Fun Fact: I write fanfiction and my name means one!
I do take requests, so here are the fandoms I will be doing so far:
Marvel/MCU || Bg3 || Spiderverse || The Glass Scientists (TGS) || ACOTAR || Harry Potter || Marauders || PJO || KOTLC || Witch Boy(yes the comic series) || Hazbin Hotel || Helluva Boss || TOH || Just Add Magic || Good Omens || Jackson’s Diary || DreamWorks Trolls(all three movies , not the show) || Octonauts || Encanto || Generation Loss || The Renegades -Marissa Meyer || The Vampire Librarian (it’s on webtoon go read it and support the author they deserve all the support y’all) || Suitor Armor || UnOrdianry || Big Hero Six || Empires SMP || Literally anything with Oscar Isaac. I am a simple woman || Yuurivoice || A Spell For A Smith || Hamilton || Merfolk || Gator Boys || Obsidian Lantern || GoodBoyAudios || Nomads Tales & Audios || Escaped Audios || Mage Bunkshelf || Redacted Audio || Date Everything ||
Talking about my concerns with Tourette's is very very scary sometimes. I want to let others who feel this way know that they aren't alone and that it's normal to be afraid or scared to talk about it or be concerned about it. Being concerned about how your body works is a good thing. <3
Notes: Hello hello friends.
I am currently writing this with a heating pad on me and tteokbokki in my system. You cannot stop the power of sudden motivation that slaps you silly. :3
This is platonic. I, again, will write romance, not for Mitch though. Depends on the character, and I am still catching up after a while lol.
Please enjoy because there will be more <3
Mitch:
One very long day after work at everyone’s favorite cafe, Mitch comes home tired and hungry. He shrugs off his coat, drops his bag, and slips his shoes off without untying them because he didn’t feel like it. He is about to ask you for dinner when he sees you clutching your lower stomach in pain and absolutely suffering.
You, the sufferer in question, are curled up on the living space’s couch, wrapped up like a blanket gremlin with a hot water bottle on your stomach. By the look on your face, you seemed like death was warming you over.
Mitch would be immediately concerned. His roommate? His favorite silly human who shared pizza rolls with him was unwell? That was very, very not good. He half scurries over to you, lowering down to be eye-to-eye, although it was hard to see through the blanket pile.
You groaned through the blanket pile and Mitch frowned. He didn’t like seeing you in pain. Even though he was tired, and by god he was after dealing with one two many, actually eight, ‘Karens’ that day, he still wanted to help you however he could.
“You want me to order you something?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern and care.
Mitch is a gentleman, a sweetheart, I will not hear anything else. Yes he’s chaotic, but he’s chaotic good. He also knows that whenever you feel particularly bad, or when you’re on your period, you like food from a certain restaurant.
“If you don’t mind, I know you’re tired”
“Don’t sweat it!” he’d respond with a crooked, playful smile. He walks over to your shared kitchen space, picking up a bag of Sunchips and tossing it beside your blanket fort. “You said those chips don’t bother your stomach.”
He orders the food and makes sure that your favorite order for times like these (which was from a Korean fried chicken spot, although it wasn’t chicken) was the spice level you usually liked. He gets himself buldak and vegetable potstickers (a combination that started off of a suggestion from you one night when you were trying to get Mitch to branch out on the different types of food that he’d tried.)
He filled a kettle and put it on the stove, turning the burner on. It was second nature at this point given how many times Nem had shown him how to make coffee or tea.
“Want me to reheat the water bottle?” he asked, tilting his head. You nodded, the feeling of your insides churning and curling into a deeper pit sunk deeper into your lower abdomen.
“Thank you,” you whispered. You were truly so very grateful for Mitch and his help. He didn’t demand that you get up and snap out of it, or to work through the pain. No, he treated you with such kindness that you weren’t used to being treated with. At the same time you felt so guilty. He was so tired after his shift and all he was doing instead of resting was taking care of you. The guilt curled in with the cramps, deeper into the pits of despair.
Mitch’s ears flicked up at your appreciativeness. He may have been tired, but at the same time he was helping someone he cared about. Somehow, helping you made him feel less tired and more warm inside. His chest was filled with a warmth that he’d felt many times since appearing in your home. You gave him a place to stay, a warm bed, food, company–and most of all? You gave him a best friend.
He takes some of the water from the kettle and fills the hot water bottle with it before the water has a chance to boil. He twists the top of the bottle closed and he refills the kettle, placing it gently back on the stovetop. He hums gently to himself, a tired, but gentle smile curling at his lips.
