Okay But What About A Situation Where Character A Loves Giving Character B Massages/foot Rubs To Show

angst has run out (blatant lie; actually just me compensating for it)

Since a lot of ppl liked the last sprite animation I did I made another!! A lot more experimental since I’ve never done a fight scene before but I was inspired by SMBZ to try it out

Team Snakemouth taking in the sights during an expedition to the Giants' Realm.

Spoiler alert: It's actually a city in Brazil.

Uma Baleia Rosa

😍

new fic In Which Team Snakemouths New Home Is Not Quite As Ideally Set Up As Canon

It took a lot of work to get there, but finally they’d gathered enough berries to pay for a house.

“Mhm. It's good to not be homeless anymore.” Leif remarked. “We’ll be sleeping on the floor, but at least we’ll have a floor to sleep on.”

Beette narrowed her eyes at her, “...Oh!” She huffed, going back to her resting (lightly smug) expression. “Did I not mention? You can have the furniture too.” She waved a hand dismissively as she spoke. “It’s just not worth the berries to have it shipped all this way, especially when none of it was anything special.”

“Gee, thanks,” Vi muttered.

“You could have been a little more gracious,” Kabbu told her as they made their way toward the Hive’s exit. “Anyway, I would have thought you’d be excited to get something for free.”

She crossed her arms. “Technically, we bought it with the house.” A sigh. “Of course it’s good! But that doesn’t mean I have to like how she said it like she was being all charitable. Ugh.”

“So, your usual problems with other Bees,” Leif said.

The sun had already set as they got off the elevator, the town dark and the desert chill settling in.

“Hey!” Vi called, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Leif pointed just ahead of where she and Kabbu were walking. “The inn. To sleep.”

“We just bought a house , with beds, and you want to waste money on an inn?”

With an overdramatic groan, L eif l eaned against the wall.

“... She does have a point,” Kabbu said, although he snuck another glance toward the entrance and the light emanating from it.

“But it’s so far .”

“We don’t have any berries left to pay for it anyway,” Vi said.

Leif flopped to the ground. “You planned this, didn’t you.”

“No?! How would I know how much of a reward we’d get for that last request?”

She grumbled, but got up and followed the other two.

The mine tunnels cut down travel by a lot, but it was still long enough that even Vi was slumping by the time they exited the Palace. She leaned her head against the doorframe of the house – their house – as Kabbu figured out which way the key went in the lock. When he got it, they all practically fell inside.

The house wasn’t particularly wide, but it went pretty far back, and the height of the ceiling bordered on r idiculous . The open front took up most of the floorspace : living room, a small dining area, kitchen, and a ladder up to a hatch in the ceiling in a single space. More importantly to them in the moment was the back rooms. One, a little small, appeared to have been used for storage. The other, the bedroom...had a single, oversize bed.

For a long, silent moment, they all stood in the doorway staring in at the room. The Leif and Vi yelled “Dibs!” at the same time and ran for the bed.

Vi shoved at Leif, but it didn’t knock her far, so by the time Vi flopped onto the bed, she was right behind her.

Leif managed a tenuous grip around her, but Vi wasn’t holding back her flailing. So she collapsed forward on top of her.

Which did quell her for a moment, with a sharp yelp. But then she was back, and managed, with a pointed jab, to shove Leif off of her.

Except she ended up on the far side of the bed instead of off it.

“H-Hey now, there’s no need for that!”

They halted mid-tense for lunging at each other to look at Kabbu.

He was still in his original spot in the doorway, waving his arms. At the pause in their tussle, he relaxed a fraction. “There’s plenty of room. Can’t you just share, at least for tonight?”

They both looked down at the mattress. He wasn’t wrong .

With a huff, Vi fell back onto what she guessed was her side now, limbs splayed out. “Guess Bee extravagance comes in handy every now and then,” she muttered.

Leif had started to melt into the covers, but suddenly perked up. “Wait, where are you going?” she shouted at Kabbu.

He stepped backward back into view. “Getting ready to sleep?”

“You’re not going to fit on that couch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’ll figure something out!” And then he was gone again.

They both settled in under the covers, but despite their earlier exhaustion neither fell asleep.

“If it was anyone but Kabbu I'd think he was guilting us on purpose,” Vi said, curled on her side facing the wall.

Leif also didn’t move, laying on her stomach. Her “mm” was heavily muffled by the pillow.

Another long silence.

