#and like you know with other fever times she really GOES for it like kicks and spins and pirouettes and just so extra | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fbfh · 11 months

Text

Leo Valdez x pregnant!reader 3rd trimester headcanons

wc: 1.3k

genre: fluff, domestic bliss, slice of life

pairing: Leo x afab/pregnant reader

warnings: discussions of pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, Leo is an amazing hubby/baby daddy, Esperanza is alive and well and excited to be an abuela, your friends are all super supportive and excited, Leo is amazing and this will give you baby fever, Leo cannot get enough of how cute your baby bump is

song rec: father of the bride 2 soundtrack

a/n: ngl normally pregnancy icks me the hell out but like... it's leo. I would. hm. I would give him a million babies with no hesitation. I want to bite him. blushing giggling kicking my feet.

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @almostjollypizza @fictionalcomforts @lizziebitch33 @girlfriendwhoseawitch @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @chasingpj @mystic-writings @dreamerball @if-only-i-was-fictional @2manyobsessions

You’re in your third trimester by now, and you and Leo couldn’t be more excited

He and Annabeth have been working on the nursery nonstop

And Hazel has been spearheading your baby shower

She’s so excited about it, constantly bringing you color swatches and different spools of ribbon and little hors d'oeuvres to see which ones you like best

Esperanza’s over at your place a lot too

She loves going on walks with you, talking about baby stuff, helping you guys around the house

She loves all the baby gossip, telling you all the stories from when she was pregnant with Leo

She knows all the home remedies, too

She helps you out through all the aches and pains and assures you all the random symptoms are normal

You called her in tears once about a sharp pain you felt

Turns out it was just lighting crotch

You’re able to laugh about it now, but at the time it was so scary

And you’re really glad you have Esperanza there to help you through it

Leo adores how big your belly is getting

He’s always kissing you and your tummy

Talking to baby, putting headphones on your belly to play music for them

You have a collaborative playlist of your favorite songs

Leo makes sure to include lots of Selena and Luis Miguel and all the other 90s music his mom raised him on

Baby has started kicking way more now too

You and Leo have a “wow, they’re gonna be a soccer player” jar

Every time someone sees that your baby is kicking and makes the soccer player joke, a dollar goes in the jar

“At this rate, we’re going to have a college fund ready before they’re even born.” Leo says it so matter of factly that you burst out laughing

Leo has a way of doing that

Making you laugh and smile through all the difficult parts of pregnancy

He’s right there for you through all the swelling and leaking and aches and pains and mood swings

And he’s also there for every kick and laugh and smile and kiss

He’s there for all of it

Every single part

You literally could not have a more enthusiastic, supportive partner

He’s the epitome of “if he wanted to he would”

Leo wants to do EVERYTHING

And he does

Esperanza raised him right

And she couldn’t be more proud and happy for both of you

Your cravings are finally subsiding

They’re still there, but they’re not nearly as bad as they were in your second trimester

You’ve had the worst cravings for cake recently

And fried chicken with a whole bunch of different sides ranging from olives and pickles to cabbage leaves rolled up with cottage cheese

Leo has become a familiar face at your local grocery store and bakery

He showed up twice in one day to get you a lemon cake, and a marble cake with strawberry frosting a few hours later

You’re already some of the bakery’s most loyal customers, and Leo told Hazel to make sure she gets the baby shower cake from there

It’s also a perfect opportunity to do some subtle cake taste tests

But now your bump is so big it’s really getting in the way of daily activities

You insist on at least trying to tie your shoes and pick things up off the floor by yourself

You usually give up after a couple tries, and Leo is happy to help you out with everything

He can’t get over how adorable you look waddling around with your big old bump

He takes so many pictures and gets so many videos

You basically can’t sleep without your maternity pillow, so Leo’s taken to spooning you when you guys are going to sleep

He rubs your belly and kisses your cheek and holds your hand

And you fall asleep with him murmuring about how much he loves you and your baby and how he wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else

And god, when your baby shower actually arrives??

Leo has been distracting you all week so you don’t accidentally figure out what’s being planned

One of his favorite ways to do this has been taking you out to get food and shop for more clothes for you and baby

Some of your favorites so far have been the sesame street one, the duck pajamas, and the fuzzy bear onesie with little ears and paws and a little tail

Leo has a talent for picking out the cutest dresses and other maternity clothes

Everything he finds for you makes you feel so pretty and feels so comfortable to wear

He even picks out some non maternity clothes for you too

“As much as I’d love for you to stay like this forever, you do need something to wear after the baby is born…”

He rubs his hands over your belly affectionately before pressing a kiss to your lips

You ask Leo if you can slip away to get another cake

It’s a caramel hazelnut swirl with oreo filling that you’ve been talking about for two days

He lets you down gently, telling you the bakery is still out of oreo filling and hazelnuts

He makes sure you guys hit up the baby aisle and the snack aisle before you leave

Finally it’s time for your actual baby shower

And it’s absolutely amazing

It’s like Hazel looked into your brain and pulled out everything you could have dreamed of

And when you arrive to all your friends and family surrounded by the beautiful decorations

They bring out a caramel hazelnut swirl cake with oreo filling

That’s what finally brings you to tears

It’s the most wonderful time you could have hoped for

You spend tons of time with friends and family, eat delicious food, and talk about baby stuff the whole time

It’s not long after your baby shower that you start getting braxton hicks more regularly

Leo insists on taking you to the hospital even when you insist it’s a false alarm

He is not going to take any risks when it comes to you or your baby

After the first false alarm, he made sure your hospital bags were packed and ready to go

He’s gone over the plan and the backup plan and the backup backup plan so many times he could recite them in his sleep

After a few more, you wake up one night, and Leo wakes up right behind you

You tell him you’re having contractions and he gets up immediately, launching into his usual speech about how the doctor said for you to go to the hospital even if it’s a false alarm and how much he loves you both

Before he can finish you turn to him with a look of seriousness he’s never seen before

“I don’t think it’s a false alarm.”

That wakes him up even more

He gets you to the hospital in record time, and calls his mom on the way

He’s right by your side the whole time and holding your hand while the doctors and nurses get you set up

You share a look and know it’s hitting both of you at the same time

You’re about to have a baby

You’re finally, finally going to meet your baby

You’re about to be parents

Through all of the highs and lows of his life

Every crazy thing you’ve gotten through together

This night is by far the most exciting

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez headcanons #dad!leo #pregnant!reader #tw pregnancy #tw: pregnancy

135 notes · View notes

gloomysoup · 4 months

Text

another edition to the nickelback chronicles, brought to you by my missing chad kroeger hours (i promise i'm bringing you other content soon). this is also set in the secrets universe, so i think that's just what these are gonna be from now on. oh, and the song today is far away from all the right reasons (2005). enjoy !

when eddie left, he knew he was going to write a song. well, he knew he was going to write a lot of songs, but he had one in particular brewing in his brain. It would be a slow ballad; something dedicated to steve just like everything else he wrote in those days after leaving. this song was a little different though. this one took him months to finish, which wasn't like any of the other songs he'd written to that point. he wanted to apologize. he wanted steve to know how sorry he was, how much he loved him. it took him a long time to find the right words. the melody came easily, strumming chords on the beat-up old acoustic in the back of the van while one of the others drove for a while.

when the song was finally released, eddie took a chance. he didn't send it to steve directly. he didn't think he deserved to do that, since he's the one that walked away. he sent it to wayne, hoping maybe he could get it to steve, or anyone. he sent it to dustin too, with slightly less hope in him. he knew he didn't deserve anything from them. he wouldn't have blamed anyone if they ignored him.

he never knows if anything came of it. he just goes about his career like it was nothing, like he wasn't putting his entire heart out there for everyone to hear. part of him could never let it go. he needed steve to hear the words, even if he wasn't actually there. they put it on the setlist of almost every tour. eddie fights tears every time, wanting nothing more than to go back to steve. maybe that's why he wrote the second verse of that song, promising to give it all up just to hold steve one last time.

he didn't know that steve listened to that song all the time. every day. later in his pregnancy with their pups, he would sit on the living room floor while robin was out and play the song over and over. the tears always roll down his face as he listens to eddie singing through the speakers, singing to him about their love and how much he misses him. and every time, without fail, the twins follow the sound. they move and kick and push to get closer. after their born, steve stills plays it. it always calmed them down when nothing else worked. as toddlers, he'd sing it or play it when they had nightmares, or weren't feeling well. it was a comfort for them, and for steve. he always told them their dad wrote it for them, even though eddie didn't even know they existed.

when eddie comes back, when he learns that he has pups, when he and steve finally work things out, steve still doesn't tell him about the song. he tries to stop playing it. he doesn't want eddie to know, but he doesn't really know why. it shouldn't be a secret, but for some reason, he keeps it that way. but that all changes early one morning, when gracie crawls into their bed with a stomach ache and a fever. it's around 3am, and she creeps into their room on quiet feet. she climbs in on steve's side, and then crawls over him to get to the middle. she burrows into his chest, her little face pressed into his neck. it wakes steve up. he asks what's wrong, and then he notices the tear tracks on her pale cheeks.

"gracie, baby, what's wrong?" he asks softly, thumbing away her tears and brushing back her sweat-soaked curls. her face was burning up.

"don't feel good," she murmured, pressing herself deeper into steve's chest.

"i'm sorry, honey." he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head.

eddie groaned softly beside them, his eyes fluttering open. "wh's goin' on?" he muttered hoarsely. "everything okay?"

"gracie doesn't feel good. i think she has a fever."

eddie sat up quickly, suddenly much more awake. it was his first experience with sick kids, but steves done this song and dance several times before. the pups are like disease magnets, and when one of them gets sick, the other is never far behind.

"what? a fever?"

"ed, she should be fine. it's probably just a stomach bug."

"but she's sick, steve."

"i promise it will be fine. it should hopefully break in a few hours, and even if it doesn't, she'll be back to normal in just a few days. they're kids, eddie, they've been sick before."

eddie sighed and looked down at gracie, who was still crying and shaking softly in steve's arms. "what can i do to help?"

"uh, can you get a bottle of water, the kids tylenol, and a, um, damp washcloth? oh, and check on oliver while you're up? if she's sick, i doubt he'll be far behind."

eddie nodded and started pushing the covers back to retrieve what steve asked for. he was only gone for a few minutes, and neither steve nor gracie had moved. steve was brushing his fingers through her hair, shushing her softly. when eddie came back, he sat up against the headboard and pulled gracie into his lap. she refused to take the medicine. steve was trying his best to convince her.

"come on, gracie, please? i promise you'll feel better if you take it."

"i want the song."

"which song, honey?" eddie asked, leaning over and rubbing her back. "maybe i know it? i can sing it for you."

steve sighed, knowing he had to tell him. it was probably the only way gracie would take the medicine. it would be the only way they'd get her back to sleep.

"it's one of your songs, eddie," steve whispered. "i used to play it for them all the time."

eddie frowned. "you did? which one?"

steve looked down at gracie, playing with her hair to avoid looking at eddie. "far away. i've been playing it for them their whole lives. i wanted them to know you loved them, even if you didn't really know."

"i never knew you even got that song."

steve glanced at him with a smile. "you gave it to wayne. of course i got it."

"well, that's easy, then." eddie grinned at gracie, brushing back her hair. "why don't i just sing it for you, honey? will that help you feel better?"

gracie nodded, so of course eddie did just that. he sang softly, the whole song, while steve fed her the medicine. then he let her curl up into his chest, rocking back forth as he kept singing. he didn't stop until she was fast asleep again, snoring softly against his bare chest. steve leaned over to kiss eddie's cheek with a smile.

"i love you," he whispered.

eddie smiled back. "i love you too."

"i'm gonna go check on ollie again. you okay here?"

he nodded, reassuring steve they'd be fine. steve came back in several minutes later, carrying oliver in his arms.

from then on, eddie took every chance he could to sing that song for his family. if the band was on tour, eddie would sing it to them on the phone every night before they went on stage. it was one of his favorite parts about being their dad. he loved to sing to them. he loved singing his songs to them. he thanked the universe every day that he got this chance. he wouldn't give it up for anything.

#the nickelback chronicles #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #omegaverse steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #gloomysoup writes #gloomysoup

38 notes · View notes

ruinedbylanadelrey · 7 months

Text

In the air, In the Moon

Inspired by My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

Joel Miller x Ghost!F!Reader

Summary: She was the first to go. Joel is learning to cope without his love. And then...

WC: only 4.6k warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (Reader mid 20s, Joel late 50s), bit of canon divergence, MAJOR DEATH (Reader), Reader is called ‘lovey’ by every one, Joel Miller crying a lot, TLOU PART 2 Spoilers, Ellie and Joel angst, Reader has long hair, domestic!Joel, husband!Joel, smut (ghost sex/handjob), suicide due to injury (Reader), hurt/comfort, murder hosue type beat (AHS SEASON 1), joel's suicidal thoughts, fluff, abuse (reader was a victim not form Joel), description of corpse, yooo sarah makes an appearance, i have poor knowledge of medicine, joel is a cat person, a little frank sinatra, religious imagery AN: Let's kick off October with angst, fluff, and smut. I'm sorry for what I wrote. playlist imagery masterlist

'Save who you can save'

He lost his head when Joel first saw you collapsed right outside of Jackson on a patrol trail. He expected someone older not so young and beautiful. You were a fallen angel coming into his life, you arrived alone and sick with the flu. He will never forget the whimpers when he picks up your body burning with a fever.

"Shh, it's okay, angel, you're gonna get ya' some help," He gently picks up your body, and Tommy helps him get you on Joel's horse, setting up front so he could hold you up. Joel looks at how pale your skin is, the bruises scattered on your hands, and how ill-equipped you were to be out in the bitter winter conditions in Wyoming.

Tommy and Joel came back with you sick, knocking on heaven's door when they had you rushed to the infirmary; rushed as in, Joel carrying you directly there and grabbing the town's doctors right from his office.

"Found 'er out on patrol. Now listen here," His southern drawl comes out when he has tunnel vision on getting you well again.

"You will give her the best medicine, remember I know whatcha got," Joel lets go of the poor man and watches him assess your state. Checking your temperature and finding you new clothes. When the doctor comes back with the set of dry clothes Joel brings him to a halt with a hand to the chest.

"I want Nurse Cadence to dress her," Joel demands with a huff. The doctor nods and quickly goes to the nurse doing a check on the other patients. Cadence an older woman who was a nurse back before the outbreak. She comes with the set of clothes and a wrinkled smile. Joel nods and steps out of the room waiting for the door to open again.

When Cadence opened the door, her face was in a frown and her eyes were welling up with tears.

"She's been abused..." She weeps before wiping away the tears. Joel closed his eyes and bowed his head, he knew how heinous people were. He starts imagining the worst happening with you. Questions start bulleting in his head.

Joel could feel his benevolent side come out when he walked in seeing you asleep with your eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. The doctor comes back with a wet cloth and drapes it across your forehead.

"She needs sleep. I'll notify you as soon as she wakes up." Doc walks Joel out of the room to the doors. Joel waited for a moment before stepping back outside to the cold. Winter always made him nauseated and he really could sense it once images of your body in snow being left for dead wouldn't leave his fatal mind.

Winter was brutal, Joel tried to think about Texas and how it would get freezing but never snow and the sun would still come out. When was the last time he saw the sun? It's been cloudy and snowing for so long. He huffs out, his breath dances in the air like a ghost. Just another reminder that he is still kicking and screaming 50 years later.

Joel would wake up every morning before patrol to head to the infirmary. You wouldn't wake up until 2 days later. You woke drenched in sweat, your chest feeling sticky, and your muscles all over your body just wincing in pain with every move you made. The day that you first woke up, you sat up straight in the bed and hyperventilated. Nurse Cadence had you calm down by breathing with your belly.

You were shaking after your breathing evened out. Brain fog and general confusion were a mist in your brain. A tall gruff man stood at the doorway with flowers, where could you get flowers in winter? He was tan but fading to pale tan, had salt and pepper hair, and a leather coat that looked so warm. The nurse greeted him with open arms, maybe he isn't going to kill you? Where even are you?