He walks over and places the hot water bottle in your trembling hands. You bring it to your lower abdomen.
“I’m sorry” you apologize, the guilt curling itself deep in your stomach. Mitch’s eyes fill with a sense of concern, his eyebrows furrowing and his ears dropping slightly. “I know you’d probably rather be playing video games or eating pizza and watching some crappy horror movie to laugh at it–” your bottom lip trembles. “-but instead, you’re here, taking care of me. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else,” Mitch swears, crouching to meet your eye level. “You’re my best friend. You're in pain and you need my help right now.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I’m here of my own choice, and that choice is to help take care of you right now. You’re not forcing me to do anything. Don’t feel bad? Okay?” He places his hands over yours, which were covered in blankets. “Plus, you just bought ice cream like, two days ago. I’m pretty sure you got a few of those two pint(I’m pretty sure this is 1 litre in the UK, forgive my American ass) tubs. Rocky road for me aaaand–” he drags out the word. “Cookie dough for my blanket burrito buddy! How does that sound?”
You could cry. Scratch that, your eyes are, in fact, watery with tears. “Thank you,” you manage to choke out despite your scratchy, tired voice. “Thank you Mitch, for taking care of me. You’re a good friend.”
He practically beams at the praise. “Well I’m your best friend, so that tracks!” he laughs. He plops down beside you on the couch, placing his head on your blanket-covered shoulder. “Lets turn on a bad horror movie and make fun of it?” he asks.
You laugh for the first time that day. “I’d like that.” Mitch picks up the remote, flicking through channels before–
The kettle interrupts the two of you, loudly squealing. You two laugh and Mitch stands.
“You stay here in your blanket burrito, I’ll grab us some tea and the ice cream from the freezer,” he says, leaving no room for argument in his tone, which was as goofy as ever. “Chamomile okay?” he asked, remembering how Nem had mentioned that chamomile tea was good for cramps.
“That sounds lovely, thank you, Mitch,” your voice bleeds a warm edge to it. That warmth in your chest only grows. You grab the remote, moving slowly and picking it up gently.
You flick to Prime, and proceed to turn on ‘Trolls 2’. The movie was apparently ‘so bad that it was good’. You and Mitch did love making fun of bad horror movies and yelling at the screen about how silly the protagonists usually acted.
Mitch, a few minutes later, practically scrambling as to not miss the movie. He places your tea on the table beside the couch, beside you. He sits on your other side, placing his own cup on the coffee table. He hands you your ice cream with a spoon in it for your convenience.
You unpause the movie and start it as Mitch digs into his Rocky Road ice cream. He places his head on your shoulder as the two of you begin to laugh at how bad the acting is.
Now your lower abdomen isn’t the only thing that feels warm, and that’s just from the water bottle. Your heart is filled with a sort of warmth, a sort of love that you’d forgotten existed. People who are like family, who are family. Someone who will care for their own because they truly care. Mitch was truly the best friend that you could ever ask for.
Notes: Hello hello friends.
I am currently writing this with a heating pad on me and tteokbokki in my system. You cannot stop the power of sudden motivation that slaps you silly. :3
This is platonic. I, again, will write romance, not for Mitch though. Depends on the character, and I am still catching up after a while lol.
Please enjoy because there will be more <3
Mitch:
One very long day after work at everyone’s favorite cafe, Mitch comes home tired and hungry. He shrugs off his coat, drops his bag, and slips his shoes off without untying them because he didn’t feel like it. He is about to ask you for dinner when he sees you clutching your lower stomach in pain and absolutely suffering.
You, the sufferer in question, are curled up on the living space’s couch, wrapped up like a blanket gremlin with a hot water bottle on your stomach. By the look on your face, you seemed like death was warming you over.
Mitch would be immediately concerned. His roommate? His favorite silly human who shared pizza rolls with him was unwell? That was very, very not good. He half scurries over to you, lowering down to be eye-to-eye, although it was hard to see through the blanket pile.
You groaned through the blanket pile and Mitch frowned. He didn’t like seeing you in pain. Even though he was tired, and by god he was after dealing with one two many, actually eight, ‘Karens’ that day, he still wanted to help you however he could.
“You want me to order you something?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern and care.
Mitch is a gentleman, a sweetheart, I will not hear anything else. Yes he’s chaotic, but he’s chaotic good. He also knows that whenever you feel particularly bad, or when you’re on your period, you like food from a certain restaurant.
“If you don’t mind, I know you’re tired”
“Don’t sweat it!” he’d respond with a crooked, playful smile. He walks over to your shared kitchen space, picking up a bag of Sunchips and tossing it beside your blanket fort. “You said those chips don’t bother your stomach.”
