#i bet he steams a bit when he has a fever

[fluffyhare]

Yet another allergy attack, guh...

#If i wake up still sick tomorrow #prepare for strange and uninhibited dayquil/nyquil posting again #i already want to write a sickfic and I've been sick for only half a day #just like. imagining avery sick and Casper taking care of him #ouuuuuu #i bet he steams a bit when he has a fever #i wonder how illness would be different for clouds #imagining casper falling asleep sitting up in a chair next to his bed #making him tea and soup #Avery being shy about it and telling casper no no #really im okay you dont have to stay #and is like sooooo obviously sick and needing tlc #rrrrrrrgh #this is new territory for me #fluffychatter

[kiankiwi]

Okay, here’s an idea: we all know how men tend to turn into total babies when they’re sick, right? Do you think you could write something where E slips into babyspace when he gets sick? Thanks!

Elvis always made sure you knew he didn't feel good. He was achey, sniffling, just all around he didn't feel well and he made sure everyone knew how uncomfortable he was. He also knew he could get away with being a brat when he was sick because all you wanted was to make him feel better. You weren't surprised the day after he came home feeling under the weather but still big that he had slipped into a much younger headspace during the night, going almost nonverbal except for some whining and achey groaning.

The morning after he comes home complaining of feeling unwell, you wake up to him crying in his crib. You run to his nursery and find him sitting up, crying and making grabby hands at you, coughing a mucus filled cough. "Hi sweet boy, c'mere. You sound so icky. I wonder how the Colonel didn't notice you sounded so yucky the other day." Elvis just sniffled and nestled his nose into your neck. He didn't care that he could barely breathe. "Hey, you wanna rock with mama?" Elvis looked over at the oversized rocking chair and then back at you. He didn't care what he did as long as he was doing it with you.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea, let's have a snuggle." You lay Elvis across your lap as you sit back in the rocking chair and check if he has a fever. Nope no fever but he definitely sounds congested. "Baby, can you show mama what hurts if you can't tell her?" Elvis takes a minute to point to his temple and his chest. You nod. "What about here, you don't feel icky here, love?" You poke him in the belly, praying he doesn't have a stomach bug. He shakes his head. Good, it should be just the common cold. You nod, rocking him for a few more minutes, trying to think of what you could do to make him feel better.

Eventually you two have to get up and instead of going downstairs to get him a bottle, first you decide to sit in the bathroom and turn the shower on to steam up the bathroom and hopefully loosen up the mucus in his chest and head.

You turn the shower on the hottest setting and sit with Elvis on the floor as the small room slowly steams up. Elvis looks at you a little confused. "This'll make your chest feel better bubba. I promise." Eventually he starts coughing and he sounds horrible. His throat probably hurts so bad, you think as he curls into himself as he coughs and you rub his back and grab some toilet paper for him to spit into. "Get it up bub, good boy. Doing such a good job."

After coughing for a bit, Elvis grabs at his sore throat, whining and leans into you, silently asking for a hug. "Oh, bubby. Here let's go get you some milk okay? I bet some warm milk would help your throat." He nods, immediately reaching his arms up to you, begging to be picked up as soon as you stand up off the bedroom floor. "Oh, c'mere big boy." Hearing big boy, Elvis whines again, stuffing his face into your shoulder. He's tiny and he wants you to know it.

Ten minutes later, you're making yourself some toast and coffee while Elvis is gratefully sipping on his warm milk. And for some reason while in babyspace as he drinks his milk in his highchair he always likes to raise the arm that's not holding his bottle and put it on his head, bent at the elbow. And he just silently drinks like that. It's something you only see when he's really relaxed and content and usually only happens when he's watching TV if he's big. You sit with E at the table, holding your coffee cup out. "Cheers, sickie." Elvis pops the nipple of the bottle out of his mouth, breathing hard since he can't breathe out of his nose and taps his bottle against your cup. You smile at how cute he is. "Hey, I love you, little. I'm so glad you're my bubby." Elvis just sucks down the rest of his milk and reaches his hand out to you; Both big and little him love physical touch.

When Elvis is done with the bottle, he bangs it on the tray of the highchair, his way of saying he wants more. At least that's normal, you think as you get up to put your plate in the sink and grab his cup, putting it in the sink as well. "No more bubba, I don't want your tummy getting upset okay? You already chugged that thing." He groans at you, slamming his open palms on his highchair tray.

"Hey, none of that, how about we snuggle while we watch some... Carebears?" Elvis gasped hearing the name of his favorite show. You smiled and offered your hands outstretched to him. "Yeah? Let's rest and watch a show huh?" You pick Elvis up and carry him to the couch, setting him on the end of the couch and he stretches out a bit while you grab him a box of tissues.

Just then you hear an adorable sneeze and Elvis squeaks, caught off guard. "Oh goodness, bless you bunny! Did that scare you?" Elvis looks to you, eyes wide.

You give Elvis the tissue box and sit next to him on the couch, starting his show. Elvis blows his nose and just drops the tissue to the carpet. "Elvis! No baby, that's icky. Here, I'll toss it okay." You stand again, walking to the kitchen to throw away the used tissue and get him a plastic bag to toss away any others.

When you get back, Elvis is entranced in his show and laying down a bit more. You cuddle up next to him and let him lay himself on your chest. Your 100% with being nap trapped if it helps him feel better. You place your hand in his hair and trace your fingers ghostly over his forehead. You feel him get a bit heavier on top of you as sleep settles in his tired achey body.

"Go to sleep lovie, it's okay to be tired." Elvis taps his hand silently. "What? You want me to hold your hand?" Elvis nods. "I'd love to hold your hand bubba. Sleep well, I love you.' Elvis just squeezes your hand in a silent, I love you too as he finally closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him again.

*

Woo, an elvis babyspace sickfic!

#sickfic #littleelvispresley #babyspace #little!e #ilovesickfics #elvis presley #kiwiswriting

[alwaysmarveling]

Laryngitis

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Nat’s a protective girlfriend and you may or may not be sick

A/N: I somehow just realized that since yesterday was Monday, by my unofficial posting schedule, I was supposed to post something yesterday. Sorry for missing it, but I hope you guys enjoy this :)

The annoying beeping of the alarm filled the pitch-black room. Not fully awake, you realized Natasha didn’t have to be waking up this early, so you shot up to turn off the clock before it could wake her up. Just as you were fiddling with the buttons, a groan from beside you told you that you were too late.

“D’you have to go already?” your girlfriend asked, her voice husky and slurred. You whispered back to her in an effort to not wake her up completely.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for waking you, Natty. Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t have to whisper, babe. We both know I’m not going back to sleep.” You let out a sigh, rubbing your eyes slowly to pull yourself into consciousness. She was right; Natasha was a light sleeper, and once she was up, she was up. “Don’t worry about it, dorogaya. Means I can do your hair for you.” That brought a small smile to your face. Not only was Natasha amazing at doing your hair, but it was always an intimate moment between the two of you that both of you loved. As long as Natasha wasn’t away, she made it a point to do your hair for you, even if you two were in an argument with each other.

A small cough brought you back to the present moment. You weren’t sure what it was, but you just weren’t feeling it today. You thought it was the sleep at first, but it was never this hard to wake up, and it wasn’t like you did anything particularly exhausting the day before. Shaking out your arms, you dismissed the thought and slid off of the bed.

“I’m going to go get ready first.” Both you and the redhead froze at your voice.

“Are you okay, detka?” You leaned over the mattress to gently rub at the deep crease between her brows, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I must just have something stuck in my throat.” The spy chuckled at your response, but you could still sense an uneasiness in her.

“Go drink some water. Does your throat hurt or anything?”

“I’m fine, Nat.” She simply hummed, watching as you shuffled into the bathroom. You may or may not have told your girlfriend a little lie, but so what if your throat hurt? You’d be fine in less than an hour. You didn’t want to worry her over nothing.

When you were finished in the bathroom, the lights in the room were on, and Natasha was now sitting on the edge of your bed, legs crossed.

“Come sit.” She tapped the small footstool in front of her with her foot before returning to her position. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked again as you joined her.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. You really don’t want me to go on this mission, huh?” you teased. Your face contorted at the end as you tried to hold in a cough, and you still sounded like a frog. Still, you tried to play it cool, hoping Nat was still buying your previous excuse. 

“Well of course I don’t want my girl to leave me.” You could practically feel your heart jump out of your chest when she called you hers, but you simply winked at her.

“I shouldn’t be gone long, half a week at most,”  you informed her, sitting down on the stool.

“I’d miss you even if you were gone for five minutes,” Nat murmured, leaning over to kiss the top of your forehead. “Oh my god, Y/N. You are not going on this mission, you liar. You have a fever!” As if she planned it, you shivered as a chill ran through your body.

“Nat, I promise you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “You sound like a zombie. You look like a zombie too.”

“I- hey!” You didn’t mean to yell as loudly as you did, and it threw you off a little bit, causing you to release a series of dry coughs. Lips pursed, the redhead rubbed your back in an effort to soothe you.

“You are definitely sick, Y/N. Get back in bed. I’ll tell Fury.”

“Natty, you’re not going to-” Before you could finish, she was already at the bedside table, phone to her ear. Damn your girlfriend and her spy skills.

“Hey, Fury, Y/N’s sick with a fever and probably laryngitis. You’re going to have to get someone else to cover the mission.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. You hated missing work. You’d never been one to take a vacation or a day off; for the whole time you’d been working under SHIELD, you only took a sick day once after you’d had to get surgery due to a mission gone slightly wrong. Even then, it took some serious persuasion to get you to do so. You were too busy stressing about missing the mission to listen to the rest of your girlfriend’s conversation with Fury until you heard her calling your name.

“Y/N. Babe? Y/N? Hello?” Looking up from your hands, you met her concerned gaze.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Fury’s asking how you’re feeling.”

“Good enough to go on the mission?” The redhead rolled her eyes.

“Try again. He’s worried about you.” She held out the phone to you. “Fury, you’re on speaker.”

“L/N, how’s the throat? Try tea with lemon and honey, it’ll help.”

“I’m fine, old man,” you rolled your eyes.

“Wow, you really are sick.” Your lips parted slightly, and Nat couldn’t help but chuckle at the indignance written across your face. “Get some rest, L/N. Don’t worry about the mission, it shouldn’t be hard to get someone to cover for you.”

“But-”

“No ‘but’s. L/N, your powers are literally based on your voice. This is a minor mission, but if this goes south, we need someone who can defend themselves to their full capacity. You are way too valuable to be lost just because you got sick. Listen to your girlfriend. Get better soon. That’s an order. Goodbye, L/N. Thanks for calling, Romanoff.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wait, Fur-” The man hung up before you got the chance to finish. “This is all your fault.” You crossed your arms, turning away from the former assassin.

“Y/N,” Natasha sighed. “It’s just one mission. I promise everything’ll be okay.” She knew well of your anxiety regarding missing work considering she was the one who had convinced you to take the sick day after your surgery. While she hated making you upset, she knew—and if you were being honest, you did too—that you couldn’t go on a mission like this.

“What if I fall behind? Or what if Fury decides he doesn’t need me anymore? Or what if-” Your voice got weaker the more you spoke, partially because of your nerves but also partially due to your illness.

“Babe, as much as I’d love to talk this out with you, you shouldn’t be talking. Your throat is already destroyed, so for now I’m going to need you to trust me and just listen.” She took your hand and gently guided you back to the bed, purposefully avoiding the glare you were giving her.

“You won’t fall behind because this mission isn’t important. Fury said so himself. I promise it won’t affect your performance at work. And Fury will never decide he doesn’t need you anymore because he literally sees you as his kid.”

“He-” Natasha pressed a finger to your lips before you could finish.