"My love, this is Joel Miller. He was the one who found you at death's door." Nurse Cadence ushers in Joel and takes the flowers from his grasp. Joel's eyes were dancing around your face, taking in how the color of your skin was coming back, your flushed cheeks and nose, doe eyes full of fear. You froze in place, your heart slamming against your chest.

"Howdy," Joel didn't know what else to do but stick out his hand. You quickly tucked into yourself and held up your hands for defense. You waited a minute before letting yourself look at Joel, he was at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets.

"I-I'm sorry," Your voice was still horsed from not talking about days on end.

"It's fine, just wanted to see how you were getting by?" Joel gives a half smile not knowing how to display his relief of you being alive.

"I'm alive...I don't know how I can ever pay you back for saving m-my life," You bring your knees to your chest and wipe away the onset tears. Yes, you have been sick but he saved you from ever being found by your captor. It's been a long winter just as much as for you as it was for Joel.

"Sorry, I don't mean to cry in front of you," You cleared your throat and blinked the salt water from your eyes. You giggled and that caused Joel to just fall to the ground and never your side like a guard dog protecting their favorite girl.

That small giggle from your pale pink lips was the butterfly effect to the end of your life and the start of Joel's suicidal thoughts again. But we aren't there yet in the story.

That small giggle got you to where you were now, about to move outside of Jackson gates with Joel and the 3 kittens you recused. The farmhouse on the hill with a barn adjacent to the house. It was perfect Joel was getting his dreams with a few additions, you, his young beautiful wife, and 3 kittens that he didn't have the heart turn away from when you carried them in the house like a child.

You were always trying to save others, which has caused you a lot of pain. Finding puppies and kittens on the brink of death, hoping you could cure them with the warmth of your heart. But it was like you were a living and breathing Grim Reaper. But these kittens were more than 4 months old and seemed to be living off mice and different kinds of rodents.

When Joel asked you to be his love forever, it was a spring day and he took you outside of the walls of Jackson. He wanted to show you an abandoned home with a lot of land. You were excited to see the world again for the first time in a long time.

The hike to the pasture of land with a house that looked small until you got closer it got bigger. White paint chipped on the siding. The roof only missing a few shingles. A beautiful porch that wrapped all around the home.

Joel watches your eyes grow wide and a smile paints across your face. You giggled and ran up the steps to the porch. Your hands glide along the railing, bumps hitting the ridges of your fingertips.

The giant columns towering over you, imagining having Joel install a hanging planter for the flowers that you love, maybe a few more for vines. You could see the cats liking to sit in the sun in the mornings and just sleep on the porch swing. A whisper of child-like giggles flows through one ear and out the other and a cold chill runs through your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

"Do ya like the place?" Joel comes up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You smile and nod trying to not show you were just stunned.

"I love it," You turn around, and wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the end of his hair. He looked at you like he was in heaven and never had suffered through anything. The sunlight tinted the white sundress you had on, hugging your curves and complimenting your complex just perfectly.

"I brought you here because there's different about you and well, my love, I want...I want this til' death do us part," Joel nervously rubs your back, and another chill shudders through your body, skin prickling all over. Maybe it was just hearing Joel saying forever or another set of invisible eyes watching you getting proposed to.

You met his gaze and just drained from all color, seeing a little girl in the window just smiling at you. Joel watches your eyes flutter closed and you lose all strength in your body.

"Lovey, are you okay?" Joel holds up your weight in his arms, you shake your head to bring yourself back to reality. Your hands slide down his built arms and intertwine your hands in his. You stand on the balls of your feet to reach his lips. You melt in the taste of mint and coffee on his tongue.

"Til' death do us part," You whispered against his lips.

Husband and Wife. Just like that. When you got back in town, Joel surprised you again with a small party at Tommy and Maria's place with Ellie and Dina in tow. You were always awestruck when Joel would pull romantic gestures. Your heart soared even more when Ellie approached and hugged you and kissed you on the cheek.

"Congratulations, lovey." Ellie tried to sound happy, you could tell she meant it by her eyes screaming excitement even if she and Joel weren't on good terms.

"Thank you, Ellie." You squeezed her when you brought her hand in yours. Joel nodded and looked away not knowing if he should hug Ellie. Maybe it's okay because this a celebration of Joel and you tying the knot. Ellie drops your hand, stands in front of Joel, and quickly rushes in for a hug. Without thought, Joel wraps his arms around the girl and kisses the top of his head.

"Thanks, kiddo," Joel whispers to her. You move away from them, hoping they would have a moment to talk but that would be the last time they would ever talk.

You started to help Joel fix up the house, and that meant getting up just before sunrise and not getting back into town after sunset. Always travel there and back with Joel. Never by yourself.

"I'll be back a bit after noon, wait for me, lovey," Joel talks to you who was briefly awake to say bye to Joel. You groggily say bye and fall back asleep. He didn't know that you had a plan to take Ellie and Dina to see the progress going with the house.

When you woke up, it was a race to get out the door and meet Ellie and Dina before they got there. The sun was giving warmth to the earth, morning dew wetting your shoes when you walked through the overgrown grass. Chirping echoing from tree to tree, you loved how the air was crisped and filled up your lungs.

You stepped into the house and felt a sense of pride bloom in your chest. It was like the world never fell apart, and you and Joel bought a home to make your own. You walked into the kitchen turned the faucet on and saw actual water come through. You bit your lip and smiled at the thought of Joel being knowledgeable and how he still thinks like a contractor (his words).

Having a man who knows what he is doing brings you such security. You turned off the water and went to the back shed to gather the paint supplies to hopefully lure Ellie and Dina to work with you today. Painting was the thing to do in the home.

You hummed to yourself and heard a twig break from the woods. Your mind didn't set off an alarm, Joel always told you that this was safe. So that meant you were safe.

Right? He wouldn't let you be in a place that jeopardizes your safety. You quickly gathered the supplies and then went back into the house. Ellie and Dina were at the screen door talking about Jesse.

"Hi girls," You greeted them and opened the door. They quickly saw the paint buckets and rollers. Dina was more than happy to pick up a brush and start painting the living room. Ellie followed you around like a lost puppy when you poured the paint into the pan. You handed a roller and showed her how to properly paint like the way Joel taught you.

"He won't be here until later," You said casually to Ellie, the tension in her shoulders relax. You helped Ellie get into rhythm with her painting then you suggested putting on some music, no old country a request by Ellie. So you settled on some 50s and just listened to the jazz and classical mix together and created a dream state.

Later came sooner than expected, Joel slamming the screen door and stuttering to a close. You jumped and bumped into the record player. The music stopped and Joel's heavy breathing took over the silence. Joel looks at you and only at you, Dina grabs Ellie and they walk out the door quickly. No goodbyes. Just the thuds of their shoes.

Joel walks up to you and pushes you against the fresh eggshell paint. His breathing fanning your face, never seen him this angry since you first told him about the world you lived in before he picked his snow angel up from the ground 2 winters ago.

"What did I say this morning?" Joel asserts, you opened your mouth but he held up his hand.

"I said wait for me, lovey," Joel softens together, his tone, and his eyes and he stops grinding his teeth.

"I wanted to show the girls the house, and they helped us get a start on painting," You smile and him hoping to thaw his soft side more. Just so prettily, he nods and lays a kiss on your forehead.

"And you were late, it's the end of sunset," You smirked and nodded to the window, casting a deep orange through the windows, he shook his head and a breathy chuckle. You always had to be right. He was late because the patrol Tommy wanted to do, was a bit further out from the original trail.

"I'm sorry my love, what can I do to make up for it?" Joel leans his arm against the wet paint, you giggle and push him back from the wall. His hand grips your waist and pulls you into him. His hand-painted the clothes you had on.

"I think you owe me some Frank Sinatra and a dance," You were drunk in love with Joel, it was nice to be with someone who had experienced the world and who knew how to be romantic even if you had brought it out of him.

'Over and over, I keep going over the world we knew'

Joel pulls you in close, his one arm around your waist, and the other one with your hand in his. Swaying to the beat and when the violins harp and the trumpets blare he would spin you around each time, so effortlessly, feeling his body against yours. The broadness of his frame makes you feel small and so safe. You pressed into him and kissed his jawline while he kept you both swaying

'And the sun and the moon seemed to be ours'

You opened your eyes and could see the moon hovering in the sky and the sun was finally giving a wink before leaving the sky. It felt more right to be together in the moonlight. Joel was sweet talking to you in your ear, making you giggle and smile so much your cheeks started to strain. Joel spins you one last time and dips you back to plant a tender kiss on your lips.

You pull on the collar of his flannel and guide him to the ground. He hovers over you and cradles the back of your head in his hand. Joel tasting your skin, taking in your scent like this was the last time.

It would be the last time. The last time he would make love to his love. His wife. Joel thought if you got to the home by yourself then you can do it again. You did do it again, but a stray infected had found its way into the property.

You woke up early and made the plan to have Joel meet you there to work on the fencing while you stayed inside working on decorating with everything from Joel's home in Jackson. You didn't think to bring a gun with you since Joel said there hasn't been infected around in months.

You were trenching through the tall grass trying to make it to the house with snarling falling you. It was like you were running in slow motion through the dense prairie grass. Your mind racing with your feet and tripping, falling down and the infected following your motions.

Screams scaring the birds away from the trees, and squawking almost intimating your pained cries. You grab the knife stab the infected in the jugular and spray blood across your face. The limped fungus falls in the grass next to you.

The pain runs through your body, there was the mark of death with tendrils of Cordyceps etching over your veins. The birds echo again your cries, and you see a murder of crows flying away with your screams mimicked in their caws. You crawl to the steps of the porch and drag the pocket knife across your throat. You sputter out blood and it flows out your mouth like molasses and paints the white sundress you know that Joel loves.

The crows fly over the town, still cawing your screams. Ellie looks up and to see them flying away from the direction of the farmhouse. Her feet were picking up and going to find Joel, he was riding back into town. She was rambling about how you might be in trouble and tears running down her face. Joel was confused trying to catch what was flying out her mouth.

Ellie gets on her horse and Joel follows behind her. His heart sinks to his stomach, and his heart beats sweat running down his neck. The run-down grass leads right up to the scene. Joel hops off the horse before it stops. He is scrambling for balance.

Ellie gathers the horses and ties them to the tree, comes to see Joel on his achy knees holding you in his arms. Your skin is drained of color and cold to the touch. Eyes glazed over with a light film then dead infected a few feet away. The sun comes out from the cover of the clouds and shines right down you.

Ellie felt her blood run cold and dropped next to Joel, watching him put pressure on your neck like it would make you comeback. Her eyes danced across your body and saw the bite mark on your left arm. She doesn't say anything but sit in the hot sun. Joel rocks back and forth crying into your hair, smelling the strawberry soap you had used the night before.

'save who you can save'

Joel spent that night with your body prepared for burial. He stares at the table dressed in flowers surrounding your body, your hair brushed and curled with baby's breath pinned throughout your locks. You saw your body from the living room across from the dining room. Candles burning giving a romantic glow. Joel sits and pours another whiskey. If your dead heart could break again it would've when you watched the tears fall from his eyes.

You wander next to him, causing the candles to blow out and a cold breeze by him. The blue moonlight shines on your body, and he sits up straight and holds his breath for a second and you quickly light the candles again. You don't want to spook him but to show how you're here and not really gone. Joel sobs out again and rests his head on your cold and stiffened arm.

You gently a lay kiss on the top of his head, he shakes off the touch and buries his head into the flowers and just thinking about what he should've done. He should've gone with you, he should've built the damn fencing before even starting to work on the home. But he was too excited to start a life with you. Even have a baby with you.

Joel buried you under the tree and planted flowers around it to mark your grave delicately. He wouldn't dare enter the bedroom, the bed was made up and he could feel your presence when he would open the door and just stare at the smallest things. The lotion bottle that you bought from Cadence in Jackson, rose hip oil and shea butter always making you smell and feel heavenly. He swears it lingers in the air, almost suffocating his lungs.

Joel slams the door shut every time you saunter to him, taking how his eyes were always bloodshot, his beard was getting unkept which was not like him at all, his hair more grey than before. You want to make yourself known but he isn't ready yet.

You didn't want to overwhelm him and put him in an early grave. You watch him every day, not leave the house, barely eating, talking to himself about you then start speaking out loud about Ellie not knowing what to do with her. You continued to watch him suffer until you worked up the energy to open a book of poems that you had cherished when Joel gifted to you.

The book is laid open perfectly on the dining table, Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe. Joel woke that morning and thought he opened the book when he was in a drunken haze the night before. He sits down at the table with a glass of his morning whiskey (what he calls it).

'But our love it was stronger by far than the love'

The line was underlined in pencil which laid next to the book and your signature heart that you always added to your notes. That morning Joel poured out the whiskey bottle and settled for water.

You felt more energy as Joel began to accept your death. You kept up with the poems, Joel never denounced the dead lingering on the earth. He wanted you to be there physically and hold him while he would bury his face in the crook of your neck, tasting the shea butter on his lips when he would lay a sweet kiss right below your ear always earning a sigh from you and smile on your face.

Joel finally walks into the bedroom and sits on your side of the bed, swearing it was warm like you had been lying there waiting for him to come home. You were there, caressing his thigh like how you always done. He loved it, he basked in your phantom touch.

Joel flutters his eyes shut and moans out, he unzips his jeans and pulls down his underwear, and his hard cock springs out, resting heavily on his stomach. You reach and wrap your hand around him, stroking lightly Joel falls on the bed, letting memories of you and him in bed together.

He is falling into a dream state when you appear in front of him straddling your lap. You smile and just continue pleasuring him. Joel whimpers thinking his imagination is running wild. Having you in front of him, you fist his cock and feeling the warmth of his skin in your hand once again.

"Always been so good, lovey," Joel moans, gripping the comforter in his fists, sweat beading at his forehead and an ache in his stomach blossoming to his balls, pulling tight. Your hand moving up and down squeezing him a bit hard when he releases his seed, coating your hand and his lower stomach.

You bring your hand to your mouth, feeling how warm his cum is and the musk and salt hitting your tongue. You moan out, Joel breathes heavily and reaches out to touch your hand but you disappear in front of his eyes. Sleep taking over his eyes and shuts out the bright moonlight.

Joel sat with poems and read the new poem of the day well night now since Joel slept through the daylight, just absolutely heartbreaking.

'Remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?'- Love, Pablo Neruda.

The book slams shut and is thrown at the wall, knocking off your favorite painting of horses running in the scene. The candles blow out and the record player starts playing Frank Sinatra. You were trying your best to calm him down. You thought you were helping him to get over your death. Joel stands up, walks over to the record player, and moves tonearm off the record, but you quickly put it back on. The record scratches and continues the song.

"Lovey, it's so sweet but I can't," Joel speaks out in the open, you wanted to show yourself but again he isn't ready.

But when will he ever be ready? When he's dead?

You bowed your head and just watched him leave the house. This is the first time in months, he's been off the grid from everyone since the day of your burial. He thought he could wander back to the old farmhouse and die there too. Every day hoping death will come. He lost you and lost Ellie. Abandonment took over that night.

Joel would spend the rest of his days back in Jackson. Keeping an eye on Ellie until his dying breath. The last sight he would see with Ellie with blood flowing through her nose and her pleas falling on deaf ears.

When the world goes dark and cold, the fade-in is just so warm and bright. He is back at the farmhouse, you on the porch swing with the book in your lap wearing the white sundress he had you buried in. He walks through the prairie grass with the sage green button-up and clean pair of dark wash jeans. You shut the book and could see that he was in the best health ever.

"Joel!" You scream out maybe this isn't real and this is all a bad dream. This is life and you two have a happy ending.

"I'm here lovey," Joel wasn't crying, he was perfect. Like God just stitched him up in a few places. He sees you. He's here with you...finally. You run to him and he picks you up without the grunt he always makes. Heaven is a place on earth. With Joel and the farmhouse.