He orders the food and makes sure that your favorite order for times like these (which was from a Korean fried chicken spot, although it wasn’t chicken) was the spice level you usually liked. He gets himself buldak and vegetable potstickers (a combination that started off of a suggestion from you one night when you were trying to get Mitch to branch out on the different types of food that he’d tried.)
He filled a kettle and put it on the stove, turning the burner on. It was second nature at this point given how many times Nem had shown him how to make coffee or tea.
“Want me to reheat the water bottle?” he asked, tilting his head. You nodded, the feeling of your insides churning and curling into a deeper pit sunk deeper into your lower abdomen.
“Thank you,” you whispered. You were truly so very grateful for Mitch and his help. He didn’t demand that you get up and snap out of it, or to work through the pain. No, he treated you with such kindness that you weren’t used to being treated with. At the same time you felt so guilty. He was so tired after his shift and all he was doing instead of resting was taking care of you. The guilt curled in with the cramps, deeper into the pits of despair.
Mitch’s ears flicked up at your appreciativeness. He may have been tired, but at the same time he was helping someone he cared about. Somehow, helping you made him feel less tired and more warm inside. His chest was filled with a warmth that he’d felt many times since appearing in your home. You gave him a place to stay, a warm bed, food, company–and most of all? You gave him a best friend.
He takes some of the water from the kettle and fills the hot water bottle with it before the water has a chance to boil. He twists the top of the bottle closed and he refills the kettle, placing it gently back on the stovetop. He hums gently to himself, a tired, but gentle smile curling at his lips.
He walks over and places the hot water bottle in your trembling hands. You bring it to your lower abdomen.
“I’m sorry” you apologize, the guilt curling itself deep in your stomach. Mitch’s eyes fill with a sense of concern, his eyebrows furrowing and his ears dropping slightly. “I know you’d probably rather be playing video games or eating pizza and watching some crappy horror movie to laugh at it–” your bottom lip trembles. “-but instead, you’re here, taking care of me. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else,” Mitch swears, crouching to meet your eye level. “You’re my best friend. You're in pain and you need my help right now.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I’m here of my own choice, and that choice is to help take care of you right now. You’re not forcing me to do anything. Don’t feel bad? Okay?” He places his hands over yours, which were covered in blankets. “Plus, you just bought ice cream like, two days ago. I’m pretty sure you got a few of those two pint(I’m pretty sure this is 1 litre in the UK, forgive my American ass) tubs. Rocky road for me aaaand–” he drags out the word. “Cookie dough for my blanket burrito buddy! How does that sound?”
You could cry. Scratch that, your eyes are, in fact, watery with tears. “Thank you,” you manage to choke out despite your scratchy, tired voice. “Thank you Mitch, for taking care of me. You’re a good friend.”
He practically beams at the praise. “Well I’m your best friend, so that tracks!” he laughs. He plops down beside you on the couch, placing his head on your blanket-covered shoulder. “Lets turn on a bad horror movie and make fun of it?” he asks.
You laugh for the first time that day. “I’d like that.” Mitch picks up the remote, flicking through channels before–
The kettle interrupts the two of you, loudly squealing. You two laugh and Mitch stands.
“You stay here in your blanket burrito, I’ll grab us some tea and the ice cream from the freezer,” he says, leaving no room for argument in his tone, which was as goofy as ever. “Chamomile okay?” he asked, remembering how Nem had mentioned that chamomile tea was good for cramps.
“That sounds lovely, thank you, Mitch,” your voice bleeds a warm edge to it. That warmth in your chest only grows. You grab the remote, moving slowly and picking it up gently.
You flick to Prime, and proceed to turn on ‘Trolls 2’. The movie was apparently ‘so bad that it was good’. You and Mitch did love making fun of bad horror movies and yelling at the screen about how silly the protagonists usually acted.
Mitch, a few minutes later, practically scrambling as to not miss the movie. He places your tea on the table beside the couch, beside you. He sits on your other side, placing his own cup on the coffee table. He hands you your ice cream with a spoon in it for your convenience.
You unpause the movie and start it as Mitch digs into his Rocky Road ice cream. He places his head on your shoulder as the two of you begin to laugh at how bad the acting is.
Now your lower abdomen isn’t the only thing that feels warm, and that’s just from the water bottle. Your heart is filled with a sort of warmth, a sort of love that you’d forgotten existed. People who are like family, who are family. Someone who will care for their own because they truly care. Mitch was truly the best friend that you could ever ask for.
gummygunk
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
