as he opened it, pushing me through before walking out and closing it behind him.

"I got the rest." I reassured, taking a few steps forward to go to the front door.

I stopped once I felt my stomach start to turn and my vision start to blur once more. My ears started ringing and it felt like I was swaying from side to side.

I took silent deep breaths to calm myself down and hopefully settle my immune system, all while Yuri stood behind me, closely observing me.

"Are you sick?" he finally questioned.

"No." I huffed stubbornly, gathering my energy to take another step.

It was a terrible idea as I immediately fell forward, my body going limp as I couldn't control my feet or hands or anything any longer. Even though I was unconscious, I felt pressure under my head and on my wrist. I saw darkness again and waited for it to pass, before finally regaining my vision once more.

Yuri had his hand under my head, checking my pulse before making eye contact with me as the waves of blurriness started to fade from my sight. He gave me a look I'd never think I'd get shot my way for fainting, he gave me a scowl.

"I'm not sick." He taunted in a high-pitched voice.

"Oi! I don't sound like that!" I huffed.

"You told me you weren't sick. You said you'd tell me if you were feeling off, you little lying brat." Yuri huffed, moving his hand from under my head and allowing it to hit the ground with a thud!

"Ow..." I groaned, reaching up and grabbing my head as my head ached, probably a headache forming. "Jerk! I didn't treat you like this when you got sick!"

"I didn't lie when I got sick!" Yuri retorted.

"Y-yeah... but..." I paused, thinking of something to say. "Just shut up and help me!" I huffed.

"You're lucky I'm a nice guy." Yuri muttered, grabbing my hand and picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder.

He opened our bedroom door and placed me back down on our bed, making sure to keep the covers off me. He walked up to his separate nightstand and picked up the phone, sliding the rotary wheel to his desired digits until he raised the phone up to his ear.

"Hello, Director? This is Yuri Briar speaking. Me and (Y/N) Briar are going to take the day off, she's terribly sick and I don't trust her to be by herself. We can reschedule the meeting another day?" Yuri spoke

"Oi! I hear you!" I huffed, throwing a pillow at him (albeit weakly).

"Yes, that was her. She sounds terrible, huh?" Yuri spoke, now just taunting me.

"You're a horrible man..." I grumbled.

"Yes, sir. Thank you so much." Yuri spoke before hanging up the phone. "Looks like you're going to get your shut-eye after all."

"Thanks, Yuri!" I smiled.

"Do you think you can stomach anything? Do you want some soup?" he questioned.

"Yeah, I guess." I sighed.

"I'll go make you some. Now, you change into some more lighter clothes so you won't be as hot, then you can go back to sleep." Yuri ordered.

It really wasn't something I'd fight him on as I nodded, taking the pajamas I was wearing earlier from Yuri's hands. Yuri left the room as I changed, then got back into bed. I closed my eyes (taking off my glasses if needed) and listening to Yuri's command on some shut-eye.

Yuri woke me up sometime later, gently shaking me awake.

"Hey, wake up." Yuri spoke, coaxing me to waking up.

I opened my eyes to see Yuri's face. He picked me up from the bed and took me out and into the dining room, sitting me down on my dining table seat. A bowl of simple broth sat in front of me, something simple that I wouldn't throw up.

"You can eat on your own, right?" Yuri questioned.

"Nope." I smiled.

"Of course..." Yuri grumbled.

He grabbed his chair and pulled it up close to me, our knees touching as he lifted my chin up and grabbed the spoon.

"You should keep your distance if you don't want to get sick." I spoke.

"Don't worry about it. The only time I get sick is when Yor is out of town." Yuri spoke.

Right, I remember having to take care of him when Yor left a few days for her job at city hall. He's surprisingly easy to take care of since he doesn't talk as much when he's sick due to his aching throat. I thought.

"Open up." Yuri commanded.

I didn't put up a fight as I opened my mouth, taking a sip from the spoon.

"It's pretty good, Yuri." I complimented, opening my mouth for another spoonful.

"I got the recipe from a cookbook." Yuri admitted, scooping up some more and putting it in my mouth.

I finished the bowl and thanked him as he picked me up and carried me back to our room, placing me down on the bed.

"I'll be back. You just hang on a second." Yuri spoke, walking out of the room.

He came back with a towel and some medication in hand.

"Do you like medicine?" Yuri questioned.

"No, who does?" I questioned, looking at him funny.

"I mean, will you put up a fight?" he questioned.

"...I mean, I guess not since it's for my health?" I muttered.

"Good." Yuri smiled, twisting open the cap and pouring the dark red liquid into a small medicine cup.

He raised the spoon to my mouth as I sighed and opened my mouth, drinking the liquid. It tasted disgusting and I hated every drop of it, but I understood it was for my health.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Yuri. You didn't have to take the day off too to take care of me, but you did anyways. I appreciate it greatly." I smiled.

"It's the decent thing to do." Yuri muttered, not taking the gratitude.

"Don't underestimate your kindness, Yuri. I was just messing with you when I said you're horrible." I admitted.