Can the dead mourn the dead?

You smile and bask in his touch and feeling him in this other side of life. The little girl that was in the house before still peeks around the corner to watch you and Joel find each other once again.

"Joel, I'm sorry," You started to cry. You have never cried before. The wet tears stream down from your cheeks to your neck, Joel brushes his finger through your hair, looking how beautiful you looked, just a bit more perfect.

"I'm home forever," He smiles and seals the words with a kiss. Death do us part isn't true when he's back with you in the ground. Joel looks at the house and sees the young girl, and his eyes grow wide when he sees that it was his first love, Sarah waiting for him to notice her.

You smile a nod to him, the young girl introduced herself to you when you first showed up the house that first night after your death.

Joel bends down to her height and brings her to his arms, smelling her scent again. That scent he would've moved mountains before. Familiarity comforting him even after death.

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

48 notes · View notes

woodsfae · 2 months

Text

B5 s03e12 Sic Transit Vir table of contents - previous chapter

A two month break isn't too bad compared to my seven month break last year, right? hah

Ivanova seems to be having a naked-at-work dream?? Lol, yes it was. I am actually amused that even in her dream the staff had the nerve to act like anything was out of the ordinary.

Vir checking out his future throne! Get it.

Was Vir also having a dream? Interesting way to open an episode, if so.

Londo having a totally normal reaction to having a bug buzzing around your apartment. Maybe going after a bug with a sword is actually good enrichment for him? I'm impressed that he got it.

"Do you know that you are smaller than I thought you were?"

LOL

Ah, Londo's second-greatest weakness, a beautiful Centauri woman. (his first greatest weakness is someone offering to commit war crimes to elevate his political standing.)

Awww, Sheridan and Delenn are so cute nowadays I can hardly stand it. Just…oozing adorableness at each other at all times.

VIR. You are an ambassador in your own right. Don't be so deferent to Londo!!! You are peers!!

Who tf arranged this marriage?? I hope Lyndisty is nice if they do get married. Ah, answered immediately. One of Vir's uncles, and Lyndisty's mother.

She seems nice. I tentatively like her. And it seems that Vir does, too!

"If you give me a chance, I promise you: when we cross beneath the swords and boughs…it will be for love."

I hope so!! I don't like it when bad things happen to Vir. He takes it like a champ but it's like watching someone kick a puppy.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" "Oh, deliriously! But I always associated delirium with fever. So…there you are."

Wow! I feel like that was definitely his first kiss.

"If kisses could kill, that one would have flattened several small towns."

Lyndisty is coming on SO strong it worries me that she's going to be nefarious. But Vir probably would need any partner to be much more….bold than he is.

Sheridan made Delenn a Minbari dish!

Not well it seems. Their courtship COULD be so rocky, but both of them are so determined to be genial it's actually so smooth!

Well Sheridan did say that nothing stays calm on B5 forever. What instigated this attack, though?! And Zack Allen, if you wanted the attacker to survive, maybe don't shoot them in the head??

Personal grudge against Vir seems…unlikely. And makes me way more suspicious of Lyndisty.

As horrified as Ivanova is to be asked what ladies like in bed, she's definitely a better option to ask than Londo, Vir is right.

Well now idk what Vir is talking about and also don't want to know! Keep that cursed Centauri sexcapades knowledge away from me please.

Delenn is wildly good at speaking indirectly but completely clearly. Wow! If she flirted with me like that I would simply perish.

All two thousand Narns that Vir got off Narn are dead! That's a hell of a motivation for a revenge killing. And the immediate cut to Lyndisty, again, makes me very suspicious of her.

FUCK YOU LONDO. ugh. gross fucker.

Ahhh, Vir faked killing them. Good for him! But maybe he faked their deaths too well, since there's assassins after him now. Vir has been doing so much good work, wow!!

FUCK YOU LONDO. why does he always have to be such a nasty, power-climbing, fascist dick?

"They're Narns, Captain, they don't need a reason for murder." goddamn shut up.

Lyndisty is a "nice" racist. It isn't their fault they're an inferior species, but their inferiority is justification to genocide them!

oh god.

not such a "nice" racist after all, though none of them are, really.

Wow B5 always goes hard. this is dark as fuck. Lyndisty helped murder entire Narnuan villages to "curb aggression," She might be one of the most gleefully murderous characters that's appeared on the show so far. Perhaps second only to that panacea episode with the war criminal.

Here's the puppy-kicking. Stop, Londo. Fuck.

Someone else to be sad for Vir about! No more vacation on Minbar, and emotionally attached to genocidal fascist who has personally murdered hundreds of Narns with her bare hands. Yikes.

And we never found out what happened to the Narn that Lyndisty captured! Hopefully he got free and then snuck into her shuttle back to Narn so Vir can be a widower. He'd get over it.

time for some arthuriana

#babylon 5 #woodsfae b5 #vir cotto

15 notes · View notes

kiankiwi · 1 year

Text

A Stomach Bug for the History Books (A bit gross):

Summary: You have a really bad stomach bug while Elvis has to play a show. You end up getting worse halfway through so Elvis storms off, fights with the Colonel to take care of you because that's what he does.

***

"Daddy.... don't go." You're currently laying on a uncomfortable couch in the green room of the International hotel, grasping Elvis's hand for dear life as you try to fight off the nausea rolling around in your gut. Elvis had tried to call and cancel, he really did saying that you didn't feel well. That was an understatement; you were miserable. And Elvis hoped that the Colonel could see the pain all over your face. Elvis crouched down by your face and cupped your cheek in his hand, noticing how hot you were getting. "I'm sorry baby, I know you don't feel good. But daddy has to, my love. You got Jerry here to watch over ya though. You tell him anything you need and he'll get it for ya."

You sit up then and Elvis internally jumps, thinking you're just about to projectile vomit all over him but instead you snivel and open your arms for one of Elvis's signature bear hugs that you love so much. "Alright baby girl, try to sleep, daddy loves you so-oo-oo-oo much." He drags out the so as long as he can, procrastinating going on stage as much as possible. Elvis lingers at the door and he watches as you snuggle down into your blankets and dutifully close your eyes, trying so hard not to feel how yucky you're feeling.

You made it almost halfway through the show before you got even worse, your low fever had spiked so you were sweating feeling like a fireball was traveling all over your little body and you were hovering over the trashcan, adjusting uncomfortably every few minutes, waiting for the inevitable as Jerry rubbed your back telling you daddy would be there soon but that just made you cry even more.

"I want daddy!" You scream right before you finally gag enough to start vomiting. "I know, sweetheart. Daddy's coming I promise." Jerry eyes Lamar, silently asking if Elvis has been notified because they can't hold off not telling him for much longer. Even if the Colonel says so, if Elvis finds out it'll be hell to pay. Lamar just silently nods, yes the boss knows. Thank god.

Back at the curtain to the side stage, Charlie waves his arms frantically trying to get the King's attention. Elvis, already having a hint of an idea what this is about quickly walks over still singing all the while till the backtrack kicks in and the band makes up some riffs to satisfy the audience while he's needed.

"Is she okay? What's up?" Elvis asks, his heart picking up speed just thinking about how sick you already were. "She's gotten worse. She has a high fever and she's puking her guts up. Jerry's with her but she needs you. Needs her daddy." Elvis nods. "Talk to the Colonel." Charlie goes to talk to the colonel to try and cancel the rest of the show and figure out what to tell the audience while Elvis sprints toward the greenroom that you had laid down in but the Colonel beats him to it, blocking the door.

"No, no, no, you boy are getting back on that stage tonight! You need to finish this show, these nice people paid so much money, you owe them a good time, you hear me?!" Elvis bumped the old man with his chest, sending him against the door, gripping the collar of his shirt in his fist as he got right in his face. "You listen to me. Tonight I'm not money bags. Tonight I am a caregiver and my baby is sick." Just as Elvis said that, him and the Colonel could hear you getting violently sick on the other side of the door.

"You hear that? She's sick and she needs me so I don't care what you gotta do. I don't care how much money we're out, but I refuse to go out on that stage anymore tonight you son of a bitch now I suggest you get the fuck out of my way." The colonel eyed his client icily. "You're making a mistake talking to me like that, boy." Elvis stared at the ceiling, trying to reign in his anger because the last thing you need is to hear him yelling so close yet so far from you. "You son of a bitch, you know I don't need you. I don't want you and I don't need you. She needs me so unless you want me to throw you on your ass, I suggest you Get. Out. Of. My. Way." The Colonel smirked like the bastard he is and slowly stepped aside.

Elvis barged into the room to see Jerry barely holding things together. You had ceased vomiting for a minute and you were curled up in Jerry's lap sobbing and screaming for your daddy. "I want my daddy! Where's daddy!" Elvis slowly walked up to you so as not to startle you even more. "Daddy's right here baby, I'm right here. Let's go home huh? Let's get your icky butt home? You nodded, basically collapsing into his arms as soon as you see him.

"Please don't puke on me," You hear Elvis whisper as he looks around the room, trying not to move too fast, so as not to jostle you and cause you to get too dizzy. "Hey, Jer, can you grab her bag please?" He nods. "Let's go home, bug." Jerry murmurs to you as the three of you run to the the car that'll bring you home.

"Alright sweet girl. Just tap me if you feel icky again okay?" Elvis says as he holds you tighter against his chest as you clenched your eyes shut against his shoulder as he took you upstairs to your en-suite bathroom, stripping your sweat soaked clothes off and setting your tiny aching body on the closed toilet seat as he started the water for a bath. After a particularly bad cramp, you nearly doubled over in your spot, whimpering, "Daddy." Panicking, Elvis nearly launched himself at you, cupping his hand under your chin thinking you were going to vomit. You just groaned shaking your head no, you just wanted your daddy's comfort. And you wanted to regulate your damn temperature again.

"Oh sweets I'm so sorry. We'll get you some medicine for your tummy soon okay? But first we need to cool your fever down." Elvis turned off the faucet and gently put you in the tub, where you screeched at the coolness of the water. "I know, I know. Just a few minutes until you can get out though okay."

The intense stomach cramp returned and this time you lost control of it, causing you to scream and starting to sob again. "What? What baby? What is it?" Elvis asked, concern written all of his face because there was no reason you should be screaming. He didn't put two and two together until he noticed the water gets murky beneath you. "Oh sweetie," He cooed, lifting you up and draining the tub with his other hand. "It's okay, it can be fixed. Your tummy really doesn't feel good does it?" You pressed your face into Elvis shoulder, seeking comfort for your embarrassment. "It's okay baby, I promise, see all better." Elvis cleaned out the bottom of the tub and quickly finished washing you off, figuring you'd feel better once you were in bed with E.

He quickly chooses a loose set of pajamas, easy to take off in case you get sick again or too hot during the night and dresses you in it before returning to the bathroom to get you some medicine to help your very upset stomach. You start fussing at it even though you don't want to puke anymore.

"Please baby? If you take this, it'll help you feel so much better, hm? It'll only taste icky for a second. C'mon baby please." You shook your head and sealed your lips shut. "Mm-mm." Elvis sighed. "Okay, how about this, you take the medicine and I'll take you to get a new stuffy and a new movie once you're all better, huh?" You smiled and opened your mouth as wide as you could, liking the compromise. Elvis smiled. "Good girl!" After he gave you a glass of water to wash the taste out of your mouth, he gave you a big high five. "Proud of you little." You just tiredly placed your head on his shoulder. "Oh baby... let's go get you to bed, hmm?" You couldn't object to that.

You sat in Elvis's big bed as you watched him prepare for a night full of tears and puke. He lined the floor of your side of the bed with old towels, put a pasta pot on the nightstand table for you to grab and had an extra pile of bedding on two of the chairs in the massive master bedroom. Elvis sat next to you and took an extra bowl in his lap to teach you how to aim your puke into the bowl. "Okay ready, if you feel like you're gonna puke you lean over and you go blugh, nope don't tilt, keep it steady go bluehg," You giggled, copying the funny noise he made. "I go bleugh! " "Don't move it baby, keep it right in your lap, go bleugh," He smiled once you finally copied him but didn't tilt the bowl so it would spill all over you.

"Good job sweet girl. Good girl." Elvis laid down, curled around you. "How does your tummy feel now, sweet girl?" You took a minute feeling it out. "Icky but not bluegh icky." Elvis and you chuckled at the puke noise and he blew a raspberry into your nap, happy that he could hear your giggle again.

"Okay sickie, promise to wake me if you need me?" You nod. "I love you daddy." You said as you drifted off to sleep, your body exhausted from fighting off this sickness.

"I love you too sweets."

***

Wooooooo!! I think this one was super good! I hope you enjoyed! <3 see you soon @mooodyblue @plasticfantasticl0ver @ellie-24

#kiwiwrites #kiwiswriting #sickfics #little!e #littlespaceelvis #littleelvispresley #cg!elvis

79 notes · View notes

madd-devil · 1 year

Note

Hi!! So I've seen you account recently and I really would like you to write Felix x reader when the Reader is always so guffy and childish. So they are sick like they have very bad fever, almost faint and they are weary weak and Felix take care of them and sing them lullaby them by singing and rocking them please.

Hello! I hope you will like what I wrote! 🤗

Lullaby

Summary: A lost girl gets sick and goes into Felix's care

There was a problem with her, he was certain of it.

Girls who came to the island were not that joyous and happy to be there, unlike some of the lost boys. But there was one girl, Felix noticed, that seemed to be always in a cheerful and lunatic mood. If anything, the girl spoke in riddles sometimes which annoyed him a lot. He wished that Pan would kick her out but the leader of the lost boys found her amusing and often participated in her riddles and jokes. And don’t let him start on her puns. They were bad. But, in a way, she grew to like him. He had been forced to spend time with her and when he looked things her way… well, life was not that bad and horrendous.

The problem he thought about was just after they went back from fishing: she accidentally had fallen into the lagoon and was shivering cold as she walked back to camp. He had grown worried when she didn’t come out of her tent the next day, and asked one of the girls, Sadie, to go check on her. He was even more concerned when Sadie came back and told him she looked very faint and not very well. No one had been sick on Neverland for a very long time and it didn’t help Pan left to attend some business elsewhere. The responsibility fell into his hands to take care of her. He acted like he would have liked someone else to do it, but deep down, he was quite scared that she got ill. How could this have happened? Was she going to be okay?

Since none of them had been sick in a very long time, Felix had appointed himself as the guardian of the sick girl. For once, he will be able to slow down a bit, she wasn’t needy and the others were so afraid of catching a cold from him, so they avoided him, which was the greatest thing that ever happened to the second in command. It was just easy, he could get away without doing much of his own chores.

But as the days went by, she showed no sign of gaining her strength back. The lack of sleep she experienced was also very strange and concerning. Felix couldn’t help but worry if her state was going to get better. It was not in his nature to get so anxious about that someone, but… she was a different case. He found himself missing her strange humor. He went as far as asking Tinkerbell, the fairy without wings, a remedy for her and got quite irked by her teasing.

“You wouldn’t go that far for someone, not even Pan. What’s so special about that one?” She had mocked as she handed him some kind of tea. “It should make her better in some days, make sure she drinks it twice a day.”

He kept thinking about what she said though. It was true he never considered the others lost ones because he simply didn’t care. She was different for a reason, he was getting soft on her because she was very sick. Yeah, that was the reason. He followed the instructions to make her the tea and brought it to her after everyone had gone to sleep. Even if he cared, he didn’t want the others to know it. They would immediately turn that affection of his against him, going as far as informing Pan as soon as their leader will come back.

Penetrating into the tent, he tried to stay strong and not to share some words with the sick girl. It was very difficult: (Y/N) really didn’t look well. She laid on her cot, snuggling some fur blankets and clearly looked in pain. She perked up when she heard him approaching with the steamy cup. He handed it quickly to her.

“Drink.”

Her shaking hands took the cup from him and he was surprised when she drank all of it fastly: it didn’t smell the greatest but perhaps she trusted him and his remedy? That was all so strange. He couldn’t help but put his hand on her forehead, she was still going through a fever. Felix hoped Pan would be back any day now: he couldn’t stand taking care of her… Or rather, he couldn’t stand her being in constant pain and not being able to help.