Vi shifted around three times, increasingly more agitated, until finally she kicked her blankets off.

“...You know, we’re pretty sure you could fit on the couch.”

For several seconds, she glared up at the ceiling. Then, still without looking, she smacked at her.

“Ow,” Leif said, in possibly the most sarcastic tone she’d ever used.

Vi ignored her, getting up and trudging toward the door. “Kabbu!”

From the other room, scuffling. “Vi?” His voice was slightly higher than normal. What seemed like the exact next second, he dashed around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of her. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She batted his hands off her shoulders. “Just...get in here.”

He followed, but stopped in the doorway, clearly still having expected something to be wrong.

Leif patted the empty side of the bed. “Get in.”

“But-” He looked at Vi.

She sighed heavily. “We wanted to at least c heck to see whether we’d actually all fit.” She had no intention of squeezing in with her teammates, but knew it would be the fastest and easiest way to get Kabbu to agree to lying in the bed .

It turned out they did fit without having to be on top of each other, although they couldn’t avoid brushing against each other (much to Vi’s annoyance, since she’d somehow ended up in the middle).

Kabbu sighed contentedly as he settled in. “Thank you for checking, Vi; I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

He shifted for a moment like he was going to comment on that, then stilled. “Goodnight, Leif. Goodnight, Vi.”

“Good night,” they both murmured.

Now all Vi had to do was wait until Kabbu fell asleep and climb out to sleep in the other room, unbothered. Which shouldn’t take too long. The bed was obnoxiously comfortable, she noted, now that she was less distracted, and it was cozy-warm (even for her, since she’d shoved a blanket between herself and Leif). Even if they weren’t already tired, it was a perfect setting to just doze...off…

Next thing Vi knew, she was blinking awake in morning sunlight. Because of course in typical Bee fashion, the curtains were slightly more decorative than functional. (In her own room back at the Hive she’d managed to get them thick enough it could look like night at any hour. Just how she liked.)

As she got over the brightness, the immediate next problem she noticed, as she tried to move, was that she was now squished between Leif and Kabbu. Even more annoyingly, Leif had grabbed one of Kabbu’s arms, hugging it to her front (faced away from the other two), which effectively trapped Vi there.

“Ugh.” As much as she could manage, she started poking at Leif to get her to move.

She stirred, mumbling incoherently, but then just snuggled in tighter, if anything.

So she renewed her efforts, until finally Kabbu pulled his arm back and rolled over –

Vi grinned, stretching. Now, she could-

– and onto the floor, a loud crash as the movement knocked over the small bedside table.

Swearing under her breath, Vi crawled to the edge of the bed. “Kabbu? Are you okay?”

It looked like the table had fallen away from him, which was good. He wasn’t facing her, but he was moving a little and groaning, which was...at least better than being unconscious or screaming. She was pretty sure on that one.

The mattress sank down just behind her. “What did you do this time,” Leif said groggily, as she draped herself over Vi.

“It was an accident!” she yelled, at the same time as Kabbu sat up, mumbling “I’m alright.”

With a laugh, she slid down to check on Kabbu. “Guess that means we need a bigger bed.”

Vi sat completely still for a moment, eyes narrowed as she tried to process the remark. “...Why?”

“So we can fit better.”

She scowled. “I am not sharing a bed all the time.”

Apparently satisfied that Kabbu actually hadn’t gotten hurt, Leif turned to face her, draping her head and arms across the bed. “Then we’ll keep this one and you can get your own.”

“...Um,” Kabbu said in the background.

“Why do you get the nice expensive bed?!”

“Because you don’t want to share.”

“Oh, so I have to pay-”

“Alright, hold on.” Kabbu stood in between the two of them, blocking sight lines. Using the same firm tone, he said, “We will figure out something that works for all of us. Okay?” And then he stood there expectantly.

“Okay,” they both agreed, in different flavors of mild exasperation.

“Good.” Then, he deflated, sitting at the edge of the bed with a huff. “But can we please at least eat breakfast first? We have a kitchen to make it now and everything.”

“Do we have anything to cook?” Leif asked, sticking her face back in the blankets. “We doubt there’s anything here already.”

“We can go shopping,” he said, undeterred. “Maybe even get a little extra of things that’ll keep.”

Vi kicked her legs out. “Ok, but we have to check the kitchen first, ‘cause my berries are on there being just enough cooking stuff to make it look nice. She seems like one of those you ‘shouldn’t have to cook at a vacation home’ types.”