“No talking. Yes, he does see you as his kid whether you want to admit it or not. He will also never replace you because you’re one of the best agents he has. He asked you to join the Avengers for a reason, printsessa. He’s not going to fire you just because you get laryngitis one time, even if you fall behind because of it.” Your girlfriend bent down slightly to meet your eyes, which were still directed at the floor. “You’re doing amazing, Y/N. You do so much for so many different people, and now it’s your turn to let people return the favor. Okay?” You stared at her for a second, your face so blank even Natasha couldn’t read it. When you finally nodded, the redhead let out a small breath of relief before giving you a small smile and a peck on the forehead.

“You stay here. I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?” You reached your arms to her, fingers grasping, when she began to walk away. Letting out a light laugh, she turned around and held one of your hands. “I’ll be back as fast as I can, malyshka. Why don’t you pick out something for us to watch?” She let go of you after one last kiss to the back of your hand and left before you could stop her again.

---

Natasha shuffled through the cabinets as the water was heating up in the kettle.

“Morning, Wan, starting breakfast?” the spy greeted the witch.

“Yeah, you’re up early. Y/N’s mission?”

“Actually, she’s sick,” Natasha grimaced. “Fury’s going to reassign the mission.” Wanda let out a whistle as she placed various ingredients on the kitchen counter.

“I bet she didn’t take that well?”

“Nope. But she can barely speak, and even when she can, she can’t speak more than a sentence or two without stopping to cough, which means…” She trailed off as she inspected a medicine bottle.

“No powers.” Satisfied, Natasha put the rest of the bottles away and returned to the now whistling kettle.

“Exactly.”

“Huh, the kid who can kill people just by speaking with a certain tone gets taken down by a virus.” The former assassin chuckled as she squeezed lemon juice into a steaming cup of tea.

“Don’t let her hear that.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it.” Wanda’s laugh rang through the room.

“Is she hungry? I can make some soup after breakfast if she’s up for it.”

“That would be great,” Natasha smiled gratefully, “Thank you so much.”

“Of co- Your girlfriend is calling for you.” Red flashed as Natasha’s head whipped up, confused.

“Are you sure? I didn’t hear anything. I told her not to-”

“No, no, not verbally. She’s just thinking it. Very loudly.” Nat sighed, but the corners of her lips curled upwards at your antics.

“Is there anything the queen needs?”

“Just you. And no medicine.” The spy shook her head.

“Tell her,” she started, tossing a spoon into the sink, “that I’m on the way. With medicine.”

“You got it,” Wanda promised with a wink. “Warning you now, though, her majesty won’t be happy.”

---

Sure enough, Wanda was right. You had already opened your mouth to complain about the medicine in Nat’s hands, but one stern look from her had you zipping your lips closed in a second.

“You take this, in a couple of days you can talk again.” Your girlfriend didn’t need to be able to read minds to understand what you were thinking; your face said everything. “Yes, a couple of days,” she ordered firmly, handing you two pills. “Take them. Here’s your tea, and I also got you a bottle of water.” You gave her a grateful smile before swallowing the pills, grimacing as they scratched their way down your very sore throat.

“Good girl,” Natasha murmured. “Now,” she started with a peck to your cheek, “Do you need anything else? Blankets? A cool towel? Oh, Wanda’s making you soup, by the way, but I could get you a popsicle or something if you want?” You shook your head at all of her requests. Instead, you patted the spot on the bed next to you.

“Alright,” the redhead smiled. “What’d you pick for us to watch?” You pointed to the screen in front of you. “American Idol. You really aren’t making things easier for yourself, huh?” Nevertheless, she slid in next to you, sitting cross legged, and pulled you into her, your head resting on her lap with the laptop placed in front of you. 

“Maybe I can pull an Ursula and use one of their voices for the mission,” you whispered.

“I swear to god, Y/N, if you don’t shut up,” the spy laughed. A smile on your face, you hit play and snuggled yourself further into her.

As Nat ran her fingers up and down the length of your arm, you couldn’t help but relax into her. Sure, your throat wasn’t better by any means, and you had some lingering anxiety about the mission. But if you had to miss a mission, this was sure as heck the best way to do it, with Natasha right by your side.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

[robininthelabyrinth]

🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Lan Wangji does not think it’s safe to raise A-Yuan in Cloud Recesses after the Lans participated in the killing of his zhiji and the entire Burial Mounds community (or more accurately that it’s not safe while he himself is in seclusion and can’t watch over A-Yuan, at least) so he delivers A-Yuan to the one person who he knows did not stand against Wei Wuxian (and got away with it, bc this person has never stood against anything, since standing takes effort): Nie Huaisang.

Little Side Door - ao3

Nie Huaisang’s rooms in the Unclean Realm had a little side door that no one but him ever used.

They hadn’t originally. The Unclean Realm was a fortress, designed to maximize protection and defense; there was no better place for keeping things safe by locking them away. While it had its fair share of boltholes and escape routes, they were not common and universally difficult to access lest the enemy learn of them and use them to their advantage. Even the layout of their open spaces were carefully planned lest the attack come from the sky, a concern that only cultivators had, and not about how they themselves could escape – after all, weren’t they all Nie, ready to die rather than endure dishonor?

The little side door that led to Nie Huaisang’s room opened onto a small rock garden, left to grow wild with weeds rather than reveal its presence to more people. It existed only because his brother had ordered it constructed by those he trusted most, all in secret in the dark of the night. He had never explained why he had gone to such lengths to create such an unwelcome and inauspicious place, but then, he hadn’t needed to – Nie Huaisang had been there, too, when his father had descended into madness and they had been trapped in the familial quarters with no way out that did not take them through him. If his brother had been the one to brave his father’s rage directly, Nie Huaisang had been the one stuck in a small space that was only not claustrophobic because it was so painfully familiar.

Now, though his father was long dead and gone, Nie Huaisang had a little side door.

A little side door, and a little garden that almost no one knew about; in combination with the saber that his brother forced him to learn and the golden core he had so begrudgingly formed, he now had a way to reach the sky and the illusive freedom it represented – the freedom to flee and leave his home behind.

If it ever happens again – his brother had said once, the closest he had ever come to speaking of it.

He did not finish his sentence, as Nie Huaisang had thrown his plate into his face and stormed off, steaming mad and close to tears. He did not raise the subject a second time.

Nie Huaisang did not often use his little side door.

Although he enjoyed gardens, he preferred the aviary he’d constructed, or one of the myriad of well-tended gardens in the main part of the sect; even the vegetable gardens out back beside the kitchens were far more welcoming than that sparse straggle of land. He’d only ever spent time there when he was a child and in desperate need of some quiet, wanting to avoid adults with their arguments and their miseries; he’d taken some friends there because he thought it might impress them, but it hadn’t, and anyway his brother had put a stop to that soon enough.

He didn’t even think about the little side door, most days. It was just a part of the room, a small tucked away corner with nothing in it. Nothing to think about.

And then, of course, years after he’d put it out of his mind entirely, there came a terrible banging noise at that little side door, like someone was kicking at it furiously from the outside.

Nie Huaisang nearly fell over sideways in his scramble to get up, and then once again when he realized where the noise was coming from – almost no one knew about his side door and its little garden, and so no one had ever come to him through it. Who would be knocking now…?

He opened it.

Lan Wangji, white robes stained with blood and cheeks bright with fever, shoved something into his arms. “You have a child now,” he said through bitten lips. “Congratulations. He is called A-Yuan. I entrust you with his care, for my sect cannot be trusted with it.”

And then he turned and staggered away, mounting up on Bichen and flying off before Nie Huaisang could say anything – before he could even finish searching his memories and recalling that yes, in fact, Lan Wangji had been one of the friends he had shown the side door to, years and years before, and thus knew how to find it. Before he could even start processing the thousands of thoughts that had spring to life, fully formed, at all the information he’d just received: the bloody robes, the desperation, the reference to the Lan sect – the Lan sect! – being somehow untrustworthy…

He looked down at his arms.

“Congratulations,” he echoed blankly. “I have a child now.”

The child blinked up at him, and then smiled.

-

“Da-ge!” Nie Husiang howled, rushing into the sect leader’s study where his brother was doing work – luckily it wasn’t receiving hours and he wasn’t in the main hall, as that would have been unfortunate. “Da-ge, you have to help me! I have a child now!”

His brother stared at him, expression blank and mouth slightly agape. The brush in his hand dripping ink onto a now-wasted piece of paper.

“Huaisang,” he said after a moment. “What the fuck.”

Nie Huaisang nodded furiously.

“Where did you get – how – who – what did you do?!”

“I am currently unable to disclose any details,” Nie Huaisang said promptly even as his brother tossed aside the brush and got up, striding over with a storm brewing in his face. “All I can say is that I have to raise this child now. By which I mean, you have to help me raise this child now; I can’t raise children! I’m not mature enough to raise a child!”

“No kidding! Why would someone entrust – to you…” Nie Mingjue trailed off, looking down at the child with a frown that shifted from disbelieving irritation to concern. He pressed his hand to the child’s forehead. “Huaisang, this child has a high fever. We need to get him to the medical wing at once – is that blood?”

“Not his, I don’t think?”

“I don’t want to know,” his brother decided. “Move.”

Some time later, they were both sitting next to the bed in one of the spare rooms in the family quarters; Nie Huaisang thought it might even have been the same one that he’d used when he was very young. A-Yuan was sleeping, and Nie Mingjue was still holding his little hand in his own, having been clocked as the oversize comfort animal that he not-so-secretly was from the very first moment A-Yuan laid eyes on him.

The doctors had declared A-Yuan’s fever to be very severe, but they had applied plenty of medicine – the Lan sect might have more esoteric healing techniques, but there wasn’t anything like the Nie sect when it came to standard medicine for injuries and illnesses associated with the battlefield, and despite A-Yuan’s tender age Nie Huaisang would be willing to bet that his injuries were from a battlefield. They were confident that A-Yuan would make a full recovery, body and mind both intact, although they warned that his memory of the past might be impacted.

Nie Huaisang had thought about all that blood that wasn’t his, of Lan Wangji pale-faced and wild-eyed, and decided that a little bit of forgetting might not be so bad after all.

“Are you going to tell me anything more,” his brother said after a while. “Or should I just give up now?”

Nie Huaisang leaned over and patted his knee. “It’s good that you know your limitations.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he remarked.

“What part?” Nie Huaisang asked, curious. “The fact that we have a kid now, because obviously we’re keeping him? Or the fact that someone gave a kid to me?”

“Both,” his brother decided. “Definitely both.”

-

“His name’s A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang said. “Apparently.”

“Well,” his brother said. “Obviously that won’t do.”

-

Nie Huaisang had the ability to be sneaky when he wanted to be. It wasn’t a matter of stealth, he had explained to his brother, but sneakiness– a completely different concept. Stealth suggested that he was doing something to conceal himself and required skills and talent, or else a lot of practice, and obviously Nie Huaisang was not going to go in for either of those.

Sneakiness, though…

He didn’t need people not to be able to see him in order to be sneaky. He just needed them not to care about him, or wonder where he was.

“Psst,” he said, knocking on the window to the rooms where Lan Wangji was purportedly practicing seclusion. “Psst! Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji had given him a child. They were definitely past the ‘Lan-er-gongzi’ stage.

“Lan Zhan!” he rapped at the window with his fan. “We need a courtesy name!”

There was some sounds from within the jingshi, mostly stumbling around. Nie Huaisang waited patiently, and after a few moments the window opened and Lan Wangji stared out at him. He was as pale as a ghost with lips as red as blood, and very clearly not in seclusion at all, but rather in the midst of healing whatever wounds had left him bloody – he probably shouldn’t have gotten out of bed to answer.

Oh, well. Too late for regret now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lan Wangji said, voice dull and eyes blank as he stared at Nie Huaisang. It was unclear if he meant in the Cloud Recesses generally, or here in particular, interrupting his ‘seclusion’.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Nie Huaisang said, scowling at him. “We need a courtesy name! A courtesy name for the child, you hear me? You know, of course, that Qinghe Nie don’t use personal names, not even for children – certainlynot for children older than their first year. It’d be a complete giveaway that he’s not organically ours if we call him something like A-Yuan.”