Pulling a stool that was in the corner of her tent, he sat down and just waited for any improvement from her health. She was trying to sleep but wasn’t: she moved like a little worm in her bed. Felix released a sigh, indicating his light frustration from not being able to help.

“You can leave if you want.” Her soft voice reached his ears and he hummed at that, his eyes focusing on her tired face. “I wouldn’t want you to be sick because of me.”

“I would have been ill for a long time by now. And you don’t get to order me around.” It was easy to hide everything behind his cold face. But it was hard to pretend he didn’t care and never felt emotions. He liked his hard shell. “You are cute but not that cute.” He muttered under his breath without thinking.

“So you think I am cute?” She spoke with a smile and he blushed. She had heard him. He needed to get the upper hand again.

“Shut up and sleep.” He hissed and attempted to not be bothered by what she told him.

“I can’t. Sing me something.” She mumbled as she snuggled her covers once again.

He snorted at her comment. What did she think he was? A troubadour? A opera singer? He was none of those. This was such a ridiculous idea, so why was Felix even trying to find something to sing to her?! This was madness. He closed his eyes and sighed once again, wondering if he should leave or not. But he wanted to stay with her. He didn’t think she would be that annoying though.

“I don’t know songs.”

“A lullaby then? Anything to soothe me to sleep?”

He knew one, in his own native language. He felt shy suddenly and wondered if she was going to judge him for what he was about to do. The second in command felt also some kind of shame: what if the lost ones hear him? He knew the girls wouldn’t make a fuss about it but the boys? He would be dead, laughed and mocked at. But (Y/N) was sick and in pain, and he wanted to do something good and kind once in his life.

“I may… know one. But you wouldn’t understand it.” He confessed, fiddling with his fingers to soothe his own anxiety.

“I don’t care. I just want something else to listen to other than the snorting and nature.” She complained, her back facing him. At least she was not looking at him.

“Erm okay.”

It was embarrassing, very embarrassing. He wanted to dig a hole and lay there. Felix gathered his thoughts, trying to find how the lullaby sounded. It felt like someone was singing it to him, a woman’s voice. His mother perhaps? It was not the time to think about the past, but luckily the lyrics went back to him.

“À la claire fontaine

M'en allant promener

J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle

Que je m'y suis baignée

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime jamais je ne t'oublierai

Sous les feuilles d'un chêne

Je me suis fait sécher

Sur la plus haute branche

Un rossignol chantait

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime jamais je ne t'oublierai

Chante, rossignol, chante

Toi qui as le cœur gai

Tu as le cœur à rire

Moi, je l'ai à pleurer

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime jamais je ne t'oublierai”

His voice was gruff and wobbly as he sang the lullaby. It was hard to speak his native language with someone who couldn’t understand him and it had been a while since he had spoken it. His accent was non-existent, so that was good, he thought. He hoped she was fast asleep, he couldn’t see it. (Y/N) had made no comments so he stopped mid-song, his voice hoarse and dry. Felix was at least relieved she was asleep, singing had been a nightmare, he even wondered why it was not raining yet.

Standing close to her form, he smiled when he realized she was indeed asleep. Now, he was free to go and guard the camp. As he left the tent, he considered singing to her a little more. Maybe even make a place for her in his cold and steel heart.

#ouat #ouat felix #ouat felix x reader #ouat peter pan #ouat neverland imagine #once upon a time felix #imagine felix ouat #ouat felix imagine

86 notes · View notes

waterfallofspace · 5 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you had any more V/NC snz or h/c ideas/thoughts? 👀

One of my favorite scenarios for them is that I feel like they’re set up really well for coming down with a cold in the rain/snow! It was. Definitely on my mind when they spent so long in the snow in part 2 lol. Very very soft for the image of Van or N/oe getting sick in cold weather and the other giving them their jacket. Vampire constitution is also an interesting area—N/oe teasing a sick V about human frailty or Van/itas complaining to a sick N/oe that he’s supposed to be stronger. I feel like these two clowns would end up getting each other sick and then one of the girls would have to step in and take care of them both lmao.

Vampire scenarios also work really well here like if one of the vampires is drinking blood from one of the others, but they’re wearing a new perfume/cologne that irritates the vampire’s nose. Perfumes are often concentrated on the neck and/or wrist, which are exactly the places we’ve seen vampires feed from most often in this anime… the proximity could make their reaction even worse, maybe causing them to sneeze helplessly against the other’s neck/wrist?

Van/itas begrudgingly giving a sick N/oe some of his blood (not straight from the vein of course, from a separate container) to help him recover faster so they can get on with their mission and certainly not because he cares about him in the slightest or anything like that.

That scene (or a similar one) where Do/mi binds V, but he needs to sneeze from whatever cause and it gets stuck. She might decide to have a little more fun playing with him since she has the chance,,, maybe even using a feather from a masquerade mask/costume or a quill?

Hello! So I uh... I saw this when it first came in, and I intended to answer fast but... honestly just kept coming back and reading it~ You have so many good ideas here!~ (also been on a little 'not motivated' kick, so been a lot less active~)

In order to not flood the feed, I'll stick my answers under a cut!~ But I'll say here, genuinely... that last one... I'm a little dizzy from now much I adore that >///< now get ready for some rambling! (V/anitas No C/arte Spoilers Under Cut!!)

ALRIGHT~ Now that the readmore's out of the way, let's get into this.

Firstly, the!! snow!!! I'm not a super heavy whump/general sickness person but... fevered Vanitas...? A little out of breath~ I so completely agree that if one goes down, so does the other. Noe catches something and Vanitas quarantines him to a hotel room. Vanitas only enters the room once. Vanitas is sick as a dog the next day <3 (he complains the ENTIRE time, but... hey... weirdly enough, now that he's sick... seems the 'stay AWAY from me' has faded into a light 'mmmmpf. fine.' weird how that works~)

And the girls taking care of themmmm! Even if both aren't sick, I can totally see one calling the 'other's girl' like "come get this IDIOT to take his STUPID medicine!!" (or in Noe's case, "Hey... so I don't think he's gonna let me give him the- I said give me a mINUTE pleAse! The medicine... he uh- tried to bite me last time I tried-")

Or, alternatively, the girls trying to watch over their sick boys, just to realize the only way to actually get anything done without constant nagging, complaining, and moping, is to let the idiots be together. Funny, given how adamant they were just the other day that they 'never wanted to be in the same room again'. And yet, the only time they'll sleep is when the other's safely in the same room.

And then the perfume... lord knows I've thought about that- I'm definitely more of a Vanitas girlie but uh... Noe could use a little suffering too <3 And then the girls?? ugh- just so many possibilities. And, selfishly because, ~Vanitas Girlie~ the idea of him mocking Noe mercilessly for having a fit from the person's perfume, just to succumb to a few stifles of his own from mere proximity. And, ofc, Noe would never find humour in that. (aka: he laughed, and Vanitas punched him~)

And uh... that last one... yeah nothing more to be said than I still in fact lose my actual genuine mind any time I think about it~ Vanitas, always in control, smug, arrogant, being knocked down a peg... and by Domi...? Ahahaha~ Let's just say yes <3

As a gift for making it this far, have a Vanitas~ (I did say this would be long-)

Now onto some of my own hcs or thoughts~ Pulling out the google doc again hehe~ let's do this bullet point style, then throw a few scenarios I had considered on at the end~

Vanitas:

★ Tells Noe (or most anyone) to shut up if he gets blessed

★ Regardless, will pout if he doesn't get blessed (including if he just told them to stop)

★ Enjoys most blessings, despite pretending he doesn't, but French ones will always make him blush a little~ (Noe mostly goes for a classic English, Domi figures out first that the French gets Vanitas, she debates telling Noe for about 3 days)

★ Has allergies <3 Hates, and I do mean hates that he has allergies

★ Wants to fit in with the rich crowd, but he's very sensitive to their strong perfumes and colognes, sometimes feels like he's allergic to nobility itself

★ Usually prepared, whether that's medication, avoiding settings, or setting his will in place to get through without a single symptom presenting itself

★ Despite all this, he almost never has tissues on him. Doesn't believe in handkerchiefs for anything but watering eyes or dabbing at blood, and even if he does use them, they're a 'one-and-done' deal in his mind

★ Allergic to certain types of flowers, but put him in a setting with enough of them and you'll get a reaction (aka: Waterfall wishes that scene had an allergic twist, and you know what? in my mind it does <3)

★ Not actually that prone to sickness, but when he goes down he goes down hard (and Noe will always catch it too, despite how careful they both try to be)

★ Will somehow play up every single symptom for attention, and also feign ignorance when presented with any genuine concern. A mixture of "I'b dyigggg-" and "I'b fide, shud ub." At the same time. And yes, this does get unbelievably irritating, and honestly... that's kinda the point </3

★ Cannot stand having a fever around other people, which is part of the reason he hates getting sick so often. He's quite prone to them~

Noe:

☆ Compulsive blesser, and this applies to himself as well. The only time he might miss a blessing is if he's offering an 'excuse me' instead

☆ Yes, he even blesses in the midst of battle, much to Vanitas's utter infuriation (and being around him so much, Vanitas has slipped up a few times and offered his own blessing. Noe adores this, Vanitas despises it~)

☆ Doesn't have an actual allergies (which pisses Vanitas off) but does have a few vampire-specific sensitives, as well as... I kinda love the idea of like- if he's reading a memory where someone felt certain... sensations... he feels them too?~

☆ While he doesn't have allergies, he does get sick quite often. Which Vanitas finds utterly insufferable, similiar to anything this poor man does <3 because you're a VaMpIre?!?! How are you this WEAk???

☆ Noe will always get sick if Vanitas does, but the opposite doesn't apply. While it's more than likely Vanitas will catch it too, there have been a few cases he doesn't. Noe however? Poor lad has not evaded a single illness one of his friends has befallen

☆ While he's not allergic, his nose is still sensitive, especially to touch. Feathers, flowers, even just a finger, all will work wonders when gently brushed against his delicate bridge or flaring nostrils~

☆ He's fairly similar to Vanitas in the illness department, at least in of that he will complain, a bit of a whining mess, but will still insist on coming along to every adventure

☆ Where he differes is that he won't deny any of the symptoms, and will openly admit how unwell he feels, just refuses that to be a valid reason not to join

☆ He's quite clingy when feeling unwell, and was genuinely surprised to find how much attention Vanitas will, albeit begrudengly, give him

☆ Domi has a specific gesture she does when he feels unwell, running her hands along his hair, down this cheeks, along his neck, and up the bridge of his nose. She learned it from Louis. Vanitas sees her doing it one night, and notices the way neither of them can quite seem to meet the other's eye. He never says a word, but the next time Noe's down with a vicious fever, he's surprised to feel the same familiar touch, despite Domi being far away on business. They never speak of it

☆ Canonically he has trouble sleeping if he isn't holding onto something, so... ofc this means that he's prone to waking up with a fit into his pillow, or whatever unfortunate victim he's currently clinging onto when sick~

A Few Scenarios:

✦ The flower scene, but Vanitas is a bit more allergic than he'd like to admit. Who will be the first to notice? Or, will he be be able to hide it at all? There's more important things to focus on, for all of them, and yet... maybe this is the perfect change to take care of something they can fix~

✦ The Day Noe Found Out About Vanitas's Perfume Allergy: aka, they attend a fancy party, but Noe notices Vanitas often sneaking off. More than that, he's acting weird. Quieter than usual. Noe confronts him, and Vanitas brushes it off, but... are- are his shoulders shaking? Is he... crying..?? Nope, turns out he's sneezing, these... little squeaks that seem to be doing nothing to satiate the ever-growing tickle. Jeez, even Noe's eyes are watering at this point. Time for a little intervention

✦ Noe gets sick for the first time, and Vanitas learns that his bodyguard may need a little guarding of his own. (Cue some chaos, some caretaking, and some comfort. Turns out Vanitas isn't as cold as he may come acrross, at least, not when he's certain Noe won't remember it in the morning~)

✦ Every. Single. Time. Noe. Sneeze. It. Scares. Vanitas. And you know what? Maybe it's time for a little payback. (aka: Vanitas tries to induce Noe, figuring if he has to be freaked out, and embarrassed, well... he should get to have some fun too. Backfires splendidly, turns out even when he's the cause, the volume is still enough to make Vanitas jump. Cue some playfully annoyed banter~)

Aaaaand if you made it to the end of this, well... sorry for the essay, but I hope this was worth the wait!! And that you can enjoy at least some of it~ I've not been in the writing mindset lately, but I do hope to get around to these boys someday, they just... they need some sneeziness, they just do <3

#waterfallasks #waterfall snzarios #waterfall snzcanons #waterfallrambles #by god i put so MANY words in this ahahaha #I'm?? so sorry?? ackhgak~#but hopefully it's welcome!! god i need to rewatch this show now ahaha~

18 notes · View notes

dowagersqueen · 1 year

Text

this obsession people have, including alicent fans, of needing to see her live and die a dormat for rhaenyra is something i have trouble understanding.

it’s probably because they think it’s what she deserves for “what she did” or maybe because it’s never about what would be the best for her.

maybe people who think like this don’t see how with rhaenyra, the narrative it’s always that alicent should follow rhaenyra no matter what, forgo her principles and dignity, forgo her self respect, her love for her children and her children’s lives, everything.. for rhaenyra.

why do people want her to be forever in the service of people who didn’t actually genuinely care for her?

let me say this once: rhaenyra was not a good friend to alicent. otto was not a good father to alicent. viserys was not a good husband or king or adult to alicent.

these are all people who have hurt her deeply and caused her trauma, regardless of her affection for them. and this is just season one. alicent’s two sons will die in battle, her daughter will commit suicide, her grandchild will lose his head, her other grandchild will be torn apart. her son is poisoned and she dies not knowing if her last living grandchild is alive or not. she goes insane with grief for them.

to have this woman go through so much pain and to see her invest everything she has into her own children, to see her finally stand up for herself and her children, just for her to go back to square one, like a woman kicked back in her place?

because there is one thing for the narrative to punish alicent for standing by what she believes is her interest (losing everyone and dying of fever and a broken heart) and another to do her the disservice of bringing her back in her initial place and telling her “this was where you belonged the whole time, loving and bowing your head to the poeple who hurt you” then maybe the audience, the writers, the storytellers... maybe they really do care about only one type of woman.

it’s not enough for alicent to suffer all these brutal losses, she has to still love these people who hurt her so terribly.

also, please please stop with the “yes but aegon hurt her too”

her son, her sons in fact, and her daughter, people she’s shown to love very much, that she has spent her most lonely hours with and with whom she has actually grown will never compare to a friendship she had when she was 15. a friendship that soured at 15 and then slightly, here and there, recovered a bit. slightly.

not to mention the show does a very poor job of even portraying that as a genuine friendship.

“but alicent was happy at 15″... my brother in christ alicent was self harming before the events of the show even began.

#alicent hightower #i don't wanna debate this #nothing in this world would make me think this is satisfying to watch #anti rhaenicent #i don't hate rhaenicent but i do hate that a lot of it it's just about how we can #make alicent give more and lose more

116 notes · View notes

butyoumakemesohot · 2 years

Text

so. here are about 2k words of miserable, sick!st/eve that i wrote last night. this was inspired by this post by @theygotaches and this post by @stormyweaver.

keep in mind that this is the grossest thing i've probably ever written, so if mess isn't your thing maybe don’t read this!

(this goes for all of my fics, but since this one is pretty descriptive, i want to reiterate that minors should NOT interact. thank you!)

For once, Steve is grateful that his parents are almost never home.

Most other people in his condition would likely have an opposite reaction, but when Steve is sick, being coddled is the last thing he wants. Especially when he’s this level of disgusting. The mere idea of anybody seeing him so stricken down by a head cold, barely able to move his head without setting off another wave of thick congestion and loud sneezes, makes him want to die of embarrassment.