There was a stretch of silence.

“Fry’s,” they chorused, and went to head out.

Go Home

I’m back with more snide restaurant coworker bullshit. No plot, just vibes - I used 3 different prompt posts in this, this one, this one, and this one, which are all just *chefs kiss*. Unbetad, unedited, just a big pile of garbage I threw together and shamelessly present unto you all. Hope you guys enjoy :)

In case you didn’t read my first story posted here, Elijah is a restaurant owner/General Manager and Greyson is a chef. That’s all you really need to follow along lmao. 

Go Home

“Greyson. Go home.”

Greyson’s head snapped up and his eyes locked with his boss’s as Elijah breezed out of the office and into the kitchen. “Why would I go home?”

“You’re sick. You have a cold.”

Greyson let his jaw fall open in mock aghast, put down his knife and placed a hand on his chest as if he needs to center himself after such an indoctrination. “I do not. How dare you. Why would you say that?”

Elijah rolled his eyes at the chef’s theatrics and placed his phone and laptop on the prep table where Greyson was working. “I say it because I’ve been here not even three minutes and the only things I’ve heard out of your mouth are sneezes and coughs.” He picked his things back up and poked the chef in the chest. “Go home.”

“That’s not even true, we just had a full conversa- HFTSHH-uhh!” Greyson caught the sneeze in an elbow, hastily brought to his face at the last moment. Elijah bleated out a laugh as he pushed through the kitchen doors and into the server’s station. “Bad timing!” Greyson called behind him.

“Go home!”

***

Greyson wasn’t about to just go home.

It was January, which meant it was painfully slow in the restaurant, but that didn’t mean he had nothing to do. They had a few big events coming up, and his team was only just recovering from some nasty bug that had taken them down one by one through the busy holidays. The guys needed the support of their chef, and Greyson certainly wasn’t one to take a sick day when his team needed him – especially when he wasn’t even sick.

“Huhh…huhETSHH-ue! Fuck me,” Greyson said, turning away from his prep station to sneeze into his shoulder for what felt like the millionth time that day. He walked to the sink nearest to him, pulled out a paper towel, and wiped his nose before washing his hands. He definitely wasn’t sick, but whatever was making him sneeze like it was his job was really starting to piss him off.

There were still several hours til service began, so Greyson decided to work on some new menu recon while he had a few moments of down time. The mushroom risotto dish he’d spent some time on still wasn’t quite there yet, but he’d tasted it so many times it had turned to mush in his mouth. Greyson scooped the less-than-perfect dish into a deli container and went out in search of his boss.

He knocked on the open office door at the front of the kitchen, where Elijah was seated and working on a schedule. Greyson scooped a bit of risotto onto a spoon and held it out. “Hey, boss, can you give this a taste?”

“I most certainly cannot,” Elijah said, not looking away from his work. Greyson couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh…any particular reason why?”

Elijah raised his eyebrows and lolled his head to the side to look at the chef. “Two reasons, actually. One, you aren’t supposed to be here, so I’m ignoring you. And two -”

“Onesec – HGSTHH-ue! HRSHH-uh! Shit, sorry, ’scuse me, go on,” Greyson rubbed his nose on his shoulder and Elijah gave him a look of revulsion.

“Two,” he continued, pointedly placing a box of tissues at the end of the desk, facing Greyson, “I’m not eating off of your spoon because, as I have said, you are sick.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held the spoon closer to Elijah’s face. “C’mon, man, I need some feedback.” He sniffled, trying not to sound pathetic. “Please?”

“If I try it, will you go home?”

“Probably not.”

Huffing exasperatedly, Elijah grabbed a fork off of the plate that had held his lunch earlier and stuck it pointedly into the deli container Greyson was holding. He took a bite while looking into Greyson’s red-rimmed eyes. “More parmesan,” he said, putting the fork back on the used plate beside him. “And too much truffle oil. Now go home.”

Greyson smiled and grabbed a tissue from the box Elijah had placed before him. “Thanks, boss,” he said, shoving the tissue in his pants pocket. “Can always count on y-yuhh…HGTSHH-uhh! Snf. Coundt ond you,” he finished, stuffily. Elijah glanced at the chef, eyebrows raised as if to say, you ready to admit defeat yet? Greyson just shrugged.

“I’ll take sombe claritin,” Greyson said lamely, pulling the tissue back out of his pocket and wiping his nose. “I’mb ndot sick.”