Lan Wangji raised a hand to pinch his nose. “Please go away.”

“Courtesy name, Lan Zhan. I mean, I may be the one who’ll be raising him, but please think carefully: do you really want meto be the one naming him?”

“…call him Sizhui.”

“Sizhui,” Nie Huaisang repeated. “With the characters…?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“Uh, no,” Nie Huaisang said. “I need a bettercourtesy name. Are you joking?”

“Nie Huaisang. Go away.”

“But –”

Lan Wangji slammed the window shut.

“…fine,” Nie Huaisang said to the closed window. “Be that way, see if I care. Not like we don’t need to build up a decent coparenting relationship or anything eventually.”

He thought he heard a choking sound from behind the door and smirked.

“Don’t you think you can baby-trap me and just walk away, Lan Zhan,” he said in his best ominous tone. “If you wanted someone to raise your kid without ever consulting you again, you should’ve dropped him off in the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, who’d probably be too busy being confused to even question where he came frome – but no. You came to me. I don’t make decisions in the best of times, least of all good. I have questions. A lot of questions.”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Not about how you got him or anything like that,” he said. “I’m not stupid, I can tell a secret when I see one. But, you know, other types of questions. Parenting stuff. Are you a ‘go sit and think about what you’ve done’ sort of parent? Or more traditional discipline, with copying lines and occasionally strikes when they’re naughty? Do you want him to learn the Lan sect rules along with the Nie sect principles –”

There was a muffled sound from inside the house.

It sounded angry.

“…we can talk about it later,” Nie Huaisang decided. He might’ve pushed his luck a bit too much. “Talk later!”

-

“You have a…what?” Lan Xichen asked, his smile a little fixed and stare a little wilder than normal.

“A nephew!” Nie Mingjue gushed. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Nephew.”

“He’s so well behaved, too! He plays quietly by himself most of the time, drawing and even writing a little, and Huaisang’s already teaching him how to play the dizi –”

“When you say nephew, do you mean Nie Huaisang’s child?”

“Do I have other brothers?” Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him. “He’s obviously not yours. Anyway, I know Meng Yao is expecting one, too, but he wouldn’t be dressed in Nie colors if it was his, would it?”

“Yes, but…are you telling me that…that Nie Huaisang…”

“It’s a battlefield child, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “Obviously. Someone entrusted him to Huaisang.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen said, looking relieved. “Yes, that makes more sense…wait.”

Nie Mingjue waited.

“Someone entrusted him to Nie Huaisang?”

“I know, right?” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen didn’t notice how strained his grin had suddenly become, or how thoughtful his eyes were as he surveyed Lan Xichen as if trying to find an answer to a question. “I would’ve assumed they’d go for someone more responsible, like you. Guess you never know…”

“I guess you don’t,” Lan Xichen agreed, looking down at the child with a bemused expression. A battlefield child, entrusted to Nie Huaisang… “They must have been truly driven to desperation.”

“Perhaps,” Nie Mingjue said, and then changed the subject to little Nie Sizhui’s accomplishments, of which he could list many at great length and very great enthusiasm. By the time he was done with that, Ln Xichen was so overwhelmed that he didn’t ask a single other question.

-

“So I’ve got an idea on how to do this whole co-parenting thing,” Nie Huaisang said, cracking nuts to eat. He was sitting next to Lan Wangji’s bedside, and dropping the shells straight on the floor, too, staring dead-eyed at Lan Wangji as if daring him to say something – which he wouldn’t, of course. “Since with Sizhui starting classes soon it’s become much more urgent, on account of me needing you to attend meetings with his teachers and discuss his progress.”

Lan Wangji looked deeply long-suffering. He’d only invited Nie Huaisang inside because Nie Huaisang had threatened to start shouting out his business loudly on account of oh but Lan Zhan, how was I to know if you could hear me in there, I just had to raise my voice just in case because I wouldn’t want you to miss any of the extremelyimportant news –

It was all Lan Wangji’s fault for being born earlier than Nie Huaisang, Nie Huaisang thought virtuously. It was merely Nie Huaisang’s lot in life to fulfill the role of annoying younger brother to everyone.

“See, it’s the music,” Nie Huaisang continued. “You do music, right?”

Lan Wangji’s ice-cold glare suggested that he did, in fact, ‘do music’.

“So your brother has been playing this song for da-ge on a regular basis,” Nie Huaisang explained, ignoring the glare entirely. “And when he’s not available, which is most of the time nowadays, he’s been sending san-ge instead. Even though, of course, poor san-ge’s so busy back at Lanling all the time…ughh, it’s so unfair, you know! Poor san-ge has to do all the work of being the heir and gets none of the benefits, and they pile even more work on him on top of that – really, he gets no respect.”

Lan Wangji’s expression suggested he didn’t care.

“And think about the inconvenience to us!” Nie Huaisang sallied forth, undeterred. “People coming and going all the time, da-ge having to interrupt his schedule of spending quality time with me and Sizhui – and sect leader work, of course, though that’s less important – in order to march over to greet them and host them and listen to them…what a pain it is!”

Lan Wangji appeared on the verge of suggesting that Nie Huaisang consider getting to the point.

“So you should come do it instead.”

Lan Wangji’s expression cracked, suggesting that Nie Huaisang had actually managed to make an impact.

“You remember,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse from all that refusing to speak he’d been doing. Really, if Nie Huaisang wasn’t around to goad him into it, he might’ve lost the voice entirely – he didn’t even have little Sizhui around to force him to speak! “That I’m in seclusion. Right?”

“You’re horribly lonely is what you are,” Nie Huisang said briskly. “You require company. Therefore, coming to take up a semi-permanent posting in the Unclean Realm to play the Song of Clarity for my brother morning, noon, and night is clearly the finest way to solve all of our problems, and for you to see little Sizhui as often as you like.”

Lan Wangji visibly wavered. “My brother,” he said, then coughed. “My brother will never believe it.”

“That’s your problem,” Nie Huaisang said. “Find a way to sell it.”

He stood, shaking the remaining shells onto the chair.

“See you in Qinghe soon, Lan Zhan..!”

Lan Wangji was trying to kill him with his mind, Nie Huaisang thought happily as he wandered off with a whistle and a vaguely silly expression. Good – he’d been inside for too long. He needed the stimulation.

-

“Truly,” Nie Mingjue remarked, strolling around their gardens without any apparent notice of the small child perched on his shoulders, giggling wildly at the feeling of being tall, “I feel far better than I did before! One can scarcely compare it – night and day, really. Your Lan sect’s Song of Clarity is a marvel, even if it does take a while before it kicks in.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said, walking slowly with his hands behind his back. He was still unsteady on his feet on account of the absolutely horrific injuries he’d incurred – but if the Lan sect’s response to everything was seclusion, seclusion, seclusion, then the Nie sect’s equivalent response was exercise. These little excursions through the gardens were the result.

Thus far, they were still only doing laps around the main gardens, but Nie Huaisang had plans to eventually force Lan Wangji to go even as far as his own little side garden. He’d made it through his side door once, after all; why not a second time..?

At any rate, Nie Huaisang still wasn’t quite sure how Lan Wangji had talked Lan Xichen into allowing him to come to the Unclean Realm, but it really did make the whole co-parenting business a lot more convenient. And his brother had had so much fun making Lan Wangji stiff and awkward over all his thanks and praise for his decision to come ‘help out’ with Nie Sizhui’s raising until finally, at last, Nie Huaisang had taken pity and revealed that Nie Mingjue knew perfectly well whose battlefield child this was.

Both in terms of who had gifted him to Nie Huaisang, and who’d adopted him originally, and of course even his original surname – The little tot’s been through enough adoptions to make anyone’s head spin, his brother had said, his voice gruff as always. There’s no point in thinking back too far, is there?

Lan Wangji had been very relieved.

“Run, bobo!” Nie Sizhui cried, pointing over at a bird. “We need to get it for Sang-gege!”

Nie Mingjue snorted like a bull but obediently quickened his feet and left the rest of them behind, heading in full charge straight at the wild pheasant that was far more likely to end up on Nie Huaisang’s plate than in his aviary. It was about even odds which one Nie Sizhui meant, anyway.

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low, and Nie Huaisang looked at him. “The Song of Clarity does not take time to work. These effects should have happened at once.”

Nie Huaisang opened his fan, hiding his face as he frowned. “How odd,” he said. “And after san-ge put in all that hard work.”

“Perhaps he played it wrong.”

“Odd,” Nie Huaisang said again. “When san-ge gets so very little wrong…has your brother sent any word on the Xue Yang issue?”

“…he has not.”

“He’s going to need to pick a side eventually.”

“He does not want to make things difficult for his sworn brother.”

“Does he have only the one?” Nie Huaisang asked archly, and Lan Wangji averted his gaze. “It’s awkward for us if he doesn’t back us, and is a bad look besides…truly, it’s a wonder that san-ge managed to squeeze out the time to come here.”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepened. “Indeed,” he said. “One would think his father might be tempted to stop him.”

“Wouldn’t you just?” Nie Huaisang said. “Wouldn’t you just…you know, maybe when you’re feeling better, we should go visit Lanling ourselves.”

Lan Wangji glanced at him, arching an eyebrow, and Nie Huaisang smiled, fanning himself casually.

“I’m not the only one with a little side door,” he said. “Let’s go knocking and see what we find, shall we?”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan wangji #lan sizhui #nie mingjue #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #little side door

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidentally Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 6 | Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: As Molly and Chris become friends, Tom becomes jealous and makes a terrible mistake. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

-

Tom came home carrying an enormous bouquet of lilies and roses he purchased on the way home. He bubbled with anxiety and excitement. His talk with Benedict had done him wonders. Until he opened the door to an empty house. He called out for Molly a few times but got no response. There was also no note. He slumped in a kitchen chair. His phone buzzed.

I’m on my way home. Sorry I didn’t leave a note. Hope you aren’t worried. I promise I’m fine!

Tom smiled at the message. He didn’t know why, but something gnawed at the back of his mind. He scrambled to his feet as he overheard the door opening.

“Tom?” Molly yelled into the house.

“In the kitchen, darling!” He fidgeted with the flowers behind his back. As he stared at the floor, a wide grin grew on his face.

“Molly, I…” His face fell as Evans walked in behind Molly.

“Look who stopped by and took me to lunch!” Molly squeaked.

Chris slung an arm over Molly’s shoulders. Tom’s fist clenched around the flowers behind his back.

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing your girl, Tom.” Chris smirked. “She said you were out to lunch with Benedict.”

“Not at all, Chris.” Tom lied. “I’m glad you could keep my wife company.”

“Pleasure was all mine, pal. She is,” Chris gazed down at Molly with a look that made Tom want to leap across the kitchen counter and strangle Chris. “a pretty special girl.”

“Chris!” Molly smacked his hand. “You are too kind. Thank you for a lovely lunch.” She squeezed his torso.

“And don’t forget about tomorrow. We will find decent margaritas in this city if it kills us.”

“You’re on. But you know I have discerning taste when it comes to my liquor.”

“That makes two of us.”

Molly and Chris giggled. “Let me show you out, Chris.” Tom offered.

Molly smiled over at Tom and noticed his hand behind his back.

“What’s that, darling?”

“What?” Tom’s brows knitted.

“Behind your back.” Molly strolled towards him and peeked around Tom. “Are those for me?”

Tom pulled the flowers out. “They are. I thought you might want them to brighten up the house.”

Molly gasped at the beautiful arrangement. “They are stunning, love.” She wrapped an arm around Tom’s neck and pecked his lips. “Thank you. I love them.”

Tom leaned down for another kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth when Molly sighed.

Chris cleared his throat and hooked his thumb towards the front of the house.

“I’ll just see myself out.”

Molly pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tom trailed kisses down her neck, tickling her skin. She giggled as Chris waved and walked away.