Which is why he’s laying as still as possible on his living room couch, absently watching a movie he stole - borrowed - from work. His nose has been wet and dripping ever since he woke up, thin mucus tickling his sensitive sinuses and threatening to leak from his nostrils. He scrambles for the box of tissues on the coffee table, plucking one out and cupping it over his face in anticipation.

“Hehhh… Hh’TDSCHHh! Hp’TCHHew! Guh… *snrff!*”

He reaches for another tissue, blowing his nose with all the strength he can muster right now – which isn’t much. He briefly regrets not keeping a tally of how many times he’s sneezed since he woke up a couple hours ago. It has to be at least a hundred at this point. He’s sure of it.

By noon, Steve’s head is filled with so much cold that his nose is basically nonfunctional – he can’t smell, can’t breathe, can’t even blow his nose due to the heavy congestion that’s completely blocked his nasal passages. He settles for knuckling at his damp nostrils every few minutes, a half-hearted attempt at easing some of the swelling in his sinuses.

The phone in the hallway rings. He’s half-asleep, convinced the sound is part of some weird fever dream until it stops, then starts again. He groans loudly, kicking the blanket off his legs.

“I’b cobig, I’b cobig. *snrk!*”

He sits up slowly – a fruitless endeavor, as his head is already swimming feverishly the second it leaves his pillow. He shuffles into the hall, massaging his leaky nose with a wad of tissues he grabs on his way there, and manages to pick up the phone just before it stops ringing again.

“Harrig’tod residedce.”

“Steve?”

It’s Robin. He’s amazed at how perky her voice sounds in comparison to his, sluggish and hoarse due to an increasingly sore throat. He sniffles thickly, noting that his nose is a bit less clogged now that he’s standing upright.

“How bady other Harrig’tod’s do you kdow?”

“The Steve Harrington I know doesn’t sound like he’s just been hit by a truck, smartass.”

He supposes that’s fair. He sets the phone down just in time to catch a few deep, wet coughs in the crook of his elbow, caught off guard by their ragged intensity. He quickly tries to catch his breath, running a hand underneath his nose with a stuffy sniffle.

“Did you call just to idsult be, or do you actually deed sobethig?”

“I was calling to see why you aren’t at work, but I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Oh, shit. Today’s Sunday – not Monday – which means his shift at Family VIdeo started a few minutes ago.

“Fuck, Robid. *snnrf!* I’b so sorry.”

“Don’t be, dude. You sound really out of it.”

That’s an understatement, he thinks. He’d probably never admit it out loud, even to Robin, but he’s absolutely miserable.

“Do you need anything? I can swing by on my break –”

“Doe, doe, I’b fide,” he insists automatically, feeling an all-too-familiar tickle return to his lower sinuses. He sniffles, knuckling his right nostril desperately. “Just do be a favor ad tell Keith that I - hehh… Hah’ESCHHh! Hh’TSCHHHhh! Ugh, excuse be. *snxxxt!*”

“Bless you,” Robin says, an air of nonchalance to her voice. She doesn’t seem to mind how wet and disgusting his sneezes sound; if she does notice, he’s grateful that she doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell Keith your grandma died or something.”

He chuckles. “Thangks, Rob. *snurf!* … *snuurfgg!* … Sorry, give be a bidute.”

He sets the phone down before Robin can even respond. It’s evident that the sneezes mixed with being on his feet for the first time all day have dislodged something in his sinuses – something that’s already begun leaking onto his upper lip. He brings his tissues to his nose and blows hesitantly, finding himself so suddenly desperate to expel whatever he can from his aching nostrils that he folds the tissues over and musters up enough strength to blow harder, long and gurgling and ending with a punctuated wet honk that makes him wince.

“Sorry about that,” he says again once he’s picked up the phone. He knows he shouldn’t be so disappointed when the familiar feeling of congestion refills his nose, but he definitely is. Blowing his nose so harshly also seems to have made his sinuses swell up even more. He groans inwardly. So much for that.

“Geez, Harrington, were you trying to blow your brains out or something?”

“Accordig to you, I dever had braids to begid with.”

“That’s true.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Now go eat something. I have a strong feeling you’ve just been laying on the couch all day feeling sorry for yourself.”

Steve rolls his eyes, despite the fact that she can’t see him doing so and despite the fact that they both know she's right. They say their goodbyes, and he scrambles to hang up just before unleashing a few more harsh sneezes that catch him by surprise, spraying the air in front of him with a thick cloud of mucus.

“Heh’SCHHHhh! Heh’SCHHiew! Hehhh… Hh’TSCHHH! Guh…”

He scrubs at his nose with the heel of one hand, the wad of tissues in the other far too damp to be used again. His nose is completely full again, a painful heaviness that stubbornly returns to the center of his face. Eating seems damn near impossible, but maybe the steam from some soup will loosen him up.

Maybe.

–

Steve wakes up in his bed a few hours later, and he knows he’s out of it because it takes a few seconds for him to recall how, exactly, he got there in the first place. After a poor attempt at bending over a bowl of soup without having to wipe his running nose every thirty seconds, he gave up after a few bites and trudged up the stairs, missing the comfort of his own bed.

If Robin were here, she’d be disappointed at the fact that he hadn’t finished his food. He feels a twinge in his chest. Maybe she was right earlier - maybe he really doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

He resolves to pull himself out of bed, a bit wobbly on his feet.

“Okay, Harrig’tod. *snrrrf!* Tibe to get up.”

He doesn’t remember much from his childhood, but he does have a distinct memory of his mother instructing him to inhale steam from a pot of water on the stove when he developed a sinus infection one summer. He even copies his mother’s movements as they come to him now, grabbing the largest pot he can find in his kitchen and filling it up until it almost becomes too heavy to carry.

In hindsight, telling a kid to stand over a boiling pot of water probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but he remembers it working pretty well.

He doesn’t want to take his temperature, but there’s nothing better to do while he waits for the water to heat up. After an agonizing few minutes of struggling to breathe around his clogged nose, he pulls the thermometer from his chapped lips and squints at the mercury level. 100 on the dot. He feels like it should definitely be higher.

“Hh’USHHHeww! Oh, fuck... *snrffgg!* … Hh’PTCHHiew! H’ehTSCHHH!”

Sneezing only serves to refill his nose with the terrible, thick gunk that makes his sinuses feel like heavy, wet cement. Luckily, steam has just begun to rise from the pot of bubbling water; he grabs the blanket he brought down from his bedroom and tents it over his face, rushing to stand in front of the stove.

“Hurry up already…” he says gruffly, although at this point it’s only been about twenty seconds of inhaling steam through an impossibly blocked nose. He likes to think that anyone in this position - suffocated by a thick wall of steam and their own snot - would feel just as impatient as he does.

He notices a difference in his chest first; the rattling congestion that he hadn't even realized was there tapers off a bit after a couple minutes of ragged breathing. He coughs tentatively, ignoring the persistent ache in his chest in favor of the lack of mucus in his throat. Baby steps.

His nose is a different story. While the steam has aided in soothing his sore, irritated nostrils and dry, chapped lips, that stubborn thickness still remains lodged in his swollen sinuses. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging in small, slow circles over the areas that feel the most plugged up. He takes another deep breath through his nose, steam tickling the edges of his pink, sensitive nostrils. Oh, no.

“Hhhh… Ehhh…” Steve turns away from the pot of water at the last possible second, succumbing to the tickly wet mucus that has begun trailing down both sides of his nose. “Heh’TDSHHH! Hh… Hh’PTSCHHHH!”

The second sneeze sends a stream of watery congestion flying out of of his nose, two strands of clear mucus hanging from each nostril and across his upper lip. He barely has time to try to wipe his face before another series of violent sneezes wracks through his body. “Hah’TCHHHhh! He’SHHHHOO! Hh’SCHHHEW!”

A much longer string of snot bursts free from his sinuses this time, thick and dangling all the way down to his chin. Steve pinches his nose instinctively, rubbing his nostrils with a series of wet squelching sounds before wincing at the mess on his fingers.

“Fuuuuck me… *snxxxggt!*”

He finds the closest thing he can use in lieu of a tissue - a kitchen towel - and quickly cleans himself up. His nose is definitely clearer than it was when he woke up this morning, but his nostrils are still sore and tender, upper lip already rubbed raw even though he’s only been sick for less than a day. He shuts the stove off and breathes in the remaining steam, his sinuses making small gurgling sounds as he inhales.

He finds a fresh box of tissues in the downstairs bathroom, ripping it open with urgency and blowing his nose. He doesn’t have to blow very hard for the sticky congestion to come bubbling out of his nose, quickly soaking through to his fingers. He grabs a thicker wad and blows two or three more times, not fully satisfied until his nose feels completely clear. He washes his hands with a grimace, wondering if there’s any real point to it – he’s probably already infected every inch of space in this house with his germs.

He tucks the tissue box under his arm, suddenly exhausted and desperate to fall back asleep while he can properly breathe through his nose. However, he only manages to make it a few steps up the stairs when the hall phone starts ringing again. He practically has to force himself back down to answer it, but he knows Robin would probably come over and tear his front door of its hinges if he didn’t.

“Dod’t worry, Buckley. I’b dot dead yet.”

“Oh, um. It’s actually me.”

Steve’s breath hitches, eyes widening in realization. “Eddie?”

“The little birdie told me you were sick. It’s not that I don’t believe her, but I guess my curiosity - and my grave concern - got the best of me.” Eddie’s voice is light and playful. It would make Steve smile if he weren’t so out of it.

As if it wasn’t already evident by Steve’s voice, Eddie very politely asks, “So, how are you feeling, Harrington?”

He tries to ignore it, but the swollen feeling in his sinuses is slowly being overtaken by a fresh wave of mucus, filling up his nose so quickly that he knows it would be impossible to try and do anything about it. He thought he’d have a little more time before he became so stuffed up again, but he’s already back at square one. He wants to cry, or scream, or slam his head into a wall to distract from the painful, bulging feeling in his face.

Maybe it’s that - or maybe it’s the fact that he's finally fed up with lying about how he truly feels - but Steve doesn’t even try to hide the sickly defeat in his voice when practically whimpers, “Like absolute shit. *snrrff!*”

#sneezefic #snzfic #snzario #snzblr #snz kink #colds #sickfic #st/ranger th/ings #st/eve ha/rrington #sh #st #my fics

113 notes · View notes

nbmahoushoujo · 1 year

Text

Characters you should vote for according to me and my objectively correct opinion:

Bea

I literally got Hero Hours Contract days ago after receiving a single submission for the main character, and it’s so cute and charming I added her in! Bea is a magical girl who fights zombies, but is also on strike against the magical creatures that employ magical girls. She has no chance in the polls I'm sure, but a vote for her would be nice anyway!

Kokoro / Heartful Punch

I was surprised by how many submissions she got, amazingly the same amount as Doremi who she's up against. Y'know, THE Doremi. Some things to know about Kokoro:

She punches monsters

She's dating the main character Undine and they're peak awkward teenagers trying to figure out their feelings together

She has a pet cat called Kicks

She has good life advice

Momo Chiyoda

No one ever talks about this anime it's so good why does no one ever talk about it I have to tell you about it-

Machikado Mazoku is an anime about a girl called yuko who wakes up one day to learn that she is a demon, descended from a line of demons, when she sees she suddenly has horns and a tail. Her mom tells her that their family is cursed and to break the curse she needs the blood of a magical girl. Luckily there just so happens to be a magical girl who goes to her school, Momo. Unluckily, Yuko is incredibly weak (physically and magically), has no clue what she's doing, and couldn't hurt a fly. Additionally, Momo is inhumanly strong and offers to help Yuko train out of pity, with no real fear that she'll ever be an actual threat. Naturally they're very in love and every episode of the 2 seasons that are out it gets more and more obvious. It’s one of the best comedy anime I’ve ever seen!

Momo is a stoic girl who really cares about protecting other people but doesn't always take care of herself properly. She's been a magical girl for years and is tired of the whole acting cute thing, usually trying to resolve conflicts without transforming where possible.

Some things I love about Momo:

She’s obsessed with her city’s mascot character and can be bribed into anything with merch for it.

She gets embarrassed about transforming and saying her attack names and stuff. Not in a way that would imply the show is making fun of magical girls as a concept, but more like regular teenage embarrassment at your younger self in a magical girl context.

Her cats is essentially a retired magical companion who used to be able to talk but now just occasionally says the phrase “the time hath come” for no particular reason.

She literally turns to the dark side to save Yuko from an upsetting few days stuck in a magic nightmare. Not like mortal danger, just that she’d be unhappy for a bit and then wake up. Momo wouldn’t let that happen and literally turned to the dark side for a while to get her out.

She’s so bad at cooking she just like me for real.

Momoko / Hyper Blossom

Powerpuff Girls Z feels like a fever dream from my childhood. I totally forgot about it for a while because just the existence of an actual Powerpuff Girls magical girl anime is so funny. But I remember really enjoying it and it’s genuinely so cute!

#millie.txt #please vote for my girls i love them so much #i have ''always roots for underdogs'' syndrome #there's other favourites i have too but these are just the one i think will struggle in round 1 #and of course taliyah's still getting her own post #polls

19 notes · View notes

simplynotcapable · 10 months

Note

Let’s have another AU- Visenya, another sister of The OG Baelon, son of Alysanne?

This got...so much longer than I meant for it to get.

If you do not want to read the giant thing that got so far away from me, the basic gist is this: it's not a super happy life. It has its moments, but there is just so much death. So many of Alysanne's kids die so young and/or tragically, and Visenya is a person who loves her siblings so much that it just would break her heart over and over again.

She'd end up married young, though I love her so I will grant her the grace that her husband dies not so very long after, and she would live a mostly content life (in between the very frequent bouts of extreme grief over the brutal deaths of her siblings, naturally) as a widow, raising whatever children she had with her husband before his death.

I do not think she would be married to any of her brothers, because Baelon is Alyssa's and I just can't see her meshing well with Aemon in that way--though she loves Aemon, and he loves her. She's closest to Alyssa and Daella, even though the two of them don't get along with each other, and she admires Saera almost as much as she wants to hit her in the face. She's never close to Vaegon or Maegelle, since Vaegon is kind of a cunt and Maegelle leaves so young. She respects Viserra, adores her with all her drive and ambition, and she never has much of a relationship with Gael because of the age gap and all the various other aspects of Targaryen life.

She takes up a lot of the responsibility of raising Aemma and Alyssa's boys after her sisters' deaths, as well as her own children, and she's one of Rhaenys's fiercest advocates every time the topic of succession comes up--not that anyone ever bothers to ask her, except for her mother.

She dies of a fever not very long before her father's death, though, and that's honestly for the best because, after all the people she's lost, I think the Dance probably would have driven her mad if she had to watch it.

Anyway, if that sounds interesting to you, there's a 6k pseudo one shot below the cut that I accidentally wrote because apparently this ask drove me absolutely feral. Idk how you managed to get me this deep on a Wednesday afternoon. I haven't blinked in hours and I no longer remember what the sun feels like.

Keep in mind that 1) I'm super bad at doing basic math in my head, so if their ages don't match up how they should just...pretend that they do, idk, sorry, and 2) I wrote this all in one manic sitting and did not proofread it

TW: general Targaryen-ness but also suicidal thoughts/ideation, suicide attempt (? sort of ?)

(We’re putting Visenya as born just after Alyssa)

Alysanne marries her off when she’s fifteen, and it’s…not as bad as she first feared, when she was told about it. Her kicking and screaming and wailing while her sisters clustered around her trying to comfort her seems very dramatic in hindsight.

She gets pregnant not long after the marriage, and it is terrifying and new and...wonderful, really, to think of, and she sees her daughter and thinks she did not know love before. Not like this. He wants to name her after his mother, but she names her for the sister who died before she was born—names her Daenerys. Lilac eyes and dark curls like her father’s, and Visenya loves her.

Her father does, too.

And then he dies.

Visenya isn’t upset, exactly. She didn’t love him. But he was kind to her. He never hurt her, was never cruel. He did not treat her as less, just for being a woman. He was a good man.