"I know that much, dummy." Yuri huffed, flicking my forehead with his finger.

He pushed my chest for me to lean back on my pillow, then grabbed the cold wet towel and placed it on top of my forehead.

"Now get some more rest, I'll come check up on you in a bit." Yuri spoke.

"Thanks again, Yuri. I love you." I smiled, watching as his face started to match his eyes as he covered his mouth with his arm to hide his smile.

"Whatever... I love you too." He muttered softly, but I could still hear him.

The whole day Yuri tended to my needs as I got my well-deserved rest. It's nice to finally be able to sleep all day again, the last time I did that was years ago.

I can't remember the last time I was cared for when being sick. Before the war when I was a kid, I remember being bedridden for three days and being unable to do nothing. My dad was out working and my mom was sleeping because she worked night shifts as a nurse (she was able to find a hospital that allowed married women to work there), so she slept during the day and went to work at night.

My younger siblings couldn't take care of me because they were too young to have any medical knowledge. My older sister was out collecting rocks and my older brother was out with his friends. Even if they weren't busy, they still wouldn't be able to help me since they've never gotten sick (or at least didn't remember it).

Even after joining the military and ending up getting the Spanish Flu I wasn't care for. It was actually a miracle I survived it because of my age and size. I must've found a lucky penny or something around that time because I luckily didn't have any severe symptoms, but after seeing all the people dying around me from the illness, I took absolutely no chances to being transported in the crowded nursing tent. I stole a small tent and ran far out into the woods along with a bottle of medicine, eight water bottles, four cans of tomato soup, and a blanket, spending five nights out there before I finally felt better.

Because I didn't allow myself around any others to worsen my sickness, my Memory T-cells were able to identify and grow an immunity to the disease and I was able to overcome it.

Even when I became a spy, the first few missions I got sick pretty often because of all the traveling and sight-changes I had to endure, but I soon grew accustomed to the constant change in scenery all around Westalis and Ostania that my immune system was eventually able to get used to it.

But even then, it's nice to be cared for and pampered. The last time I got fed by someone was when I was two. The last time someone tucked me in for bed was when I was three. I never did have someone make me soup for when I'm sick, or give me a wet towel to place on my head, or even just give me a bottle of medicine.

Even those the gestures might be small and "what a decent human being does" as Yuri said—it means the world to me. To be swaddled in the warmth of protection and love, something I was once sure I'd never be able to experience again until I met Yuri Briar.

The ring on my finger isn't just a ring; it's an everlasting vow between two lives now connected through life and death, sickness and health, wealth and poverty. It's a pledge of undying adoration, sincerity, unwavering loyalty, and shelter; all of this for Mr. and Mrs. Briar to share with one another.

BONUS: Headcannons about Yuri and (Y/N):

Yuri and (Y/N) have their own seats at the dining table they silently assigned to themselves. Yuri's seat is the closest to the front door, he chose this seat in case (Y/N) ever does try to run away to go back to WISE (in actuality, it's so he can protect her if an intruder ever breaks in from there).

Believe it or not, Yuri and (Y/N) aren't much of physical lovers. The love languages in their relationship is quality time, acts of service, and (shockingly) words of affirmation.

(Y/N) can't detect sarcasm despite being sarcastic herself at times.

(Y/N) used sleeping as a coping mechanism growing up. She used it to escape from reality; the hardships of money and war, deception and betrayal. She slept so much she learned how to lucid dream on her own. Now she sleeps because she's tired often due to work.

(Y/N)'s always tired no matter how much sleep she gets; 30 minutes to a day. She once slept for 22 hours once and woke up feeling miserable. She slept for twenty minutes while waiting for a target during a mission and still felt like total shit; so no amount of sleep can truly make her feel 100% awake.

(Y/N) has problems with memorizing people and their names so she focuses on a certain attribute that helps her recognize a person (ex. someone's hair color, the shape of their eyes, their jacket).

(Y/N)'s memory isn't good either, she'll be in the act of cooking then forget she's cooking and walk away. Yuri now supervises (Y/N) to make sure she doesn't wander off and let the smoke alarm go off again.

If (Y/N) had the option to go to the past, future, or stay in the present, she would choose staying in the present in a heartbeat. She believes if she goes to the past she might mess something up that would make it so Yuri and (Y/N) never met, and she doesn't want to go to the future in case she discovers something then accidentally messes up the future by going to the present and changes actions that would've led her to something happy in the future to something disastrous instead.

Yuri's side mission in life is to try to discreetly find out (Y/N)'s favorite flower without being caught. He wants to surprise her but refuses to ask her for the answer. So far it's been a month of trying.

(Y/N) has absolutely no idea when she's being flirted with by someone other than Yuri because she doesn't believe it's possible that someone could actually have interest in her (she still secretly questions if Yuri's proposal was true or if it was a gig to gain trust for their contract).

Yuri has memorized every speckle of color in (Y/N)'s eyes because of how often he stares into them. He is a firm believer of giving someone his attention when they're talking with him.

Yuri does, indeed, like to mess with (Y/N) because he thinks it's cute when she gets frustrated.