“What has gotten into you?” she teased as she pushed Tom back.

“Just selling the relationship. We are newly married.” Tom commented, kissing her cheek.

“Oh.”

Tom’s answer disappointed Molly. Somewhere deep inside, that place she never admits to having Molly wanted Tom to want her for more than just a PR stunt. She wanted him to love her as much as he pretended to. But it seemed clear Tom was content on keeping things professional.

“That is the plan, after all?”

“Yeah.” Molly shook her head. “So how was lunch with Ben?”

“Good. You’re going out with Chris again?” Tom’s heart sank further down as he shelved plans to tell Molly how he felt. Evans ruined that.

“He is staying in town for a few days and with you doing auditions and meetings tomorrow, Chris thought I could use some company.” She went to grab a vase for the flowers.

“I bet he did.” Tom muttered.

“What’s that?” Molly twisted her head around.

“I said how nice of him.”

Molly smiled. “It is. He is so funny too! The stories he tells.”

Tom inhaled sharply. “Think you can pry yourself from the Captain to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Anything for you.” She cupped his cheek. “Now what would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Whatever you would like, love. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Molly marched over to him and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “That is the second time you have said something like that. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Tom pulled back. “I’m fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

Molly pursed her lips. “After you drove me to urgent care, filled my prescriptions, let me sleep in your bed, and took care of my every need for three days, you can bet your sweet ass I’m fussing.” She touched his forehead again. “Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever. Go lie down in the living room and I’ll bring you dinner.”

“But I…”

“Go!” She jabbed a finger at the door. “I will not have you getting sick on my hands.”

Tom held up his hands in defeat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Molly came in with a steaming bowl of a beef stew she whipped up with leftovers in the fridge and on the side some thick slices of a crusty bread she picked up a few days ago. A heavy slash of butter on top. She arranged it on a tray for Tom.

“Arms and knees up.” she commanded. Tom complied, tucking up his knees. Molly set down the tray and then settled into the spot once occupied by Tom’s feet. “Eat up.”

Tom blew onto a spoonful before taking a bite. He moaned as he swallowed. “That is exquisite, Molly. What is it?”

“Leftover stew.” Molly took a bite herself.

“You made this with the leftovers?”

“You learn to get creative with the spice cabinet.”

“Foster care?” Tom asked quietly, teeth crunching through the crust of the bread.

“College. Financial aid only goes so far. I couldn’t let food go to waste. I became famous or rather infamous in the dorm freshman year with what I could with a microwave. A modern witch, they called me.”

“You have certainly bewitched me, darling.” Tom commented without thinking. “With your cooking.” he covered. “You are a genius in that kitchen. I will have to learn some of the recipes before year’s end.”

Molly gazed up at him, pained. He was already talking about when all of this was over. Tom quickly changed the subject.

“Tell more about college. I imagine it was rather different from my experience.” Tom ate another spoonful of stew, warming his insides.

“Where did you matriculate?” Molly teased in a haughty tone.

“Cambridge.”

She let loose a low whistle. “You really are Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“With a degree in Classics.”

Molly giggled. “And I thought a tourism degree was useless.”

“Enough about me. I’m boring. Tell me about you.”

-

They talked about college, about how hard summers were when the dorms closed and Molly would couch surf while working summer jobs.

“I had amazing friends.” she whispered. “I am forever in their debt.”

Tom reached over and pulled her to his chest. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m not.” She snuggled against him. “Our experiences make us who we are. The good and the bad. I would have preferred an easier life. I would prefer not to freeze every time someone raises their voice, but that’s not me.” she sighed and the tears fell onto Tom’s shirt.

Tom smoothed down Molly’s hair. “I’m sorry to upset you. Let’s talk about happy things.”

“What are those?” she chuckled softly.

“How about this?” He stared down at her tucked under the crook of his arm. “Tell me about some of the craziest things you’ve seen as a bartender in Vegas?”

Molly laughed. “How about the one about the guy who peed on a blackjack table?”

“This I must hear.” Tom chuckled.

-

Tom woke up on the couch that next morning. Molly’s messy bun tickling his chin.

“Molly…” He groaned as he sat up. “… I have to get up, darling.”

Molly burrowed deeper into Tom’s chest and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her. He kissed her temple. She hummed and sighed. Tom’s stomach clenched.

“Time to wake up. I need to shower.”

She slowly woke and stared at Tom, realizing the compromising position of their bodies. Molly scrambled away, blushing.

“So sorry.” She sat up. “I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Tom cleared his throat. “I still have time.” Tom sat up and fiddled his hands in his lap. “You could always come with me. We could grab some lunch. You can see all of my ‘hard work’.” Tom gazed at her hopefully.

“I…” Molly pondered the offer. “can’t. I would only be in the way. And I have plans with Chris.”

“Chris, right.” Tom stood abruptly. “We wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

Molly gave a strained smile. “I already committed. But we are still having dinner?”

“Dinner, indeed. I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 6:30 p.m.”

Molly stood and hugged him. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

-

There was a knock on the door exactly when Chris said he would come by. Molly opened the door to find Chris leaned against the frame in jeans and a henley. A devastating combination.

“Hey babe, I have an Uber and a list of five Mexican restaurants with great promise. Ready to find the perfect margarita?”

“I am.” She stepped out with a smile. Chris slung his arm over her shoulder. Molly leaned in for a bit. Just long enough for a camera to click.

-

“That first place was awful!” Molly howled in the back of the Uber as they made their way to the next place.

Chris laughed next to her. “I never knew they could make tortillas out of rubber.”

Molly’s phone buzzed. It was Luke. She switched off the phone.

“Anything important?” Chris leaned over to glance at the screen.

“Just Luke. Tom’s publicist. It is probably just something about an upcoming event. I’ll ring him back later.” Molly shrugged before tucking the phone back into her purse. “Now an important question.”

“Which is?”

“Strawberry or Lime?”

“Lime all the way.”

“A purist, I like that.”

Chris burst into laughter.

-

Tom struggled against his sour disposition through most of his auditions and lunch. It wasn’t until he got to the restaurant for dinner Tom listened to Luke’s voicemail. Which led him to googling himself for the first time in years.

“Fuck!” He hissed louder than he wanted to, drawing the attention of a nearby couple. He forced a smile and gave a small wave.

Molly slipped into the chair. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. I lost track of time and then traffic.”

Tom’s fists clenched. “Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?” He spit at her.

Molly blinked at him. “What do you mean by that? I was with Chris. He seems like a nice guy.”

“And you are such a friendly girl.” Tom continued to speak in a clipped tone.

“Tom, what’s wrong?” She reached out for Tom’s hand, but he pulled it back.

“This is what’s wrong.” Tom slid his phone over to her.

Molly scrolled through the pictures with increasing horror. The headlines read: Hiddleston Marriage on the Rocks? Tom’s New Bride Steps Out with Captain America Himself.

“I… I…” Molly sputtered, handing the phone back. Hot tears hit her cheeks.

Tom threw his napkin down. “We’re leaving. Keep a smile on as we leave and when we get home. No need to give the paparazzi more fodder.”

Molly stood in a daze and Tom snatched her elbow roughly to lead her out of the restaurant. As they walked outside, Tom leaned in.

“Wrap your arm around my waist and laugh like I said something funny.”

Molly snaked her arm around him and Tom pulled her tight against him. They both threw their heads back in laughter until they got into the taxi, where Tom’s expression fell into a cold mask.

Molly sniffled with stifled sobs the entire way home. Tom took no effort to sooth her. He was… cold and detached. They repeated the charade from the restaurant up the stairs to the front door. Tom had to hold back from slamming the door.

“How could you have been so stupid?!” Tom hissed, slamming his keys onto the table.

“Don’t call me stupid. I was just going out with a friend.”

“A handsome movie star!”

“Not unlike my husband! In fact, Chris called you a close friend.” Molly raised her voice.

“He would say anything to take you from me!” Tom yelled.

Molly froze and her head dropped, shoulders hunching forward. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“How else am I to make you understand, Molly?!” Tom continued to shout like someone crazed. He gestured wildly in the air. “You are forbidden to see him.”

“I want out.” Molly sobbed.

“What?” Tom snapped out of it. He glanced at Molly, only to see the damage he had done. Molly was all but curled in on herself. She sobbed freely, shoulders shaking. “Molly, I…”

“Don’t touch me.” She turned from his hand, reaching out to her. “Why is Chris different from your sister?”

“Because Emma isn’t trying to steal you from me.”

Molly chuckled. “You’re fucking jealous?! How rich! Chris is a nice guy! I used to say the same about you. I used to…” her voice trailed off.

“Used to what?” Tom sniped, tears of anger and hurt filling his own eyes. “Take pity on me? Poor Tom with shit taste in women?! Has to pay a girl to pretend to be his wife for the papers?!”

Molly reared back and slapped him. Tom held his cheek.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Molly screeched. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”

“Molly, please…” Tom begged.

“Fuck off, Tom!” Molly pushed past him. “I thought we were…” she sobbed. “But I guess not. It’s my own fucking fault.”

“What’s your fault, Molly?” Tom asked. “What’s your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Molly cried, defeated. “I was clearly wrong about you.”

“Wrong how?” Tom’s heart shattered as she walked away, returning with a small bag.

“Goodbye, Tom. Don’t worry, I’ll be discrete. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your good guy image?” she sneered before heading to the door.

“Where will you go?” Tom grew more desperate as the reality of his actions set in.

“Away from you. Other than that, I don’t much care.” The front door slammed behind her.

Tom collapsed onto the couch and his head fell into his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!” he screamed into the void of his empty house.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

[amive2567]

Snowy sneezes

Class 1a x GN! Reader

Quirk: Snowman ~ can produce snowmen with everything that includes water. They can't melt (only by other quirks, not through natural causes), and they do whatever the host wants. If the host doesn't give any tasks immediately, the snowman becomes a body of its own forever. Unfortunately, they can't speak :( The more water there is in the air, (or any other source of water), the bigger the snowman gets. 

Warning: Crack, Fluff, mention of sexual content (because Mineta), swearing (because Bakugou), a bit OOC Midoriya

Summary: Y/n is sick, and every time they sneeze, little snowmen appear in their dorm. They are listening to music and study. Because of that, they didn't even notice that the snowmen disappeared and caused trouble. 

Disclaimer: My hero academia and the characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

Words: about 2.489

Masterlist

Inspiration by Frozen Fever

Your head pouted, and you barely could keep your eyes open. You had a quirk about snow, so why did you get sick from a snowball fight. "L/N-san, could you please lift your head from the desk and focus on the lesson." admonished you Cementos. "I am sorry, Ishiyama-sensei." you apologized. He continued to teach, but you couldn't focus on a word he said. The lesson dragged on like forever. 

After the day ended, you went straight to your dorm room to replicate the knowledge you got taught today. 

After some time, the headache disappeared, and you could finally focus on your unfinished notes. Your nose started to tingle, and with a loud achoo, you sneezed.  A cold shiver went down your spine, but you didn't think much of it. You were so caught up in the work that you didn't notice how a small snowman waddled quietly around the room. Since listening to music helped you while studying, you didn't hear the rustling steps on your carpet.  The cute snowman watched your back and looked around your room. He investigated your plant in front of your bed. His tiny form tried to stroke the plant, but his short snowy arm couldn't reach the plant. The small snowman was determined to stroke the plant, so he tried to climb up at the plant pot. Since he didn't think about the consequences, the plant pot fell over and covered him with the potting soil. Anxiously he watched if you had seen his plight. You didn't seem to notice it. So he tried to clean himself with his tiny arms. 

Another sneeze shook your body, and another tiny snowman appeared. He looked around the room and found his buddy. The two jumped happily around, and the new snowman helped to clean up his pal. The two snowmen happily discovered your room, as quiet as they could. After they were done, your room looked like you had a fight in it.  They also tried to open the door, but they were too tiny. Exhausted, the two snowmen settled in front of the door. 