She thinks she could have loved him, if they’d had a little more time.

But, as it was, her husband had no son but he did have a younger brother. A younger brother with three sons, all smug little shits, and they treat her daughter as if she doesn’t exist. As if it is not all hers by right.

So, she goes home. She appeals to her parents. Should it not be Daenerys’s? Her husband’s trueborn child, should it not—

“Yes,” says her mother.

“No,” says her father.

She does not see a point in going back, after that, and so she stays in King’s Landing. She never stops dressing in black, always in her mourning clothes, and does her best impression of a widow so severely grieved that to ask her to remarry would be the cruelest of torments. Her mother cuts her looks, sometimes, and she knows Alysanne knows the trick of the game she is playing, but she has done her duty once. She married and bore him a child, the second granddaughter of the Wise King and the Good Queen. Her parents, whether for love or exhaustion, do not ask her to do it again. She keeps her head down and her mouth shut, for the most part, in case they change their minds.

She raises her daughter. She spends time with her parents, even with her anger at her father. She spends time with her siblings, who she missed so dearly.

And then, slowly, she loses them all.

The very year she comes back, Valerion dies. He had not even reached his first name-day, small and sickly. To look at him beside Daenerys is heartbreaking, so close in age and yet so different in size, her daughter so strong and the last of her brothers so weak...it hurts her, inside herself, but not so badly as the morning her mother tells her he is dead. She has not hurt like that since Gaemon died, not so very long before her wedding, small and sickly just like Valerion.

She does not put Daenerys down for entire days after, incapable of making her arms release her. Part of her fears she will lose her, too, if she does, and the babe is more than happy to settle for hours against her chest. Her mother chides her for it, says she should not spoil her so--that she will turn willful and stubborn and too used to getting her way, "like your little sisters".

Visenya keeps holding her anyway. Only rescinds her when Alyssa comes calling with baby Viserys, and they trade their children and curl together like they are little girls again.

"We always said we would be there for each other, when we went to the childbed," Alyssa mourned quietly, head lolled on Visenya's shoulder, one finger looped in 'Nerys's curls and her other hand playing with Viserys's chubby leg in Visenya's lap. "I raged something awful when the letters came that she had been born without me there."

“As did I, when you sent word of Viserys," she answers, and then presses her hand to her heart. "I shall be there for all the others, 'Lyssa. For you and the other girls, too. I swear it."

Vaegon left that same year, which was loss of a different kind. She had never been particularly close with him, the most severe of her brothers, the one with the sharpest tongue and cruelty that dripped from it even when he did not intend it. He'd been so often cruel to sweet Daella, driving all of his sisters against him with a single-minded force, and yet...when she learns he is to go to Oldtown, she goes running to his rooms, anyway.

He is packing, already. He looks up at her, awkward in his own skin, not beautiful like his brothers and sisters; strange, their Vaegon, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"Will you visit?"

He laughs around a scoff, tucks another book carefully into his bag. It is answer enough.

"Daenerys will miss you."

And she will, for her daughter is not nearly so taken with the rest of her aunts and uncles as she is with Vaegon. Vaegon, who refuses to hold her and looks at her like a strange creature of myth, who contorts his face when she coos towards him.

Visenya caught him smiling, once, though. Just the vaguest of curls at the corner of his mouth, the rest of his face expressionless, as 'Nerys reached stubbornly out to try and convince him to take her hand.

Vaegon looks up, scowling, eyes narrowed, and she softens more towards him than she ever has before when he grudgingly mutters, "I will write."

He does. Hardly ever more than once or twice a year, curt and cutting, often with vague insinuations that she is an idiot and never with any care for what her life is or has been. Not once, in the rest of their lives, does her brother ask how she is.

At the end of each letter, though, he asks after Daenerys, and so Visenya keeps writing him back.

She never sees him again. She would wish, later, that she had known it would be the last time she would ever look upon his face. But she dooes not know, and so she leaves him there, and that is the closest they come to a goodbye.

Daella writes (well, her stepdaughter writes for her) a few years later, a child growing so quickly in her womb, and so Visenya takes Daenerys by the hand and they go. They go to her little sister, scared and alone, Visenya in her black dress and Daenerys with her black curls, and Daella is all white light when she throws squealing arms open to welcome them.

They were so close as girls, she and Daella. Alyssa had always chafed when her younger sisters clung at her skirts and groveled about for her attention (she grew to love them well enough, eventually, in her own ferocious way, but, oh, the way she used to howl when Visenya went into her rooms without knocking), but Visenya had never much minded having Maegella and Daella as her shadows. And when Maegelle left, promised to the faith at only ten...Daella had seemed so lost without her, and so Visenya took her by the hand and went through life with her in tow.

Daella had wept herself into a fit when Visenya left. "You leave me alone," she cried, even with all their other brothers and sisters watching so balefully. She was a sensitive thing, Daella, soft-hearted and not so clever as her elder brothers and sisters. She feared Alyssa still from all her snapping when they were little girls, loathed Vaegon for all his tripping insults, and for Visenya to leave her behind had seemed the end of the world.

She'd not wept nearly so much at her own wedding, and Visenya had been glad of it. It had been a struggle to see her sister wed, according to her parents, and she'd nearly been sent off to the silent sisters. She thought her too young, in truth, as she thought that she herself had been too young, but she was pleased to see Daella mostly content with Lord Arryn and his brood of ready-made children.

Daella weeps herself wild, again, though at the sight of Visenya and 'Nerys, and the sisters hold each other so tightly that bones crack. "Nothing bad will happen now," she says, confidently, pulling back to wipe at wet cheeks. "Not when you are here with me."

The fever takes her, not a week after little Aemma is born, and Visenya goes home alongside her sister's corpse.

She brings her niece with her, little Aemma Arryn with her silver hair and her big purple eyes, so like Daella in her face. Lord Arryn had not wished for her to leave with Visenya, but she had raised the fiercest of fits ("I rivaled even Saera with the way I carried on," Visenya jests much later, to Alyssa's pealing laughter and Saera's cry of offense). Rodrik had four children to raise already, duties to attend to, and would it not do the babe better to grow up amongst her mother's kin?

She was to bring Aemma back for four months every other year, but he relented.

When Alyssa begins her labors with little Aegon, not so very many years later, Visenya goes to her, as she did for clever little Daemon. Sits beside her and holds her hand and croons to her as she screams and wails.

She dies not a full year afterwards, and Visenya is the one to catch Baelon when his knees give out, to hold him as he shakes and screams and tears at his own face with such ferocity that she thinks he will claw off his skin.

(It seemed there never was a boy named Baelon that did not get his pretty sister's fingers tangled up in his heartstrings.)

She does not realize until Aemon comes and finds them both, pulls them both into his chest, their big brother who always catches them on his shoulders, that she is screaming, too.

Because Alyssa, oh, Alyssa, her Alyssa that she followed like a goddess come to life, her Alyssa who had hated her with mindless singularity until Visenya was ten and finally got so sick of the snapping and snarling that she threw a plate of potatoes at her head, and then they were close as close could be in that strange way that sisters loved. Her Alyssa, wild and laughing and bold, bold, bold, as so many of her sisters were bold, bold, bold, who loved their brother so much that it bled from her skin, who left behind two young sons who worshipped the ground she walked on. Alyssa, 'Lyssa, gone, just like that? Stolen so soon after Daella was stolen?

"Mother," Daenerys whispers, when she comes to her and Aemma that night, and she opens her arms and holds her girls as close as she can get them.

She takes on Alyssa's boys, when Baelon cannot. 'Nerys and Aemma and Daemon and Viserys, all her parents' grandchildren but one drifting in her wake, holding onto her hands, tucking themselves against her skirts.

It is that same year when Saera and her band of merry delinquents are caught.

Saera's mischief had never bothered Visenya quite like it bothered everyone else, often enough driving her to incredulous laughter that she had to stifle into her hand. So, she was spirited and bold! No one would bat an eye, had she been born with a cock, and who was really hurt by the Kingsguard spending an afternoon with pink cloaks?

She alone noticed when her mischief and even cruel pranks turned to something more dangerous, because people oft forgot about the Widowed Princess, the one who collected children with dead mothers and roamed the palace like a ghost with her pale face and dark dress. Saera did, often enough, and so Visenya knew well before anyone else that her sister was careless about the boys she allowed into her bed and the girls who knew it. Ones with loose tongues. Ones with soft spines.

How many times had Visenya warned her? How many times had she grabbed her hand, said "have your fun, little sister, but be careful, be careful, you do not know what might await you should Father find out"? How many times had her little sister shrugged her off, imperious and haughty and clever and wicked, so sure she would never face consequences?

The same as when they were younger, when she would release cats into Daella's room and throw her wicked fits that left them all with ringing ears and anger in even the calmest of hearts. Visenya loved Saera well, admired her spiritedness and her refusal to be forced into the boxes that Visenya had allowed herself to be put into when she was even younger, but, every time she spoke to her, she understood well how people were driven to murder.

"Perhaps you are happy in your life as a celibate, as a widow with no one but children to turn to," her sister cried, spiteful in her anoyance as she always was, "but that is not the life I will have for myself!"

Were they closer, if she trusted her more, Visenya might have told her about the pretty serving girl with the golden hair and the birthmark on her belly the same shape as a paw, but as it was she always just shook her head and looked away. Saera could not even be trusted with her own secrets, much less Visenya's.

She hears it all secondhand, bits from her mother and her brothers and her father. About the boys who Saera brought to her bed, about her wild attempt to defend herself and how it turned so quickly to hot defiance. About her wicked tongue, getting her into even more trouble, when she dared look their father in the eyes and suggest she take all three to wed and make herself Aegon or Maegor come again. About the escape to the Pit, that night, and the way their father raged, and how Saera had been forced to watch from the window as her lover died at the Wise King's hand.

She goes to see her, the night before she leaves for Oldtown. Looks at her standing there, looking faded and numb and not like Saera at all, and she grabs her by the face and presses their brows together. "You are everything," she says, the ghost of words a different Baelon than the one she knows once whispered to her, the ghost of words another her once whispered to boys who would die in a war she'd never wanted. "You are everything. So do not let them break you, you foul little bitch."

Saera blinks at her, so quiet for once, and then she smiles.

A little over a year after they sent her to the Faith, she disappears. Gone, just like that. A blip. A ghost, until word comes that she's taken up at a pleasurehouse. Alysanne weeps, but Visenya tucks her face into her hand and she laughs. Laughs that laugh that only Saera has ever truly managed to draw out of her, the one that comes only when you know you should not be laughing, because she knows well as any that Saera went prowling into that place of her own volition and would have already torn down the walls to make it her own.

Her mother writes. Saera never answers.

Visenya writes, as well, to make sure she is alright where she is. Saera answers only once and never again after, and the letter has only seven words scrawled huge across the parchment. It sends Visenya bursting into that same vicious laughter to see it.

I am everything, you foul little bitch.

She laughs that wild laugh for the third time since Saera left and the final time in her life when the Council is called. When three bastard boys with Jaehaerys's face and Saera's eyes come swaggering through the door with all their mother's audacity and every bit of her fire.

Three years later, death comes for their family again.

For Viserra this time--Viserra, who is smart and gorgeous and ambitious and knows she is everything. Who wants things from life, who wants power and purpose and everything she would have had, anyway, had she only been born a prince, and she is full to bursting with it. It almost hurts Visenya's eyes to look at her, so bright with all the things she wants, with all the longing. With all the wishing.

"If I'd been only a few years older," she says once, darkly, hands clenched. "They'd have given me to Aemon, then. I'd be a queen, then. I could change it all, I could make it--I could be more than this, more than some man's broodmare, more than just a footnote in history. Viserra Targaryen. Nothing more than some man's wife."

Visenya, who had nearly been married to Aemon herself until she and her eldest brother rallied in their horror at the idea, attempts to look sympathetic. It is actually not so difficult, when she sees the stricken look on her face, her pretty little sister caught in an invisible trap that only women ever seem to find themselves locked in.

"You might always become a widow," Visenya comforts. "It is not so bad a life, really."

Viserra laughs, long and loud, and then drops her head to her shoulder. They are close now, despite the decade between them, though Viserra is a maid of five and ten and Visenya a widow with a brood of four children mostly not her own. She is not sure how it happened, but she is grateful for it. She has missed being close to a sister, these fast few years.

"Vi and Vi," Aemon jests, sometimes, when he sees them walking about with heads bent together, and then he tugs at Visenya's braid and is off again. Baelon ever in his wake, off to do whatever princes do, and they all pretend Viserra's gaze does not fix hungrily on their backs.

"Baelon might save me, still," she says, and Visenya is quick to shoot the idea before it catches wings.

She thinks she does, anyway, but it is not a week later when Viserra is pulled drunk from their exhausted brother's bed as he waits at the door with his eyes squeezed shut in phantom pain.

It is not very long after that when Viserra bids her good night, grinning a little, swearing she means to have one more night of fun before she is married to an old man and has "nothing more to look forward to than joining you as a widow, sister." Visenya laughs her off, kisses at her cheeks and watches her leave. Thinks she means to steal a bottle of wine and cause some chaos about the palace.

They bring her sister's corpse back to the Keep with a broken neck.

She and her brothers get drunk that night, a rare lapse in their usual propriety when it comes to their sisters. She needs it, though, and they love her well enough to let themselves bend. They sit in a row on a window ledge, passing a bottle of wine back and forth between them, and they whisper stories that they all usually pretend are not real anymore. Alyssa and her quick rages and her hot heart and her wild way of living, Daella and her softness and the way she sang in the mornings, Viserra's wicked sharp tongue and how she always seemed to have an answer for everything. Valerion and Gaemon and Aegon, babes dead before they ever got a real chance to live, and what would it have been like to have three more brothers? Three more boys running through the Keep, on their tails, shouting and shaking. Daenerys, the first one, Aemon's few scattered memories of her doled out to them like precious stones. Saera, then, as they giggle behind their hands until they are gasping, and she and Baelon attempt to mimic Vaegon's few attempts at learning the sword as Aemon pretends to be much more mature than them both, and they offer a toast and a prayer to Maegelle, whatever she is doing now.

"We're all that's still here now, except for little Gael," Aemon says, with a tilt of his chin towards the stars. "How strange that is, when there were so many of us once."

Baelon asks them if they think Viserra would still be alive, if he let her stay in his bed that night.

Visenya and Aemon both drop their heads to his shoulders instead of answering.

They wake hungover the next morning, all three of them, which Jocelyn teases them mercilessly for--Visenya is usually quite fond of her sister-by-law, but she tells Aemon rather hotly that she means to poison his wife. He only laughs at her, tugs her braid as he always does, and his daughter grins at her across the breakfast table.

Alysanne begs Jaehaerys to bring Saera home after that, a ghost of herself after losing three daughters in such rapid succession, but Jaehaerys refuses her.

Maegelle comes home, instead. Visenya shies from her. She cannot help it. All of her other sisters are dead or gone, except little Gael that is younger than her daughter--she feels sorry for her, more than anything, with all of her siblings so much older and so many of them dead before she ever truly knew them. She is a soft child, much like Daella was, and her nieces and nephews tend to leave her behind in their games. To see Maegelle again, quiet and pious and so much older than the little child who left...how strange it is.

"You act as if you fear her," Jocelyn says, absently, and Visenya scowls at her.

Maybe she does. Perhaps...perhaps she does, a little. To love her seems a risk she cannot take, when all her other sisters have left her. Better to hide amongst her brothers, to grow closer to them than she was before. Her brothers who had lived so long and so carelessly. She had never lost a brother. It seemed safer.

She leaves again, and they are hardly any closer than they were before from the rare letters they sent to each other.

Maegelle is the one who convinces their father home, though, during the Quarrel when he visits her in Oldtown, and even in time for Rhaenys's wedding. She knows that chafes at Aemon, who tried his own hand at it, and she teases him for it, perhaps more than she should. She stops when he threatens to marry her off again, once he's king; he seems to realize that the jest didn't land well, that he has struck some deep fear within her that she has never acknowledged to another soul--that either her father or her brother will tire of her freedom and aimlessness, her simple widowed life, and force her to do her duty again.