Elijah looked back at his computer. “Whatever you say, Grey.”

***

Whoever the fuck had given him this shit was about to feel his wrath.

…not that he was sick or anything.

It was four pm and the cooks were all sitting at the back of the kitchen eating staff meal before the restaurant opened. Alternatively, Greyson was crouched on hands and knees in his office, cursing under his breath while he searched for the ibuprofen he and Elijah kept in one of these drawers.

He figured it was most likely his sous chef, Matt who was the culprit. Kid couldn’t cover his mouth if you forced him with a gun to his head, and he’d been so sick on New Year’s that Greyson forced him to go to urgent care at the end of the night. Fucking Matt. Didn’t he know better than to come to work si -

“HuhETSHHue! GTSHH-uh! HRRSTCHH-oo! Fuck.”

Greyson abandoned his search for ibuprofen in lieu of the rapidly depleting tissue box on the desk. He pulled himself back into his desk chair and reached for the box -

Only to see Elijah holding it hostage at the entrance to their office.

“You’re not going to eat?” Elijah asked. Greyson, whose nose had begun running in earnest post-sneezing, gave a lame eye roll from behind his hand.

“Ndot hungry. Give mbe the tissues, please.”

“Oh, these?” Elijah asked, holding up the box theatrically. “Why ever would you need these? I mean, you’re so clearly well and spry. Healthy as a horse as they say.”

“Dude, just give them to mbe. Shouldn’t you be in pre-shift?”

“I was coming to get you for pre-shift, you bozo,” Elijah said, tossing the tissues at Greyson. “But now I’m beginning to question if the servers would even be able to understand what you’re saying.”

Greyson gratefully blew his nose facing away from Elijah and tossed the tissues in the trash. “Fuck directly off, Lij,” he said, the words punctuated with a hoarse cough. “I’m coming. Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll give you two days, how about that?” Elijah said, turning to leave the kitchen. “Go. Home.”

Greyson stood, reinvigorated by fury. “Fuck. Off,” he said in the same cadence as his boss. “I’m fine.”

Elijah threw his arms up in defeat and held the swinging door open for the chef. “C’mon, then,” he said, gesturing Greyson towards the dining room. “Let’s go infect my entire staff.”

***

An hour into service, Greyson felt his phone buzz. Twice.

It wasn’t a busy service – people were out of money post-holiday it seemed – so Greyson was working on menu ideas and scheduling in the office while Matt held down the line and his cooks did some deep cleaning. Or, he was attempting to do scheduling between bouts of -

“Huhhh…HGTSSHH-ue! HRRSHH! HPTSSH-oo!”

“Bless, Chef,” Matt called to him from the line. Greyson flipped him the bird and pulled his once-again-vibrating phone from his pocket. Who the fuck was blowing him up? Everyone he knew was here.

Greyson wiped under his nose with a tissue and unlocked his phone. Eight new messages – all from Elijah. Jesus Christ. Was his boss really that lazy that he couldn’t walk the twenty steps from the dining room to the kitchen?

Greyson opened their text thread and immediately rolled his eyes.

5:21PM

Bless you.

Bless you.

5:46PM

Bless you.

You know everyone out here can hear you.

5:59PM

Bless you.

Bless you.

6:12PM

Bless.

Ok, seriously you sound like fuckin shit.

Greyson felt his face go hot as he typed out and sent his response.

6:15PM

Fuck off, Lij.

“HTSHHH-uhhh. Godammit.”

Greyson pulled the last tissue out of the box and blew his nose. So maybe he was kind of sick. A little bit. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He was a grown man for God’s sake, he couldn’t deal with a little cold at work?

The chef rubbed a hand down his face and used all his willpower not to groan. A little cold. A few hours left of work. A slow evening. If anyone could handle it, it was him.

***

Greyson was fairly sure he’d never been more miserable in his entire life.

It was ten pm, and the last table had finally cleared the building; not that Greyson would’ve known it. The chef was holed up in the employee bathroom, finally taking a minute to himself to blow his nose and wash his hands. What was supposed to have been a quiet night had suddenly picked up around seven – and with it, so did his cold.

He wasn’t sure how it worked out this way, but the moment five tickets printed at the same time on the line, Greyson felt the first whisper of a fever slither up his neck and make itself home behind both of his eyes. The tickets had continued to print, much to his chagrin, and after a few moments Matt had turned to his boss with panic in his eyes and frantically called, “Chef?!”