A sneezing fit hit you, and about five snowmen developed in your room. The two snowmen got right up and wobbled to the new snowmen. They hugged each other like they were old friends. Silently the two older snowmen convinced the younger ones to open the door together. They built a ladder out of snowmen by stacking themself on their shoulders. With a soft click, the door opened, and they left your messy room.

Your classmates were occupied with their interests and tasks. Some were reading, training, baking, showering, or learning. So they were either outside, in their rooms, or in the common room area. This meant that the hallway in front of your room was empty. The snowmen waddled quietly around the enormous building. 

Since they discovered their new skill, they opened another door. In the room was a blond boy, who laid on his back with a manga in his hand, called Snow white with the Red Hair. He was completely caught up in the book, so he didn't even notice that someone entered his room. The snowmen inspected his room. It has the theme of yellow and blue, and on his shelf were tons of All Might figures. One snowman got his snowy hand on a manga and tried to read it. He failed because snowmen can't read, but the pictures were interesting. He wanted to read it later, so he took it with him. 

The gang of snowmen went downstairs to explore the other parts of the dorms. Loud singing caught their attention. They followed the singing and landed in a steaming environment or, to call it something more simple, the bathroom. It was hot in there, and the snowmen were happy that they couldn't melt by natural causes. Since the bathroom was really a boring place to be, they climbed on the shelves and searched through the products. After the other snowmen had left the room, the last one of them was mesmerized by a big red bottle with the label: red hair dye. He took the bottle with him and followed the other snowmen fast. 

The next stop of the seven snowy figures was another room. They used their secret method again and opened the door. The room was cramped with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Another weird thing was that there was a shelf only for tons of glasses. No one was there. The snowmen wandered around the room like it was an old museum. The two snowmen that stole something hid in the corners of the room, so their misbehavior wasn't noticed. The smallest of the snowmen looked around and climbed up on the shelf with the glasses. Unfortunately, one of the spectacles fell on the ground and broke. No one seemed to witness it, so the tiny snowman grabbed them and hid them behind his back from the others to see. After they discovered every inch of the room, they made their way to the next one. 

The room wasn't much different from the first one, but it had a more pleasant atmosphere. It was bright and happy. Some snowmen were bored because of the All Might figures they had already seen, but one of them got interested by the rarest of all time. The bronze age All Might figure. Only fifty got produced, and the owner of the room had one. The snowman needed this figure, so when no one watched him, he took the opportunity and stole it. 

They went into two other rooms before they finally got to the common-room kitchen. There stood a tall brown-haired boy with a tart pan. He studied a recipe and was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice how a snowman stole his eggs. After the boy wanted to reach for them, they were gone, and he questioned himself if he forgot to lay the eggs on the kitchen counter. He opened the fridge and saw no eggs. But he was sure that he bought them with Koda yesterday. They couldn't be gone, only if someone used them. And he was sure who it was. With angry steps, he walked to the room of a certain angry pomeranian. 

In the meantime, the snowmen discovered that everyone had stolen something. They laid their stolen objects in the middle of their circle. The items they had stolen were a romance manga, red hair dye, a pair of glasses, a rare All Might figure, eggs, lipstick, and a book. All of the snowmen had a panicked expression on their snowy faces. The humans aren't dumb they would soon find out, so they have to hide their items somewhere. Fearfully they collected the things and quickly set about hiding with the stuff in a nearby room. 

It was a dark room, and it got lit by a small source of light. Unearthly sounds could be heard from the computer screen in front of a short, purple boy. The older snowmen tried to cover the eyes of the younger ones. So they couldn't see the horrific show that played on the screen. It was dangerous to be in such a gross environment with young snowmen, but it was better than getting caught. 

"I didn't steal your lame eggs. Now leave me alone fat lips." cursed Bakugou as Sato confronted him. "But I am sure you know where my manga is, don't you?" Bakugou questioned harshly with a raised eyebrow. "Why would I want a manga from you?" Sato asked him. The blond one scoffed and pushed Sato out of the way. "I bet shitty Deku got it," he grumbled and stamped in the direction of his room. Without knocking, he kicked the door open. "Oi, shitty nerd. Give it back," he yelled. But what he didn't notice that the room was messy as hell. "Ah, Bakugou, I wanted to talk to you," Midoriya spoke slowly. His expression was horrifying. Even when Bakugou wouldn't admit it, he was scared of the shorter green-haired boy. "Now, where do you have it?" Bakugou asked, unimpressed. "What should I have? I wouldn't even give it to you. You stole my All Might bronze age figure." Midoriya yelled. He activated his quirk, and before he could Detroit Smash Bakugou into nirvana, Kirishima intervened. "Wait, that's not really manly of you, bro. My hair dye also went missing. I think someone is stealing from us." Sato followed the red-haired. "I think he's right," he said. "Let's meet up with the other ones and think about it before we hurt each other." mediated Kirishima. Still, with rage in his eyes, Midoriya let got of his powerful quirk and noded. "Alright, but I am not done with you, Kacchan." proposed Midoriya. "Whatever you say, shitty nerd." scoffed Bakugou.

As they got everyone except two persons in the common room area, the yelling began. "My lipstick went missing. How can I be able to rock my hero costume." Mina cried and hugged Uraraka desperately. The short brunette patted her back, comforting. "A book of mine also went missing," noted Momo. "Did someone saw my pair of glasses? I need to find Marry the third. Without her, my collection is incomplete." Iida yelled and made his typical hand gesture. At his comment, more than half of class 1a had to suppress a burst of laughter.  "My hair product also went missing," said Kirishima. "My limited All Might figure in his bronze age is missing," said Midoriya grumpily. "You look a bit scary, Midoriya. Is everything ok?" Todoroki asked. "Yeah, of course. I didn't need my All Might figure anyway." he sarcastically answered. "It's just a figure," Todoroki mentioned, and every chatter died down. "Dude, does he have a death wish?" asked Kaminari quietly. "Maybe," answered Sero noiselessly. "A figure... A figure..." Midoriya yelled and wanted to charge for a punch, but a frustrated screech interrupted the argument. 

You finished the last sentence of your work. So you turned around and stretched yourself with closed eyes, but as soon as you opened them, you were met with a tremendous mess. "The sneezes and the...oh shit," you yelled out in frustration. You were so occupied with work that you didn't even notice that you let go of a bunch of snowmen. Your steps stormed to the common-room to start the search for the tiny, snowy trouble makers. The yells in the common-room got louder and louder as you got nearer. "Guys," you yelled over the screeches of Midoriya. "I let go of my quirk, and some snowmen are probably starting some trouble. We need to find them." you got straight to the point. Everyone looked at you with expressionless faces. "Why is even every one of you here?" you asked now, confused. "Your tiny snow fuckers stole our stuff," Bakugou grumbled. "What was actually stolen from you, Kacchan ?" Kaminari asked.  "A manga," answered Bukugou grouchily. "Uh, which genre?" questioned Kaminary. "Shut it, dunce face," Bakugou yelled. "Just asking." waved Kaminari away. 

"Do you know where they possibly went, or how we can get rid of them?" asked Momo calmly. "I don't know where they could be," you answered, a bit disappointed. "If we find them and want to get rid of them, we need to destroy them with fire quirks. They don't melt of natural causes," you explained. "Alright, I think we build two teams. One team goes with Bakugou and the other one with Todoroki," suggested Momo. "Why do I need to be in one team. I can do this on my own." Bakugou protested. "Do you want your manga back asap?" Momo asked after that the ash-blond boy was quiet but still grumpy. "I am not going with Kacchan." Midoriya angrily said. "I don't want to go with you either," shouted Bakugou. "Just like an old married couple." laughed Kaminari. "Shut it, dunce face." yelled the blond boy. 

After you build up the teams, you started to search for the cold troublemakers. The team of yours consisted of Todoroki, Aoyama, Tsuyu, Iida, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, a grumpy Midoriya, Tokoyami, Shoji, Ojiro, and you, of course. The other ones had fewer patient people in their team. Bakugou got Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Jiro, Sato, Koda and Hagakure in his team. Your team searched on the second and third floor for the stolen things and your snowmen. 

The third floor was clear now you searched on the second floor. "Waa, how did snowmen came into my room?" a high-pitched yell caught the attention of your team. You neared the room and opened the door. Mineta was standing in front of a bunch of tiny snowmen. Everyone in the room turned, slowly their hats to the door. "Yeah, gotcha," you shouted happily. The snowmen suddenly let go of the stuff they hoarded and ran in different directions. "We need to catch them. Todoroki, Tsuyu, Iida, Momo, and I are catching them, and the rest of you secure the missing stuff," you ordered. During this time, Momo produced earpieces for communication. The people named ran with you to catch the snowmen.

Since the snowmen were fast and not as dumb as you wished they were, you had to separate. The snowman in front of you ran fast, and you yelled after him. As the snowman had to take the elevator, you could easily catch him. "I got one. Does someone else has one?" you asked in your earpiece. "I've got one too." answered Iida "Me too," said Tsuyu. "I have already burned two," said Todoroki in his calm demeanor.  "I am currently trying to catch one," yelled Momo hectically. "Thanks, guys, that means only one is missing," you said. A loud explosion roared through the dorm-building. "Now, I think only one is left." you corrected yourself. "I got the penultimate snowman," said Momo proudly. "Great." you cheered. As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, the snowman in your arms tried to wiggle himself free. "We need to met up in the common room, so we can get rid of the captured snowmen," you said to the others. 

After you got rid of the captured snowmen. Bakugou stormed into the common room area. "We found only one, are all gone?" he asked grumpily. "Only one is missing," you answered as you watched the penultimate snowman melt. "I got the last one he was hiding in the fridge," said Sato and brought you the last one. 

"Thanks, guys, for helping. I am so sorry that my quirk got out of hand and caused such trouble," you apologized to your classmates. "No problem, that could happen to every one of us. You don't need to apologize." Midoriya said reassuringly. A small smile spread across your face, and you were relieved that everyone agreed and wasn't angry with you. Except for Bakugou, but that was to be foreseen. 

#bnha x reader #bnha #mha #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #class 1a #bakugou katsuki #momo yaoyorozu #tsuyu asui #sato rikido #eijirou kirishima #snowmen #mina ashido #ochako urakara #iida tenya #trouble #fluff #crack #gender neutral reader

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Fever

[gif credit to @heytheredeann​, I couldn’t find a gif perfect for something like this, I got distracted by a certain someone’s gorgeous face.]

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: all the icky feelings of being sick, fluffy Jensen, sweet Jensen, just Jensen being adorbs!

Word Count: 1,017

Summary: The reader is sick, and Jensen treats her to a unique way to having breakfast in bed.

Square: Breakfast in Bed ( @supernatural-jackles Tell me a story bingo)

Bingo Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

~

She turned onto her side with a plugged up groan.

The side of her bed cold and empty. Telling her, her boyfriend has been up for a while now.

She and Jensen had a fun night last night hanging out, outside on his balcony. Having a chill date night. Chatting, whine, and the cool night air at his apartment in Vancouver.

She had decided to visit him while he had the weekend off. Maybe being out in the cold for however long was enough for her to get sick with the cold.

She heard the door open.

“You awake babe?” Jensen whispered.

“Barely.” She grumbles.

“You sound awful.”

“I feel awful.”

She felt a warm hand on her head. Jensen furrowed his brow. “You’re running a bit of a fever, how about you stay, rest up. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Okay.” She says, turning her face into the pillow, passing out.

Jensen shaking his head, chuckling.

She’s too wore out to stay up long enough to eat just yet. He thought.

Maybe later when she’s up for it.

 She managed to wake up for the day around noon. Jensen no where to be found in the apartment. But a note in the kitchen.

‘Went to get you a few things, rest up, maybe soak up in a nice hot bath. I’ll be home before you know it. – J’

She read his note with a sweet smile growing on her face.