"I will not," he says, grabbing at her hand. "I will not, Visenya. Not unless you ask me to."

"I will not ask."

"Then I will not," he says again, fiercely. "I will not. The Widowed Princess, you shall remain."

Rhaenys arrives to her wedding on dragonback, and Visenya calls her a queen beneath her breath. Her father shoots her a warning look. Her mother grins.

Two years later, they send Aemon to war with the news that he is to be a grandfather when he returns. She has not seen him so happy since Rhaenys's birth, his face radiant with his smile, his laugh so bright it breaks through even the dark that has kept their family shadowed so long.

When word comes that he is dead, Visenya does not believe it.

Aemon is not capable of death. Not Aemon, their eldest, who chased them all about through the palace, who balanced them on his shoulders and fished them out of every spot of trouble they managed to find themselves in. Not clever Aemon, always asking questions, dutiful Aemon with his honorable heart, wonderful Aemon with his love for his wife and his daughter. Aemon, who they'd wanted her to marry once, except he had wailed and she had cried and they had united in all their terrible fury at the very idea and then split an entire stolen cake between them when their goal was achieved. Aemon, who was to be a grandfather soon, who was to be a king. Aemon was meant to be king of the seven kingdoms, their father's successor, and, more than that, Aemon was their heart. Their family's heart, the thing that kept them beating, who kept them moving, who held them together with the force of his bare hands, and so Aemon could not be dead.

If Aemon is dead, who will hold them?

It is not until Baelon comes home, dead behind the eyes, that she knows it as truth. It is not until he cries to their mother, "I slew a thousand of them, but it will not bring them back" that she knows.

Because more than he was their family's heart, he was Baelon's soul. He was all that kept Baelon sane, after Alyssa. If Baelon says Aemon is dead, then it is true, and Visenya tears whole handfuls of hair from her head when she wails.

Baelon's head turns and he sees her, and they hold each other up as best as they can. Just like when Alyssa died, except Aemon isn't coming to keep them both from falling totally apart. Aemon isn't there when they get drunk again, far more destructively than before, that sobbing and choking sort of drunk that left them both near comatose the next day, and she thinks the world could end and it wouldn't even matter anymore.

And then...then, they name him heir. Baelon. Not Rhaenys, Aemon's daughter, the eldest grandchild, who should be queen. Not Rhaenys, who clenches her jaw when Jaehaerys announces it, whose fists clench up. Not Rhaenys, who Alysanne and Visenya both beseech Jaehaerys to see not as a woman but as who she is, as competent and capable and every bit Aemon's daughter.

But it is Baelon, in the end. As it always was going to be, no matter how the Old King might have pretended.

Maegelle ends the Second Quarrel, too, and she and Baelon toast to it and her and a kinghood that will be his one day.

"Swear to me you'll never make me marry," she says, prodding at his ribs, and he snorts.

"What man in his right mind would marry you?"

And, like it always does, eventually the sun forces its way through darkness.

Rhaenys's daughter is born, pretty little Laena with her soft brown skin and her wild silver curls, and then Laenor to match two years later.

Viserys and Aemma are married; she is pleased about the match, actually, at first. It is not until years later, watching Aemma wilting, that she mourns the mistake of it.

Daenerys asks for Alleras Martell exactly fifteen minutes after he asks for her, the pretty Dornish prince with his dancing eyes and his crooked smile. Visenya likes him, though she won't admit it. Gripes he is not good enough for her daughter, and he bows down low and asks her "who could be?"

"Let them," she tells her mother and father. "Let them wed, let them be happy, use it to build faith with the Dornish."

Her daughter is wed, her husband besotted with her and the way her curls fall and the sound of her laugh. He clothes her in silk and drapes her in jewels, and Visenya never again sees her daughter alone without cheeks still rosy from too ardent goodbye kisses.

Daenerys comes home when she is pregnant, wishes to be with her mother and Aemma (her heart-sister) and Gael (a friend, now, at the least), and Alleras follows obediently in her wake.

Her first grandchild is born the same day the letter arrives telling them Maegelle is dead of greyscale. Visenya weeps but only a little, cannot find it in herself to grieve anymore, especially for a sister she knew so little--and especially when, suddenly, there is an olive-skinned little boy with amethyst eyes and a head of dark curls being placed in her arms.

"Aemon," Daenerys says, soft and gentle, her darling girl with her beautiful heart. "I wrote to Rhaenys to ask, and she says she would be proud if we called him Aemon."

He had been the favorite of her uncles, once the infatuation with Vaegon faded into nothing--she had not even a memory of him now. Aemon had always been the one to sneak her sweets and ruffle her hair and let her ride with him on dragonback even when Visenya fretted that she was far too young for such things.

Visenya wept again, for a whole new reason, and she kissed her grandson's head and her daughter's face and even the cheek of her son-by-law--how smug he looked about it, the little shit.

(Daenerys does not come home for the birth of the next three children, but she visits every other year for a few weeks, at the least. Alleras at her side. Aemon and Larra and Ashara and Naerys cluttering up her skirts, spilling out around her, full of laughter and giggles and a golden childhood that had not yet held any pain.)

Whatever was left of the light in her mother's eyes goes out when Gael dies. "Dies" everyone says, as if she sickened, but Visenya knew the truth about the water and the bastard babe who died so soon. Heartbreak killed Gael, not a fever, and she and Baelon don't even remember how to grieve anymore.

"I hardly knew her," he says, at their now near monthly tradition of getting drunk and speaking of all the dead that lay behind them. "She is our sister, and I do not think I ever even spoke to her, really. Not of anything real."

"She is younger than our children," Visenya counters. "Could we be expected to?"

"We're the last now," he whispers, and his hands cover his face. "You and me. The last ones standing. Would you have guessed that?"

"No," she admits. "I thought you'd kill yourself after Alyssa."

He looks at her, and, with years and wine to numb the pain, he bursts out laughing.

Their mother is dead not very long after, and Visenya does something she and Daella used to do, when they were very young. Drapes blankets over the sides of the bed so nothing can be seen beneath and then crawls under. Lays there, cocooned in the darkness, and she closes her eyes and thinks of her mother's laugh. Over and over and over again, until she has memorized it. Until she won't forget it.

You tried, she thinks to her ghost. You tried, and I know that you tried to make things better. To make us more than just wives and daughters, to make us something on our own. That is enough. I will let that be enough. Tell them I love them. Tell them hello.

They meet Baelon's granddaughter that year, too, a darling little thing with huge eyes. She looks like Alyssa. Visenya doesn't mention it.

"Rhaenyra," Baelon croons to her, laughing. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, darling little girl, little love, little beauty."

"Baelon the Besotted," she lilts, winking at Aemma, and her niece grins back. Exhausted. Tired from miscarriages and the stillborn babe, tired, tired, tired, and Visenya did not know which of the married couple were not letting her rest. If it was Viserys or Aemma herself. She had suspicions.

She pokes Rhaenyra's cheek, gently, looks down at her. "You are everything," she says, warmly.

The next year, Baelon's belly bursts. He's sick for a few days before, and she worries but thinks nothing of it. He is strong and healthy and so very Baelon, her older brother she loves so dearly, and there is no reason he should not recover. He ate something bad, perhaps, or...something. Something easy. Something fixable.

When they tell her he's dead, she thinks about killing herself.

Not because Baelon is dead, specifically, though knowing he is feels like swallowing hot coals. She thinks she would have thought about it regardless of who it had been, if it were Alyssa or Aemon or even Vaegon that had been here with her for so long and then left her alone.

It is the being alone that makes her think she is ready to die.

The children are raised, now. The children are having children. Her sisters are dead, except for the one lost to her, and her brothers, except for the one who left them all. Her mother gone. Her father near gone, she has no doubt. How much can one person take, before they break for good? How much? And how hard would it be, to just shove herself off the edge and let the already fragile whole of herself shatter into fragments?

She walks into the Pit, because it feels poetic to die by fire. The other sister who died by her own hand died by water. They could be two halves of a coin, she and Gael, though they had never been two halves of anything before. Her apology for the distance between them all their lives.

She chooses Dreamfyre to do it.

And when she walks right in, unafraid and waiting, for the flame and the fury and the rage that comes with a dragon's territory being invades, she is given none of it. She is given silence, as she stands there with closed eyes, waiting for the flames.

When she opens them, the dragon looks back at her and blinks. Just once. Slowly. And then she dips her great head.

Visenya...laughs. She stands there laughing, mad with it, hiccuping, tears streaming down her face, and she reaches out with both hands. Dreamfyre's neck snakes out, allowing her to put them on her, to run them along her face and her neck, and it...

It is Baelon, she knows. It is Baelon and Aemon and Daella and Alyssa and Viserra and Alysanne and, maybe, even Maegelle and Gael and Valerion and Gaemon and Daenerys and Aegon, telling her to stop. Telling her to quiet. Telling her to stop being such a dramatic little fool, to take what was left of this life in her hands and let it be hers.

"Hello," she whispers to the dragon.

She croons back.

Jaehaerys had not wanted his daughters to be dragonriders, except for Alyssa. They would be wed to noble houses, spread out amongst the land, and to give too many lords access to dragons and their riders was a danger. Visenya had never had a dragon egg. She had never thought she'd ride a dragon, except the few times she went with Alyssa or Baelon or Aemon.

Dreamfyre croons again, and Visenya presses their brows together and keeps right on laughing.

They take Rhaenys's rights away from her, yet again, another Council passing it off to another man who is no more competent or deserving than she. Vaegon comes home, she hears, and their father offers him the crown; he rejects it, of course. She does not see him before he is gone again.

But Visenya lives. She does her best. For the first time in years, she dares to wear color.

The fever that takes her almost shocks her with its suddenness, and she is not aware of much after that first initial surprise. She sees things she knows cannot be real, like her mother sitting beside her and her long dead husband's hand reaching out to pet her hair, and she hears things that she could not possible be hearing, and she knows she is dying three days before she finally does it.

It's her sisters who come to fetch her, when it finally happens. Alyssa grabbing at her arm to haul her up, Daella peeping over her shoulder--closer now, it seemed, than they had been at life--and Viserra reaching out to grab her other arm. Maegelle and Gael watching, so quietly, smiling so softly.

"Do you want to hear something funny?" Viserra chirps, all shark sharp teeth as Visenya reaches out with a cry to grab at them, their faces and their hair and everything, trying to convince herself they are solid. "Visenya? Do you?"

"What?" she cries. "What could possibly be so important?"

"Father still outlived you."

#silverandmoonstone #dragonglassandgold #ao3 works #simplynotcapable #hotd #house of the dragon

13 notes · View notes

lemonlillybee · 1 year

Text

Sticky Sickie

Title: Sticky Sickie

Fandom: Irondad

Word Count: 2500 (Read on AO3)

Prompts: #76 from @irondadmadlads and @comfortember prompts falling asleep on someone & quality time

“Pep!” Tony doesn’t care that he sounds whiney. Well, maybe he cares a little bit, but he has other, more important things to focus on. “Honey, I can’t stay in bed all day! I have things to do. I’ve been in bed all week, and–”

“I thought you might say that.” Pepper smiles brightly. “Would you rest if someone stayed with you? Misery loves company, after all.”

“Is that so?” Tony grumbles, feeling irrationally annoyed at the way his hopes soar at the thought of not having to be alone today. He stuffs down the hope and tries to sound indifferent. “You’re really going to stay here with me today?”

Pepper gives him a smile and Tony knows she can see right through him. “Mm, not quite.” She doesn’t explain herself, just leaves the room without another word, and Tony flops back onto his pillows with a heavy sigh that makes him cough a little. He’d been knocked on his ass almost a week ago by the cold from hell and though he’d love to be able to get up and get on with his life today, he’s actually still feeling really exhausted. Not that he’s going to admit that to Pepper.

Tony drags a hand down his face and starts to make a list in his head of things he’d like to get done today. When Pepper comes back into the room, she has someone shuffling along behind her, and Tony immediately forgets his entire list when he sees who it is.

“Peter?”

Peter pokes his head around Pepper, raising his hand in a little wave. He’s holding a box of tissues to his chest with his other arm, and he looks terrible, his face pale and his nose red. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he shuffles over to the wall closest to Pepper’s side of the bed, kicking his sneakers off and lining them up neatly before dropping his backpack down next to them.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, his voice so congested it doesn’t even sound like him.

“You’re sick too, huh?” Tony asks, guilt straining his voice. “I’m so sorry, Roos.”

“I’m okay,” Peter replies, sounding anything but. “Ms. Potts said you’re not feeling well and wanted my company. Which, I’m not sure I’ll be any entertainment because I’m also not feeling well, but–”

“Pete,” Tony cuts him off, because Peter is grimacing and rubbing at his throat as he talks, his voice croaky and fading fast.

Pepper notices, too, and she ushers Peter toward the bed. “You’re running a fever, sweetheart, so you’re going to get into this bed and rest today. Both of you are going to rest, got it?” She says, looking pointedly at Tony over Peter’s head.

“Got it,” Peter replies obediently. He climbs into the bed, sitting with his back up against the headboard, and lets Pepper pull the blanket over his legs. She smoothes her hand over his forehead, and he leans slightly into the touch, closing his eyes and making a little humming sound that turns into a whimper when she pulls her hand away.

“We stopped by and got a dose of meds from Bruce,” Pepper tells Tony. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is going to be keeping him updated on Peter’s temperature. And she’s going to call me if either of you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, answering again for the both of them. He shivers a little, then drags the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose, wincing as the action irritates the raw skin around his nose. He sheepishly grabs a tissue when he sees the way Pepper is looking at him, pressing it to his running nose and mumbling an apology.

“You two take care of each other, okay?”

Tony and Peter both nod, and Pepper leaves, kissing Peter on the top of the head and then making her way around the bed to do the same to Tony before she goes.

“Well,” Tony says once she’s gone. “Guess we’re gonna get a little quality time together today, huh?”

Peter, who’s dabbing at his nose with another tissue, swallows with a wince. “Huh?” His eyes look a little glassy when he looks over at Tony. “Oh, yeah!”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. He feels terrible for getting Peter sick, of course, but he’s glad Pepper thought to coordinate him coming to the Tower for the day with May so he won’t be in his apartment alone. Being alone while sick isn’t Tony’s favorite thing, and being alone in general isn’t Peter’s favorite thing, so the arrangement works out. Plus, he really does enjoy Peter’s company, even if Peter will likely be sleeping for most of the day. Tony’s thoughts drift to his mental to-do list again, thinking about how much he might be able to get done while Peter naps, but he pauses when he realizes Peter is still staring at him.

“So,” he says, rolling onto his side to face Peter. “How are you feeling, bud? What do you want to do?”

“We could watch a movie?” Peter suggests. “Ms. Potts said to choose Star Wars if you want to be awake, or a movie that was made after I was born if you need to sleep.”

“Did she now?”

Peter nods seriously, completely missing the smile that Tony tries and fails to fight from spreading across his face. “I also have some homework I could work on, but that’s kind of boring.” He takes a long, shaky breath, and Tony suddenly realizes that he’s trying to be his usual chatty self, despite his rapidly fading voice and the fact that he’s clearly miserable.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, watching Peter shiver. “Why don’t you lie down so you can get all the way under the covers?” He holds the comforter up, and Peter nods, practically melting down the headboard until he’s completely horizontal. He curls up on his side, facing away from Tony, sniffling while Tony tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

A shiver runs through Peter, and Tony reaches out to rub his back, hoping the motion might help him feel a little warmer. Soon, Peter is almost asleep, his breath whistling in and out through his nose, and Tony is startled a little when Peter clears his throat loudly and reveals that he’s still awake.

“Your heart sounds really loud,” he whispers, and a second later he’s rolling over to face Tony, scooting closer until he’s fully pressed up against Tony’s body. He feels Peter’s hand against his face as he clumsily reaches up, his fingertips aiming for Tony’s pulse point and landing on his cheek instead. Tony’s skin is pulled slightly under the touch as Peter’s sticky powers are activated, his fingers prickly and clinging to his face.