Greyson did what he was trained to; he pulled it together and hopped on the line to help his guys. He cooked and shouted orders and garnished and sent food out. He remade steaks when they came back overcooked, and he apologized when he yelled at his grill cook, who was new and clearly petrified. He ignored the massive headache blooming in his temples, and his cooks ignored the near-constant volley of sneezes he smothered into the inside collar of his chef coat. It was a rough one. Ticket times weren’t what they should’ve been, and he definitely screamed at his cooks more times than they deserved.

But it was over. And now, hours later, he stumbled out of the employee bathroom and into the office and slammed his ass into the chair, fully and completely spent. To his left, he felt Elijah’s hand firmly place itself on his shoulder.

“You killed it tonight. Truly,” Elijah said, his voice low. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Greyson looked at his boss, defeated. “I was an ass,” he said, his voice congested and hoarse. “I’m a dick. I yelled at Juan, and it wasn’t even his fault. Ticket times were trash. I wasn’t on top of it the way I should’ve been and I – huh…HUGTSSH-uhh! HUHESHHHOO!” Greyson swiped angrily under his nose and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And I have a fuckigg cold.”

Elijah sat silently for a moment, and Greyson figured he was getting ready to gloat or make some sort of snide comment about how he knew Greyson was sick, and Greyson was an idiot for being there at all, but instead he heard his boss get up and leave the office. Greyson looked up from his hands after a few minutes of silence to see Elijah standing over him with a new box of tissues and a bottle of whiskey.

“I know,” he said, sitting down and pushing both of his peace offerings towards Greyson. “But you did it anyway. And that’s badass.”

Greyson had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could look his boss in the eye again. “You’re a kndow-it-all prick,” he said, taking a tissue and unscrewing the whiskey cap. He took a swig, and blew his nose, unsure what else to say.

“I’m aware,” Elijah replied. “But I’m right.”

Greyson looked at his boss and managed a smile. “I thindk…I mbay have to call out tomorrow.”

Elijah couldn’t help but laugh. “Grey,” he said, “if I see your ass in this building anytime before the weekend, I’ll send you home in a bodybag.”

This time, it was Greyson’s turn to laugh. “Honestly…body bag doesn’t sound too bad at this poindt.”

Elijah smiled and pushed the whiskey towards the chef once more. “Get yourself nice and drunk, chef. I’ll drive you home.”

Thinking about scenarios where the caretaker acknowledges the sickie's empty stomach/appetite a short while after they've thrown up:

Frowning in concern, raising an eyebrow, or chuckling when the formerly sick stomach lets out a deep, hungry growl.

"Feeling better now, are we?" (Said directly to Sickie or to the belly in question.)

"You threw up so much earlier/last night; you must be so hungry."

"Do you want something to eat? You did end up losing your dinner/lunch/breakfast..."

"I got you a snack for later, seeing as how you just completely emptied your stomach."

"I keep forgetting you've technically missed a meal..."

"You should eat something so that your stomach's not completely empty."

"All that puking must have worked up an appetite, right?"

"No wonder you're starving; you threw up until there was nothing left."

"Your poor stomach must feel so cheated out of its (insert meal/food type)."

I feel like most of these work best with tropes like motion sickness, where the nausea will most likely fade as soon as the sickie's environment changes, rather than lingering causes like actual sickness or food poisoning, but I suppose it depends on how much time has passed. Anyway, I hope someone out there can enjoy this product of my insomnia and trash brain 🖤

Sleeping Beauty

Yuuri shouldn’t be wearing his glasses while he sleeps, but Victor doesn’t want to wake him. So naturally, the only option is for Victor to remove them without disturbing the sleeping skater.

Fluff without plot, based on this prompt by @allergenius

1200~ words

Continuar lendo

Whump prompt

Imagine within a group or family there’s “The Annoying One™”. There’s been a cold or flu circling the group or family so everyone’s relatively cranky. And this character’s been feeling rather shitty for a bit but they’re like “you’re just complaining about nothing. It’s just a little cold. You don’t see so-and-so complaining about it.” So they stop talking about it, trying to ignore new symptoms that keep sprouting.

Imagine that character waking up to see a bunch of worried faces and everyone’s speaking in a really gentle tone and bathing their face in cool water etc. and they get super suspicious and confused.

Turns out “The Annoying One™” had developed pneumonia from their “harmless” cold and everyone’s super guilty about waving off their complaints.