“A bath sounds amazing right now.” She says with a sigh.

She gathered herself a change of  comfy clothes, getting a hot bath going. Not too hot but enough for her to tolerate.

Dumping a bath bomb in the tub, letting it fizzle and fill the tub with bubbles and the calming scent of lavender.

Undressing quickly she dips her naked body in the tub. Letting out a sigh of relief and content. The warmth of the water relaxing her muscles. The steam opening up her sinuses.

She slides further down the water, letting her head rest on the tubs edge, the water only getting to her neck. She closes her eyes, content with sleeping in the tub of warm water.

 She woke up to feeling a hand stroke a finger across her forehead.

She opened her eyes slowly, not feeling all that better but better than she did originally, seeing Jensen sitting on the tubs edge, brushing dry strands of her hair from her face. Even playing with her hair. She smiles with a hum, leaning into his touch.

“How are you feeling hon?”

“Still sick but better than I did.”

“Well that’s good at least.” He says. Getting up, walking out and coming in quickly with a towel.

“Better get out of there before you turn into a prune.”

She begins to move, the water being a lot cooler than it was when she first got in.

She got up tiredly but with ease. Getting out, walking into Jensen’s awaiting arms as he wrapped the towel around her, drying her off.

She didn’t care too much. She was still too exhausted to care that he was doing what she was well capable of doing.

“Lets get you dressed and in bed.”

“In bed? But it’s three in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, and your still sick. You need your rest. Besides, I got stuff for a killer soup I want to make you if you’re up for it?”

“Sure, soup sounds so good right now.”

She managed to get her clothes on herself, Jensen had changed her bed with clean and fresh sheets, a bottle of Gatorade on her nightstand.

She didn’t protest that she wanted to do other things, she allowed him to guide her to bed and she got herself comfortable.

“I’ll be right back; I just need to check the soup.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Well, I got home probably not long after you got in. I check on you when I got home, and the water was still hot then. So I figured you just got in at that point. So I started cooking the soup, and once it got close to being done I figured it was time to wake you up.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Turned into a prune,” he says with a sweet smile, chuckling. Earning a giggle from her.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I got your game system set up on our TV in here if you’re not sleepy, and if you’re wanting to play some games, watch YouTube or Netflix, we could watch it on there.”

“Got to remind me to go to Best Buy to get our Apple TV fixed.”

“Yeah, been meaning to, just been busy lately.”

“I know, but I still say it needs to be updated.”

“I just think it’s something else.”

“Jensen, I’m telling you when apps crash, it’s a compatibility issue with the software. It’s nothing more than a computer.”

“Such a nerd.”

“I know, you love me.”

“Yes I do.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving to check on the soup.

Coming back with a tray, sitting it on her lap she see’s two bowls of soup,  her favorite fruit juice she likes to drink when she’s sick, and small potted plant. The tag saying it’s a sweet blossom, a white spotted Aloe looking plant.

“Aw, thanks Jay.”

“Figured with your allergies, you’d like this type of plant instead.”

“I do like it, but place your bets on how long it’ll take me to kill it.”

“It’s a type of cactus honey, it might take you a while.” Jensen says chuckling.

“Never know, I’m not much of a green thumb.”

“I know.” He says. Kissing her cheek again.

“Nothing like a little breakfast in bed though.” He adds.

“Breakfast? Dude, it’s almost four, and it’s soup.”

“This is your first meal of the day. It’s breakfast.” He says with a smile.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes laughing.

“Dork.”

“I’m your dork, and you love me.”

“Yeah I do, thanks babe. For taking care of me.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

~

A/N: What’d you think? But seriously, place your bets, I do have my first plant that I think I’m gonna end up killing unintentionally. But let me know what you thought of the story, Feedback is always appreciated. :3

~

Jensen Girls:

@luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @jayankles​, @jeaniespiehs20​, @mlovesstories​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​, @salt-n-burn-em-all​, @backseat-of-deans-67chevy​, @moonlight-on-her-skin​

Dean Girls:

@akshi8278​, @flamencodiva​, @misfit0118​, @shawnie74​, @lyarr24​

Dean and Jensen Girls:

@akshi8278​, @lyarr24​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 4/11/2021

#spn #supernatural #spn fan fic #spn fanfic #spnfanfic #spn rpf #supernatural rpf #jensen x reader #jensenxreader #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfci #supernaturalfanfic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spnfanficiton #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernaturalfanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles x reader fic #jensen x reader fic #tell me a story bingo #tell me a story

[lihikainanea]

sis leiii, can i please have a piece where instead of bill flying back home to be with tiger, she's the one who's flying to see him because he's travelling to film a movie or do a photoshoot or something but he's feeling homesick and maybe having a fever and tiger flies immediately to whatever he is to take care of him, but she surprises him and he lets himself cry when he sees her there?

Oh my sweet, soft Bill. Tiger is, without a doubt, no stranger to rescuing her Big Dude.

And you know, maybe it’s a multitude of things. Maybe Bill really isn’t jiving with the producer or the studio or something, but he’s learning in his older age that sometimes you can’t just...flip your shit and walk away from projects. Maybe the project itself still really interests him, but the people carrying it through are being insufferable dicks. Bill has an extremely low tolerance for people who think they are above anyone else, and if the set he’s on is rampant with egos, he has a really hard time...but he also can’t necessarily walk away.

Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe it’s just a gruelling shoot, one where actors’ unions and the studio are constantly in a battle because the actors are somewhat being forced to go through with scenes or go through in conditions they have no business going through. On Bill’s second day on set, he spent 14 hours submerged in an indoor pool that was way below the temperature it should have been. His acting contract, his union, probably states that he can spend up to 3 hours maximum in the pool and then he needs a one hour break to dry off, have a warm drink, raise his body temperate back to normal and then he can continue.

But the producer was always almost just getting the right shot, and maybe just one more take, and okay that was great but let’s do another one just in case and suddenly, it’s 14 hours later and Bill is shivering, his body temperature is dropping dangerously low, and his lips are blue. The doctor on set finally puts an end to it.

The next day, a cough had set in deep in his chest. One of those coughs that started off small and then just couldn’t stop, one of those ones that ached in your lungs, a cough that had you gasping for air after you just couldn’t make it stop. His entire day was scrapped, every take he did cut short when his breath would catch and it would set off this hacking cough, one that rattled deep in his bones. He was exhausted. He was out of breath. The first week hadn’t even wrapped yet, and he was already wrecked.

Tiger heard it the moment she picked up the phone when he called her that evening--the middle of the night for her. She picked it up and mumbled a groggy hello before a deep, uncharacteristic wheeze had her eyes widening.

“Hi kid,” he rasped, “Sorry I’m calling so late.”

“...Bill?” She had to ask to be sure. His voice was so rough, so strained, and she winced as a terrible cough sounded down the line.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, “Sorry, give me a second.”

He sounded terrible. His voice sounded thick and rough, strained as if he was trying to control it--and his cough sounded even worse. Wet and rumbling, it seemed to go on forever before she heard a soft sip,  clearing of his throat.

“Sorry,” he croaked, “Having some issues.

“You sound terrible bud,” she said, “What’s going on?”

“Just caught a bit of a chill,” he mumbled.

A bit of a chill turned into pneumonia a few days later--and still, he worked. He would call her when he could, but tiger was getting increasingly more worried--she knew her Good Dude. And it seemed that every time she talked to him, he was coming off a day on set that was seeming more and more insane. A night shoot, where he had to run through freezing cold temperatures and snow in nothing but a bathrobe, barefoot--and he had to do it over and over and over again, because the director wasn’t happy with the shot.  More water scenes. More hours spent in subzero temperatures, in soaking wet clothes, already sick as a dog.

Tiger had a feeling that there was a reason why he was sticking to regular calls instead of video ones, and at one point she insisted on it--and it only confirmed her suspicions. He looked terrible--gaunt and pale, his big eyes sticking out of his head even more, his skin a sickly pallor, and he was at the point where he couldn’t even get two words out without either having to stop to catch his breath, or launching into a coughing fit. The wheeze in his chest was even more prominent, there was a permanent wince in his features from the pain, and his eyes had deep bags under them.

“Bill,” she said sternly, “Have you seen a doctor? Are you taking meds for this?”

“I’m on a round of antibiotics,” he brought a pill bottle into the frame and shook it to show her, “But it just needs to run its course.”

“My ass it does,” she snaps, “You look awful.”

“Careful,” he warned, but it lacked all of its usual malice when he launched into a coughing fit after.

As soon as tiger hung up the phone, she booked her ticket to his location. She wasn’t going to sit by and watch this happen. The kicker was when she was browsing her instagram and just happened to stumble across a story that one of Bill’s co-stars posted--a goofy photo of the dude in the make up chair--but there in the background, a little blurred but tiger could spot him anyway--was Bill, curled up in a lounge chair, an IV drip in his arm. Tiger screen capped the photo and sent it to Bill, with a very curt message.

Call me. Now.

Seconds later, the image disappeared from the costar’s stories and Bill’s name popped up on her screen.

“Don’t freak out,” he started, “It’s fine, kid.”

“An IV isn’t fine Bill,” she snapped, “What’s happening?”

“It’s just some nutrients and vitamins and a lot of hydration--” a pause for a gross-sounding coughing fit--”I’m having a hard time shaking this thing, so it’s just to give me a boost.”

“You can’t shake this thing because you’re exhausted and this gig is killing you--”

“I’ve gotta go tiger, they’re calling me back to scene,” he mumbled, “Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay, I promise.”

Tiger moved her flight up to the earliest one she could find.

And listen, when she got there? She gave his agent strict instructions not to tell him shit, but to help her find a way to get into his apartment.  She was exhausted from the flight and the time difference, but she was on a mission--she found a grocery store, was able to pick up a few staples. She stocked up on green tea, honey, managed to find some warm blankets, was able to somehow figure out how the sauna on the back deck worked. Tiger had a bad case of whooping cough as a kid, and she remembered that Granny used to spend hours in a steamed out bathroom holding her, trying to ease the pain and break the cough. Extreme heat was good to try and clear out the lungs, and if Bill didn’t have a fever, she planned on manhandling him into the sauna for a few hours tonight.

She got everything she could. Medicine. Lozenges. A thermometer. A hot water bottle. She spent the rest of the day cooking--big pots of soups and stews, hearty things with a lot of vegetables that would be easy for him to digest.

And listen, when Bill got home in the wee hours of the morning? Tiger was on the couch reading, and she stood when he entered the doorway. He hadn’t seen her yet and she watched as her Big Dude stepped in, closed the door behind him--and then slumped against it. His back leaning on it, his head fell forward and she heard him exhale a rough sigh--or at least part of one, before he started coughing again. Pushing himself off, he wearily raised his head and that’s when he saw her--and he froze.

“But you’re fine eh?” she said sarcastically. The house was mostly dark except for a few dim lights, but she saw his eyes widen and the shock register on his face.

“...Tiger?” he rasped after a long pause. He shook his head as if he might be imagining it, but tiger took a few steps forward.

“This ends now Bill,” she said lowly, “Do you hear me?”

She stopped in front of him, but he still hadn’t blinked yet. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Tiger...” he mumbled. Reaching a hand out, his fingers brushed her hip as if he was afraid she was just a mirage--but then a few fingers turned into a whole hand, then both hands.

“Tiger,” he croaked, and then he crumbled. Reaching for her, she pulled him in as his knees buckled under him. She caught his weight as best she could, and he buried his nose in her neck. His shoulders shook and he clung to her, and she could feel the rumble in his chest as he struggled for air.

“Okay easy big guy,” she said, “Just try and stay calm and breathe through it.”

The cough started off small as he tried to suppress it, but eventually his whole body shook as he wheezed and his knees gave out. He knelt down, trying to get air in as he heaved, and she soothingly rubbed his back.

“Enough,” she said softly as she patted his back, “I’m here bud, and I’m not leaving. Just try and calm down a bit so you can get your breath back.”