“You’re…alive…I think?” Peter says, his eyes closed as he tries to assess the results of his failed attempt to check Tony’s pulse.

“I’m alive.” Tony reaches up and gently takes Peter’s hand, pulling it away from his face and wincing when the removal of his sticky fingers feels like someone ripping a bandaid off of his cheek. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, letting his hand fall to Tony’s chest, fingers immediately sticking to the skin above the collar of his shirt instead. It’s an odd feeling, slightly uncomfortable, but Tony doesn’t mind. Peter is almost asleep again. Tony reaches over and cards his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter snores a couple of times, then shakes his head slightly like he’s fighting sleep.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice is so small and so hoarse and Tony cringes because he knows it’s probably painful for him to talk, if his own experience this past week is anything to go by.

“Yeah, bud?”

There’s a long pause, during which Peter tucks his face into Tony’s shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt with his nose. “I have to cough,” he finally says, his voice muffled.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Tony chuckles dryly. “This is the part where you unstick yourself from me so you can cover your mouth. You know, keep your germs to yourself.”

“You’re the one who got me sick though,” Peter murmurs, then promptly sneezes right into Tony’s shirt.

“Oh, what the– That wasn’t a cough!”

“Oh.” Peter sniffles. “My bad.”

“You are absolutely disgusting,” Tony grimaces. He looks around for the tissue box, but it’s on the far nightstand on the other side of Peter.

“I…am?”

Tony sighs. “No. You’re not. You are pretty sick, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He lifts his head, unsticking his hand from Tony’s chest and tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to cough. “It sucks.”

“Want to try a movie, or do you want to sleep?”

Peter nestles himself back against Tony’s side and closes his eyes with a congested sigh. He doesn’t answer, but two minutes later, he’s snoring.

Tony grabs his phone from his nightstand. He can work on a lot of things from his phone, which is the only device Pepper didn’t confiscate from him. While Peter sleeps, he plans to get at least five things from his list done. The first task is checking his emails. He taps on his inbox, but he doesn’t even get through the first email before Peter shifts in his sleep, tugging Tony’s shirt down with his hands as he tries to burrow further down into the warmth of the blankets.

“Hey!” Tony protests softly. He looks at where Peter’s hand is attached to his shirt, stretching out the fabric, and tries to gently slide a finger between Peter’s palm and his shirt to free himself. Peter moans unhappily, but his hand doesn’t budge. Tony tries a slightly more forceful approach. He peels Peter’s fingertips up one by one, but he’s not entirely successful until Peter moans again and lifts his hand up all the way. As soon as his hand is free, however, he slides it up under Tony’s shirt sleeve, seeking warmth for his fingers. His cold, sticky fingers.

Tony sighs. When Peter had been awake, unsticking himself from Tony felt like a bandaid being ripped off, uncomfortable and a little painful, but he’s worried it will be worse now that Peter’s asleep and he doesn’t want to risk losing skin or something. As soon as Peter stills, he pulls up his emails again, resigning himself to staying very still and very stuck.

He lasts about one hour before he gets bored of reading and responding to emails.

“Pete?” He whispers, satisfied when Peter doesn’t answer. He just needs to unstick Peter from his arm, and he can sneak down to the lab while Peter rests in bed. He reaches his opposite arm over and takes Peter’s wrist, giving an experimental tug. The motion pulls at his skin, but Peter’s hand stays firmly pressed to his bicep.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looks over to see Peter blinking sleepily up at him.

“Your hand is glued to my arm,” Tony explains. Peter sniffles and looks down at where his hand is tucked under Tony’s shirt sleeve. It takes him a moment to move, and when he does, his motions are sluggish and clumsy. When he pulls his hand away, Tony clamps his mouth shut to keep himself from crying out in pain.

“Sorry for stickin’ to y–” Peter’s cut off by a yawn. “To you. When I’m sick it’s harder to control.” He yawns again, and Tony chuckles, adjusting the covers over Peter and sliding away and out of bed before Peter can stick to him again.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony says. “I’m just going to run down to the lab for a bit.”

“Pepper said I’m supposed to keep you in bed,” Peter says weakly. His voice crackles on the last few words, and he buries his face back into his pillow to cough a few times. He lifts his head, rubbing at his eyes with a fist and looking sad. “Sorry I’m not very good company.”

“You’re the best company, Pete. I just have a little work to do.”

“But you’re not supposed to work today,” Peter argues hoarsely.

Tony sighs. “I’ll just be down in the lab for an hour, two hours tops. You can stay here and nap the whole time.”

“I could read you my book for English,” Peter offers. “Or you could read to me…?”

“While that is a very tempting offer, what if we go down to the lab for a little bit first? You can come with me and keep me company down there,” Tony tries again.

After a moment of consideration, Peter nods. “Okay.” He sits up carefully, scooting to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor, shivering hard when he loses the warmth of being under the comforter. Tony takes a blanket from the bed and wraps it around Peter’s shoulders, then helps him stand, frowning when Peter sways a little on his feet.

“Here,” Tony says, grabbing the box of tissues from the nightstand for Peter and immediately smirking when Peter holds up a finger and inhales sharply, but instead of taking a tissue from the box right in front of his face, he tugs the sleeves of his hoodies down over his hands and aims a sneeze into the fabric instead.

“Wha–? Okay,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He shakes the tissues in front of Peter’s face with a pointed look. “Bless you.”

Peter sniffles wetly and takes the box, crossing his arms to hold it against his chest, but still not using a tissue. “Thanks.”

In the elevator, Peter leans up against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool metal side. His face is flushed red, and Tony reaches out, pressing the back of his hand to Peter’s cheek.

“Feeling pretty warm there, bud,” he says. Peter responds with a cough, sagging against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When Peter is done coughing, Tony holds his arms open.

“Want a lift?”

Peter shuffles forward, sniffling miserably, and lets Tony pick him up, blanket and tissues and all.

“Hold on,” Tony says, and realizes his mistake a second too late when Peter actually latches on to him, his arms and legs wrapped around Tony like he’s a sticky koala. He tucks his warm face against Tony’s neck and huffs out a little sigh, and Tony doesn’t move when the elevator doors slide open. He looks out into his lab, at all of his waiting projects, and then down at Peter dozing off in his arms. With Peter clinging to him like this, he’s not even going to be able to sit at his lab table, let alone get any work done.

That’s how Tony finds himself back in his bed a couple minutes later, literally stuck to a sick, feverish teenager, and falling asleep to the sound of Peter’s loud snores and a movie from 2003 playing in the background.

#prompt fill #tumblr prompt #comfortember #sick peter parker #sickfic #sick tony stark #irondad #peter parker acting like an actual spider #fever #platonic bed sharing #fluff

45 notes · View notes

majorbaby · 1 year

Note

Feel free to ignore if it's been too long or you're not vibing with it but I'm very curious so I want to throw out a few more for the wip ask game: the one where Trapper goes to Illinois, margaret longfic, hawkeye and margaret commiserate over lost loves, and BJ goes to maine (derogatory). pick any/all of them.

thank you :) the one where Trapper goes to Illinois - rated G - at Radar's behest, Trapper visits Henry's widow. margaret longfic - rated M - follows Margaret from beginning to end of the war - i intend for it to be one long character study. the excerpt is hawkeye/margaret, just mentioning that in case it's not your thing. lots of ships appear in this one, margaret/frank, margaret/donald, margaret/hawkeye (none of these are endgame) but i've also got strictly platonic BJ/Margaret and Klinger/Margaret chapters... I'm playing with the idea of the different Margaret 'phases' being marked by who she's with. the margaret/frank years, the margaret/donald fever dream months, the margaret/charles weirdness and the eventual margaret-and-hawkeye-are-friends-now years that take us through to the end. i hope to turn that on its head by the end. hawkeye and margaret commiserate over lost loves - rated T - started writing this when i was super into hawkeye being very mopey about BJ lol. idk if i'll finish it because i don't think i believe that hawkeye would be broken up over an unrequited love for too long. I can really tell I wrote this early on in my mash days, because hawkeye and margaret both ring OOC to me reading this back. BJ goes to maine (derogatory) - rated M - postwar hawkeye/omc established relationship and then BJ shows up and causes problems. this actually started as a gift for you after you mentioned you would be into this premise lmao, i didn't realize you were writing it yourself and didn't mean to steal it from you. CW for what i intended to be dubcon in this. excerpts here:

the one where Trapper goes to Illinois

“Maybe you should go see her too, sir,” says Radar quickly. He seems to know he can say just about anything to Trapper without wearing out his welcome, but is still nervous to make the suggestion.

Trapper sighs. “She wouldn’t wanna see me Radar. And don’t call me sir. We’re not in Korea anymore.”

“You’re still older. You and Colonel Blake–”

“Henry.”

“You and him were closer in age you know? She might like seeing you. You guys were friends. And you would always kick me out whenever yous were watching those movies, or talking about–”

“Walter…” Trapper makes a face. The name doesn’t taste right. “Radar, I don’t think she wants to hear about any of the stuff we got up to. Henry probably didn’t even mention me at all.”

Radar seems to get frustrated, he rubs one eye underneath his glasses and tries another angle, “You were the last person to see him other than me that’s here. I can’t exactly ask Hawk–”

“All right! If it means you won’t show up here unannounced again, eat all the ham and cheese for my kids’ lunches and have my wife fussing over you like you’re a stray cat then fine.” Trapper drains the rest of his beer in one swig. “I’ll go visit in a few weeks.”

“August 20th weekend?”

“What about it?”

“Could you visit August 20th weekend?”

“You gonna book my flight?”

“No. It’s just that I told Mrs. Blake you’d visit August 20th weekend.”

“Radar!--”

Trapper is so exasperated at this point he feels he could actually strangle his Iowan houseguest, but at that very moment, his wife sticks her head out of the kitchen and begins to ask, “More juice?” *** margaret longfic

The thing about Hawkeye is nobody is just a warm body to him, nobody he meets can remain anonymous to him, nurse, patient, colleague or otherwise. It’s infuriating to her, his unending well of empathy and openness. It’s unmilitary, which she knows he doesn’t care a whit about, but it’s emasculating too and that, she thinks, he ought to mind.

She remembers her first time, all fumbles and guesswork and suddenly, somehow, something inside of her. The suddenness of it is what she remembers clearly and it’s reinforced by Frank and Donald. It’s not that she hadn’t enjoyed it, it’s just that she hadn’t known it could be different. But it’s different with Hawkeye.

Hawkeye fucks like he doesn’t want you to think of it as fucking, which Margaret finds offensive. He spends time that they don’t have at her neck and her breasts and annoyingly, at parts of her that do nothing for her sexually like her forehead and the skin over her ribs. When he finally puts it in her, the way God intended it, his hips undulate too slowly for her liking and his grasp on her middle is firm but not demanding.

He’s too present, and it makes her present too. She’s aware of every touch he applies to her, she feels him enter and leave over and over, and whenever he’s inside her fully there’s a moment where nothing happens, like those few seconds after an inhale before the exhale begins - he is breathing her in and out. There’s no time for that. She wishes he’d just fuck her in the sensible, appropriate manner she’s accustomed to.

He goes to bring his hand to just above where they’re joined, but she bats it away, I’ll do it myself, and he chuckles and doesn’t put up a fight at all, because he understands her and still enjoys her. Maybe he’s the only remaining person in the camp who does. She’s a do-it-yourself kind of woman. Do it all by yourself.

He’s half-kissing, half-whispering against her temple and she lets it go because as with her and her self-sufficiency, he can’t help himself. He’s a lover and a fool. Hawkeye tries to love her and make love to her, even if she won’t have it and can’t accept it. And to his credit, he doesn’t ever pressure her to. He’s only doing what comes natural to him. *** hawkeye and margaret commiserate over lost loves

“Well, what are you going to do about this?” asked Margaret after some time.

“Margaret there’s nothing to do.”

“You could tell him how you feel.”

“Why would I do a stupid thing like that?”

“You do it all the time, Pierce.”

As Hawkeye thought about this, he grew even more self-conscious. His eyes started to shift and his back stiffened up again.

“Do you think he knows?” he asked finally in the lowest tone he could muster.

“Even if he has an inkling, he’d never assume such a thing. You’d have to whack him over the head with it. Or tell him with your words.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you, I know everything,” then seeing the pleading look he gave her and appreciating how rarely he gave her such a look, she relented, “BJ’s not like us Hawkeye. He feels things just as deep, but he’s not always aware of it. And… and even if he was aware of it, that’s different than allowing it, or embracing it.”

It felt to Hawkeye like she was saying that BJ couldn’t embrace him, not for as long as Hawkeye couldn’t or wouldn’t use words to express himself. And then, maybe not even if Hawkeye did take that leap…

“Since you’re so smart,” Hawkeye stacked his tray atop hers and motioned for her to follow him out into the night, where he continued, “What do you think BJ might say if I were to… you know, use my words.”

Margaret made him wait for the response. He thought she might be thinking on it as they walked together in the general direction of her tent. As they walked, their arms brushed together, and Hawkeye naturally slipped his arm into the crook of her elbow. She allowed it, which wasn’t a good sign for him. He had to hold his breath whenever Margaret allowed him to be affectionate with her, even as a friend. Or especially as a friend. When she was friendly with him, it was because there was a blow coming from some unseen place and she liked him enough to try to soften it. ***

BJ goes to maine (derogatory)

BJ’s mind does a funny thing where it moves a mile a minute, but is focused on only one thing. It’s like when he’d first hit empty road coming out of San Francisco. Hours and hours on his bike, the peripherals whizzing by fade into nothing, until all he can see is a single fixed point in front of him.

Right now the whole world is a blur but for Hawkeye, there in the middle of BJ’s focus. It’s a nice place to be. Forced to look forward, there’s neither a war nor a wife left behind that he can remember clearly.

“Beej?” says Hawkeye, and BJ wonders if his name had always sounded like that coming from Hawkeye’s mouth. Honeyed.

BJ steps closer. Hawkeye has set down his book on the half of the double bed that is undisturbed, and he’s squinting at BJ in the low light of his reading lamp.

“Can’t sleep.” BJ says, taking another step closer, so that he’s standing directly in Hawkeye’s light.

Hawkeye clears his throat. “Need a some water?” he smiles. “A warm glass of milk? What do you do with Erin? Like father, like–”

BJ sits suddenly and looks at Hawkeye sharply. The action cuts off Hawkeye’s sentence.

“Please don’t…” BJ struggles. His focus shakes a bit, but the image doesn’t change. It’s still Hawkeye. “What’s wrong?” asks Hawkeye, innocently. He’s probably thinking BJ’s had a nightmare. Or else he thinks BJ can’t get to sleep in the first place.

“Nothing.” BJ surges home, towards his anchor, towards the beacon of light that’s always been there at the end of a long, dark tunnel. It’s taken shape at last. It’s Hawkeye, here with him, in the peace and quiet of his childhood home. He cups Hawkeye’s face with one hand as he kisses him. It feels strange to have stubble beneath his hand while he does this. But he can get used to it, he’s sure. It can grow on him. It will, because it’s Hawkeye. They’re finally back together again.

With one knee up on Hawkeye’s bed, BJ is painfully aware of the swelling in his pants, but can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it. Not even when he shifts his weight all onto Hawkeye, and they go tumbling onto the bed, and he’s sure Hawkeye can feel his erection through the thin bedspread and their pajamas. He hasn’t allowed himself to imagine this moment, so he just goes based on instinct and maybe a few memories of being in the backseat of his father’s Chrysler. He thrusts against what he thinks might be the inside of one of Hawkeye’s thighs, or maybe it’s the lower part of his torso. Wherever it is on him, it feels good.

#thanks :)#my fic #hawkeye x bj #margaret x hawkeye #mash #ask game #replies #i might poke you about the margaret fic sometime but it wouldn't be for a long time

13 notes · View notes