When (Y/N) gave Yuri's mother brownies as an offering he cried in his car the entire time that (Y/N) talked to Yuri's mother. That day was the day Yuri started to lower his guard without even realizing it.

Even though Yuri and (Y/N) bicker a lot, they're very aware of their true feelings since they always look at each other's eyes when talking (the eye is the window to the soul after all).

It's a known fact that Yuri and (Y/N) always work with each other at the SSS. They help each other with listening to bugged rooms, Yuri listens and (Y/N) writes. Whenever they do interrogations, they're always in the room with each other in case one of the interrogators decide to get hostile. During raids, (Y/N) prefers to be lookout while Yuri heads into action. Even though (Y/N) doesn't like Yuri fighting with the possibility of getting injured or possibly even killed, (Y/N) doesn't like fighting up close due to the hostility she experienced in the military (the same applies with guns due to this).

Yuri learned about (Y/N)'s dislikes towards guns and does his best to get them both out of raids or missions that involve them. He doesn't want to have her forced into a situation that makes her uncomfortable or feel threatened.

Yuri and (Y/N) have come to the comprise that Yuri cleans and (Y/N) cooks after Yuri complained a lot about (Y/N) doing all the housework. Yuri doesn't like the thought of using (Y/N) like that, even if they live in the 1950's.

As previously mentioned in this fic, (Y/N) got the Spanish Flu. She got the Spanish Flu by walking into the nursing tent to bring a sick comrade in. While she was in there, she saw someone have a terrible reaction to the vaccine they were given, foaming through their mouth and blood pouring out of their eyes and nose, that started her intense fear of needles (want to know how Yuri helps? Check out this fanfic along with the head cannons in it!)

Yuri and (Y/N) like watching sci-fi movies and debating whether the events could one day be true or not. These debates get very heated, logical, and serious; some are still ongoing to this day.

Yuri's ([Y/N]'s really) teddy bear (teddy bear is introduced in the Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! Reader series, part 9) is named Graham Cracker because of the fur's color (Yes, [Y/N] named it).

(Y/N) once had a dream of being an astronaut because she loved the stars so much. Now, she's not exactly sure what she wants to be career-wise, but she wants to be truly happy and have an ordinary life (which means ditching the SSS and WISE).

Yuri once took (Y/N) out on a roadtrip to go to a space museum out of Ostania. In the middle of the night he stopped the car on a hill and prompted (Y/N) out of the car and pointed up at the stars. Yuri's mind has the image of her stargazing engraved in his mind. (Y/N) had never seen as much stars as she did then and she started crying hysterically because it was the most considerate and romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Yuri now takes (Y/N) out to see the stars at the same hill at least once a month.

Sometimes Yuri goes on complete rambles about Yor, specific adventures he had during missions, some biology facts he remembers from school, or even just Ostanian politics and (Y/N) would look at him with the world's brightest eyes and soft smile. Once he notices, his voice becomes softer and he stumbles over his wording a lot. (Y/N) will bring him back to with a soft "go on, love" despite hearing this subject hundreds of times before, and it'll officially explode Yuri's mind and heart.

(Y/N) got Yuri into Frank Sinatra and Doris Day songs. Yuri's mood could be terrible but if he hears any one of their songs he'll immediately start cheering up because of the memories their songs bring. His favorite is "Fly Me to the Moon" from Frank Sinatra and "It's Magic" from Doris Day. (Y/N)'s favorites are "Blue Moon" from Frank Sinatra and "Dream a Little Dream of Me" from Doris Day.

(Y/N) absolutely loves Christmas music. She loves decorating the apartment with festive lights and baking holiday foods. Yuri used to be indifferent about the holidays but now he can't wait for the next Christmas because of the first Christmas they spent with each other and the Forger family.

(Y/N) was given the code name "Vixen" because of how she lured and deceived others. She stuck to using her looks as a form of deception since she had a hard time switching personalities due to her morals and how opinionated she is.

(Y/N) hates receives gifts because it feels like she's indirectly using someone for money, being too needy, and now has a debt she needs to pay.

(Y/N) and Yor meet up every weekend after work to talk about work, their family, and get to know each other better since they're in-laws. (Y/N) still finds Yor scary, but now she's determined to protect Yuri because of how kind-hearted and nurturing she is. (Y/N) makes sure to walk Yor home so Yor doesn't get into any danger (unbeknownst to [Y/N], Yor is the true danger).

(Y/N) meets up with Camila and Yor once a month to teach Yor a new recipe. It's a really good bonding experience and it gives (Y/N) a healthy amount of social interaction without having to try and lie to anyone for ulterior motives. (Y/N) loves being able to call therm her friends since growing up she didn’t have any (that are still alive, that is. Twilight and Franky are like brothers).

Thank you so much for requesting! I love writing for Yuri, especially because of how dry the Yuri train is on Tumblr.

Want more Yuri content? Check out the Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! reader series: An Alliance! Or perhaps something short and sweet? Check out another adored request WITH more head cannons!

Have any other requests? Check my masterlist to see the characters I write for: Masterlist

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