His hand still reached for her just to make sure she was real, and it took him a long time to be able to catch his breath. Tiger held him the whole time, right there on the floor, until he could at least get some air in again.

Once he was able to breathe again, I’ll bet she put her foot down. Told him that she was worried, and that she was there to take care of him--because he was sick. Really sick, and that if he didn’t take the time he needed to heal, that he would only get worse. He finally caved because it was her you know? And for as well as he takes care of her, he trusts her to do the same for him. Halfway through the call with his agent, tiger had to take the phone from him because he was struggling for air again and couldn’t get the words out. Tiger told her, in no uncertain terms, that Bill wouldn't be able to work for at least two weeks. 

And listen, for two weeks--Bill wasn’t allowed to move an inch unless tiger told him too. His fever was too high for the sauna that night, and even though he shivered most of the night, she made sure he was only draped with one blanket so he wouldn’t overheat. She filled him with fluids to try and help break the fever, and when it was a little better the next day, she started working on his lungs. She dragged him to the sauna and sat there with him to sweat it out. He was miserable--cranky and in pain, the dry air burned his already sensitive chest, but tiger just sat there and held him. She held him as his body wracked with heaves, she rubbed his back when a coughing fit took over and left him gasping, and she wouldn’t let him leave no matter how much he protested. Only after they had been in there for two hours did she pull him back upright, take him inside and get him to drink another ungodly amount of water, followed up by some of Granny’s tea. She gave him all the head scritchies until he was able to sleep at least a little, and even then he was only able to with his head propped up against her chest.

It was agonizing. It was the sickest she had ever seen him. And it was a long process--if she didn’t like the way he looked after two weeks, then she wasn’t going anywhere for at least another two. And neither was he.

#bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard #BFF!Bill #sick bill

[broadghasting]

The Hand that Rocks the World of Cinema

When people think of cult films, what comes to mind generally falls into two categories: masterful pieces of cinema generally lauded as "ahead of its time" or "poorly advertised", and hamfisted attempts at terror that fall short in a big way. The mind tends to drift to films like Cabin Fever, or Birdemic. These movies are short, violent, and generally pretty uninspired. Everyone by now knows about Birdemic thanks to its birth in the age of the internet, but it's most certainly not the first, with its butterfingers tossing around tone like a bar of soap, lingering idiotic shots and grade-school message of "save the environment" superimposed onto one amateur filmmaker's love for Hitchcock. It certainly wasn't the first however.

In the tumultuous 1960's, foolhardy and arrogant Harold Warren bet prolific screenwriter Stirling Silliphant that he could easily throw a film together, but little did he know that he was in for a little horror story of his own! Over the course of most of 1966, Warren stood out in the heat of the Texan desert with his cardigan surrounded by hands with a meager account to put towards this mess that was Manos: The Hands of Fate. When it came out in its era, Manos was quietly shelved and wasn't talked about afterward. Why was interest so quickly and brightly rekindled? People are putting this sad display on Blu-Ray, and there's even a phone game for it! You can buy it for five dollars on gaming platform Steam and use a controller to play it! What makes this film so special?

I'll admit, when I first watched it, I didn't get the appeal that everyone else surely did. Its introduction scene wasn't as tedious as Birdemic's 20-minute pat-yourself-on-the-back-athon, but I concede the make-out scene in Manos was a bit unwarranted and unnecessary. As it progresses, there is a calm, oppressive atmosphere that comes to a head immediately when Torgo, the apparently satyr-like groundskeeper stumbles around and picks up their luggage. his "suite" plays whenever he shows up, less like a theme for him, but more like he's carrying around a music box when his mechanized legs move within ear shot: defiant of any sort of nuance that the score otherwise attempts to convey.

As tact and skillful acting elude The Hands of Fate, the film is unique in that it doesn't exactly follow a lot of the rules for regular horror movies, and this is one of its strong points. It's a slow build, and in the weird scenes with Torgo and Margret never linger too long. The Master's wordless rise is made all the more unsettling. So much effort has been put into the build for the Master, that when the young couple come back in the night, the dialogue between them and the law is jarring. At a glance, the scene is unnecessary, and when I take a step back to take the whole film in, I myself as merely a child of film can't come up with a better way to convey that the home is a horror trope of "never there". When the Master's wives argue, "The man, yes. The child no" It's a breath of fresh air, and when the Master's wives do battle, It's a visceral, organic experience. They're really clawing away at each other.

It was the 60's, sure, so this kind of campy, in your face horror is warranted. Loud soundtracks, weird zoom shots; unlike Birdemic and other utter failures to enthrall, Manos: The Hands of Fate has everything you need in a film. The actors were in the middle of theater school, but the camera needed a crank, and was filmed in 30-second chunks! It had to be dubbed over afterward. Is it a cruel joke that this film is so popular?

I don't think so. In the beginning, and when we finally see the motor of cinema running, our hero Michael is always weary and frustrated. I see myself in him. I’ve seen a million of these movies and I know what to do when there's a supernatural problem. I'm asking the right questions. In that moment, I am him. He's got a gun to protect his family, but the dog still dies and his family is still taken from him. Torgo helps Michael with the luggage, but the car doesn't start. It's a new level of horror when you're sure you've done everything right, but the hands that guide fate have other plans. Unfortunately, thanks in part to the budget, Manos' development feels less like an unspeakable evil looming over them, and more like creative license for the sake of horror. I wonder how Manos: The Hands of Felt is.

#Manos #Manos: The Hands of Fate #cinema #film

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 28 “you have to let me go”

juice pops and soup

summary

“Peter?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be locked up in school?”

“Don’t feel so good.”

“We’ve talked about that phrase, Pete,” says Tony.

“Sorry.” The kid’s voice sounds truly miserable. “Can - Ccan -” Peter stops talking, and Tony’s ears are assaulted by the loudest sneeze he’s ever heard. “Can you come over? I need soup. And Gatorade. I think I’m dying.”

OR

Tony is sad after dropping off Morgan at school for her first day. Luckily he gets distracted for a bit looking after Peter when he’s sick. 

“Daddy,” says Morgan. “You have to let me go now.”

Tony continues holding her, as he watches her fellow kindergarteners hug their parents goodbye and run inside the classroom.

“You know, Mo,” says Tony. “You can always take a gap year.”

“Tony,” says Pepper, lightly touching his arm.

“Ok fine.” Tony puts Morgan down in the school hallway. She looks so small under her Spider-Man backpack. Way too tiny to spend the day without her parents.

“Bye!” Is the only farewell they get before Morgan zips out of their sight and into the classroom.

Tony turns his head towards Pepper. “I don’t like it.”

“We’ve met her teacher,” says Pepper. She’s already starting to walk away from the open classroom door. “And you like her.”

Tony has to admit Morgan got the best teacher in the elementary school. A regular Miss Honey, but that still doesn’t mean he’s ready to leave his daughter behind.

“Wait, Pep!” calls out Tony, but she’s already turning the corner.

He sighs, and takes a peek inside the classroom.

Morgan’s sitting at a table, excitedly talking with two other kids with the biggest smile on her face. It brings a sad sort of smile to his own face, and he sluggishly follows his wife out to the car, abandoning his baby to the school system.

*

The penthouse is quiet when it’s just Tony. He doesn’t like it, and his mind dwells on Morgan not being there and about how one day she’ll leave for college, about how she’s growing up. Time only speeds up the older he gets. He’s sure one day he’ll blink and she and Peter will be completely grown.

He’s dwelling on these thoughts when his phone buzzes. Seeing Peter’s name flash on the screen fills him with joy, but also gives him pause.

“Peter?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be locked up in school?”

“Don’t feel so good.”

“We’ve talked about that phrase, Pete,” says Tony.

“Sorry.” The kid’s voice sounds truly miserable. “Can - Ccan -” Peter stops talking, and Tony’s ears are assaulted by the loudest sneeze he’s ever heard. “Can you come over? I need soup. And Gatorade. I think I’m dying.”

Tony stands from the couch. “Sure thing, kid. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Thanks,” he says, though it sounds more like tanks.

He hangs up his phone, and heads to the drug store, where he buys way more shit than Peter had asked him for. He figures if Pete had wanted someone who won’t overact, he would’ve called Happy.

Tony has so much stuff, some he bought and some he brought from home, that he struggles to carry it up to May and Peter’s apartment in one go. He manages it, though, and his heart melts when Peter unlocks and opens the door for him.

His kid has a blanket wrapped around his body. His face is pale, and there’s absolute misery leaking out from his eyes.

“Oh, kid,” says Tony, stepping inside the Parker apartment, and setting his bags down. He shuts the door behind him. “You look terrible.”

“Tanks,” he says.

Tony looks around, and takes in the chaos of the apartment. There’re used kleenex all over the floor in the living room. Empty Gatorade bottles. Hoodies, and mountains of throw blankets. And it’s wrong. May usually keeps Peter contained to his bedroom when he’s sick.

“Why does your entire living room look like a dumpster fire?” asks Tony. “Where’s May?” There’s no way she’d allow Peter to turn the apartment into the mess it is currently. Not even when he’s sick.

“She had that - um - she that had -”says Peter. Tony puts his hand on his forehead, and nearly burns himself, he’s so hot. “Conference. She’s at a conference.”

“You’ve got quite the fever.”

“Yeah.”

“Should’ve called me sooner,” says Tony. He puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders, and directs him back towards the couch, forcing him to lay back down.

“I knew it was Morgan’s big day,” says Peter, burrowing under the blankets Tony throws on him. “Figured you were stressed enough. How are you taking it?”

Only Peter Parker would ask how someone else it’s doing while he’s sick and disgusting. Tony smiles fondly. It’s part of the kid’s charm.

“Like a knife in my heart.”

Peter laughs, which is a mistake, because his chuckle turns into coughing fit.

Tony looks on with pity, then springs into action. He busts out the dehumidifier and plugs it in, and then works on making  the kid’s drink. He cracks open a bottle of Gatorade, and puts into a bendy straw, one that’s printed with small Iron Man cartoons.

Peter rolls his eyes when he sees it, but accepts the drink anyway.

Now that that’s settled, Tony puts the juice pops he bought in the freezer, and begins making the brat’s soup. Peter has dozed off by the time it’s finished, with just his left arm hanging out of the blanket, his fingers barely brushing the carpet.

Tony sets up a TV tray, and brings over the steaming hot soup and crackers, before sitting on the edge of the couch and gently nudging the kid awake.

He blinks a couple of times, yawns, and eventually sits up. “Mmmm thanks Tony.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” says Tony. “I’m surprised you called today, with the amount of grief you give me about my, uh -”

“-helicoptering,” finishes Peter, while he slurps down a spoonful of soup. “And, um, Pepper told me to call you.”

“What?”

“Well May must’ve let it slip to Pepper that I was here sick,” says Peter. “Cause Pepper texted me today and told me have you help me out. She said you really needed the distraction.”

“Oh did she?”

“Yeah,” says Peter. “But I’m glad she did.” Peter looks down at his soup. “I actually don’t mind all the fussing. I just don’t want you to know that I don’t mind it.”

“Good thing you just told me, then.”

“I’m on a lot of cold medicine, Tony, I’m not really in control of what I’m saying.”

Tony laughs. “We can just forget this conversation happened.”

“Good.” Peter takes another soup full of soup. “Did you get juice pops, too?”

“Of course I did.” Even though he hadn’t asked for them. Tony doesn’t mention this part.

“Good.” He repeats.

It clicks in Tony’s mind in that moment, that if this nearly grown superpowered teenager is willingly to ask him for juice pops and soup, that maybe it’s impossible for children to outgrow their parents. That their relationship might change, but they will still call when they need soup or breakdown on the side of the road.

Hell, that’s enough for Tony.

Peter finishes eating the soup, slurping every single mouthful. Tony takes the empty bowl, rinses it, and loads the dishwasher. He brings back a juice pop for him, but the kid is already tuckered out again, buried under a mountain of blankets and barely visible.

He puts the popsicle back in the freezer. He lets Peter rest.

*

Tony’s car is first in the pick up line.

He’s aware that it’s annoying for other parents to get out of his car, but he doesn’t care. He’s waiting for his daughter.

She runs to him when her teacher allows her too, and Tony kneels down, hugging her.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” says Morgan. “I made so many new friends!”

“I bet you did.”

She sighs, and bites her lip. “I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too,” says Tony. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m always gonna be here at the end of the day, or whenever you call me.”

Morgan smiles, gives him another hug, and climbs into her booster seat.

There’s light contentment in Tony’s chest, and there’s a scratch in the back of his throat. That damn kid and his slimy germs. He coughs as he drives away, but he doesn’t have any regrets.

#febuwhumpday28 #irondad #irondad fic #Peter parker #sick Peter parker #Tony stark #Morgan stark #sickfic

[whumpster-fire]

Athanasia Part 4: The Peddler

Mostly a character-building chapter this time.

Tansy’s refsheet

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

CONTENT WARNINGS: Animal Whump, monster whump, discussion of past animal cruelty, marginally competent caretaker, Idiot Customers trying to get discounts they don’t deserve

For the first time in many, many days, the creature does not awake to the cold and wind and rough bars of rusted iron beneath her. But she still awakes to pain and hunger and thirst.

The traveler who found her lying helpless beside the smashed open cage where the people of the village kept her has cleaned her wounds, and wrapped them tightly in fabric. But two of her legs are still broken. She cannot walk properly, or run or jump or climb, and even to crawl causes such horrible pain it is hard not to make a sound. She is still starving, but he has no food for her in the morning.

She still does not know if she trusts him. He saved her, he fed her, he helped her, he speaks kindly and did not hurt her when she bit him out of fear. But he hurt her when he cleaned her broken front leg. He pinned her to the ground and bound her limbs and jaws so she could not get away or bite or claw him, and cut and poked and scraped at the dying, rotting flesh. It feels a little better now than it did before, and he did not cut it off like he said he might have to, but the pain has still made her afraid to let him close to her again. She was ready for it to be cut off, and what he did to her was gentler than what the other people did many times before, but it is too similar.

Even though the night was cold even inside, and even though the window rattled and wind howled and thunder crashed all night, and some part of her she had forgotten for many, many years longed to be close to the warmth of another, she stayed huddled at the end of the bed all night, as far from him as she could get, and she hissed and growled when he woke her to check on her. She had to get up before the sun rose to avoid wetting the bed, and she knew she could not get down by herself without falling, but she still tried to ignore the discomfort and fall asleep again, and she only worked up the courage to wake him when it became painful.

Right now the empty, tearing feeling in her stomach is almost painful. She had almost forgotten the dull ache, but that little bit of food last night made her notice it again. It was all she could eat, but it was not enough, and the hunger has come back as strong as ever. She sniffs at his pack, and there are old smells of food, but when she looks inside there is nothing but tools and cloth and metal in various shapes.

“I’m sorry, girl. I don’t have anything else for you,” the man says with a sympathetic expression. The creature ignores him, and keeps checking the rest of the room. There are the scents of mice, but she knows she is not fast enough to catch one right now.

Footsteps approach the door. Even before the knock, the creature is alarmed. When the sharp sound rings through the room, she scrambles under the bed and hides there, trembling and fighting not to cry out from the pain moving that much has caused her. It is not the young man from before, it is a woman who brings water and a bowl of something hot and steaming. For a moment she thinks it might be food, and as soon as she leaves she comes out to check, but it only smells of grain and milk and a little bit of fruit. But at least there is water. She does not realize how desperately thirsty she is until she tastes it, but when she does she cannot stop lapping at the bowl until she is almost sick.

“Careful.” He reaches out, and she flinches, expecting to be struck, but he just slides the bowl away. “Don’t drink too much. I’ll get you some food soon, don’t want you spoiling your breakfast.”

But the creature does not feel like eating anymore. Hungry, starving, but her stomach feels like it will burst. She retreats next to the bed and huddles there, hunched over, her body aching and trembling. A chill rushes over her, piercing right through her fur. It has been a long time since it has been clean enough that she can stand to groom herself. She tries to fluff it up to hold in more warmth, but the room wavers and her head is spinning. Her hurt foreleg is throbbing with a terrible, stabbing pain, like many small knives being jabbed and twisted in bruised flesh. The wound is tightly wrapped in cloth, but even so, when she sniffs at it she barely keeps the water down.

The chills eventually pass, but she still feels weaker and shakier than she did before. She barely reacts when he picks her up and puts her in the bag he carries on his back. Even when he closes it and she is alone in the dark, in a small, cramped space with hard things moving around under the cloth and jostling her. Even with muffled voices around her. She just sprawls miserably on her side, hoping he will carry her away from the people soon, and hoping she will not be sick in here where there is nowhere to get away from the mess.

~~

“Tinware! Get your tinwares here! I’ve got mugs, saucers, spoons, ladles, and other goods for coin or trade! If you want it but don’t have it, I sell it, if you have it but don’t want it I’ll buy it, if you have it and do want it I’ll mend it!”

Jonathan Markeley counted the meager couple of coins left in his purse one more time, just to be sure, and grimaced. The sooner he got out of this town, the better. Both for the creature he’d found starved and half-drowned in the rain and mud last night, and for his own sake. Whatever the reason they’d locked her in a tiny cage and hung her out on a post at the edge of town, he knew he’d be in danger if it was found out that he’d saved her and sheltered her, and perhaps even if it wasn’t. He had an uneasy feeling that if they’d done that to an animal the size of a cat that couldn’t be a real threat to them, a yellow-eyed stranger wouldn’t be too welcome either.

But he’d spent most of what he had on a room for the night, and more on food. He’d given the creature the meager amount of meat in the stew the innkeeper’s son had brought him that night, but the porridge served for breakfast had none. Fortunately he’d gotten four eggs for a farthing, and less than half of that was a meal for a creature her size, but if she needed meat twice or more a day that could get expensive. And if he was going to splint the broken bones and dress her wounds better than the poor job he’d managed last night he’d need proper supplies. It seemed like the poor creature was sick, too. He didn’t know how to tell if she had a fever, or how to help her if she did. They’d always broken for him, even when it seemed a miracle, but she was in bad enough shape as it was. He wanted to just get out of this place, but he still needed to earn a living. For both of them now.

~~

Roger Snelling eyed the peddler who’d spread his wares about at the side of the road with some suspicion. Roger made it his business to know who came and went from the town, and he was fairly certain he hadn’t seen this man before. Not recently, nor in previous years. He’d never felt the itinerant traders and craftsmen who frequented the town could be trusted – there had to be a reason for a man to always move on to the next village before anyone could get to know him – and it seemed a strange coincidence that this fellow would appear in the village the very same night that the gibbet post on the northern edge of the village had blown down. ~~

“Morning!” A middle-aged man with shoulder-length, graying dirty blond hair hailed Jonathan. He briefly glanced up, but his eyes quickly returned to the pitcher he was hammering a dent out of, and he kept them hidden under his wide-brimmed hat.

“Morning,” he grunted in reply.

“What’s your name?”

“John.”

The man sidled closer. He leaned against a hitching post, but didn’t come close enough to make it seem like he was ready to make a purchase. “I’m Roger. Haven’t seen you before, John. You just got in last night?”

“Aye.”

“Must’ve had a time of it in that storm.”

“Oh, I did, believe me. If it weren’t for my feet sinking to my ankles in the mud I’d probably have been blown clear off the road.”

“Where from?”

“Kenningsford.”

“From the South, then? So you’d have seen the gibbet post?”

Jonathan’s brow tensed. This man didn’t seem like he was part of the law in the village, just a busybody with too much time on his hands, but those could be plenty dangerous. He already felt like he was being interrogated, and he had a feeling he knew where this line of questioning was leading.

“What about it? Was there a sign up there I was supposed to read?” It seemed like a plausible thing to believe.

“It blew down in the storm last night. There was a cage hanging from it. Do you know anything about that?”

Jonathan ran his fingers through his beard in an attempt to look thoughtful. “I saw the post down in the road, aye. I didn’t notice a cage, but I was more concerned with getting out of the rain – and thanking the Lord the thing didn’t fall on me!”

Roger pursed his lips. “It was about this big… we found it smashed open this morning, I guess you might not have seen it in the mud -”

John decided the best approach was to pretend he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. “What, that small? You can’t fit a man in a cage that small, can you?”

“No, but -”

“What would you even put in there, a man’s head?” he interrupted again. “Why’d that need a cage around it? Or a baby, but – well, I’d assumed you folk were more civilized. This ain’t France, eh?” John had a moment of panic as he tried to remember if the latest war had been against the French. It seemed like a safe bet.

“It wasn’t a head, it was an animal inside there!” Roger snapped. He was looking a little agitated. “Or something that looks like one anyway, we don’t know if it’s some sort of demon or something, but it’s not natural whatever it is. It’s been in there for a couple of months, and this morning the cage was empty!”

A couple of months. John’s grip on his hammer tightened. They’d left her in there for months… he hadn’t gotten a good look at the cage, but it looked almost too small to turn around in. But he couldn’t let on that he knew… and if this Roger wanted information out of him, he was going to get information back. “An animal?” he repeated skeptically.

“Aye. Was it there when you passed by?” Roger took a slow step closer, his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t know. Didn’t see one or hear one. Must’ve run off by then.”

“Run off?” Roger’s face lit up like a dog that had scented its quarry. “What makes you say that?”

John pulled his hat lower and glared at the saucer he was polishing. “You said the cage was empty, where else would it go?”

“It could’ve flown off. I never said it wasn’t a bird.”

John ground the polishing cloth into the metal. He’d slipped. Just a small mistake though, one he could cover easily. “You never said it was either. Look, if you’re accusing me of some crime or I’m not welcome in this town, just say so, but stop actin’ like I’m some common criminal.” He looked up, for once meeting Roger’s eyes directly. The older man’s probing expression quickly turned to intimidated discomfort, and he looked away. Older looking, at least. John knew that in truth he was far younger. “What, do you think I stopped in the middle of that bloody storm to chop the thing down?”

“No, no – my apologies, I wasn’t accusing you of nothing!” Roger quickly regained his composure. “You’ve got… unusual eyes.”

“Hmm. No one’s ever informed me before,” John replied with subtly, dry sarcasm.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help noticing. I was just wondering if you’d seen any… tracks in the mud the rain might have washed away by morning, any other signs...”

“Can’t say I did. I’ll keep my eye out, though. What sort of creature was it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s even really of this Earth. It was… near cat-sized, with black and white striped fur -”

“A badger?”

“No, smaller than a cat, not larger. It had this long bushy tail with black and white rings on it -”

“What, like a squirrel?”

“No, it was a beast of prey. Long, slender body, ears near as big as its head...”

“Ohh...” John let a look of recognition cross his face. “You mean a tabby cat? Aye, I’ve heard of those. Think I saw one on the church roof this morning.” He suppressed a grin at the consternation on Roger’s face. He was starting to enjoy this.

“Not a cat, no! A cat’s… closer, at least, but you’d know it from a cat if you saw it.” He scratched his thin goatee. “You know, old Tom Porter’s theory’s that a wildcat crossed paths with a vixen in heat and that thing was the result. I think it’s a bit more ferret-ish, but I’ve never seen anything else like it, and I don’t know anyone who has. It’s got eyes like a cat, though. Big yellow ones… a bit like yours, actually.”

“Are you suggesting it shapeshifts now?”

“Eh? No, don’t be ridiculous!” Roger laughed.

“So, why was it caged up out there? Going to show it off at the fair?”

“Oh, we have. A few times. But to tell you the truth, people’ve gotten tired of the thing. It stopped putting on as good a show after a while, so they just hung it up there to… make an example of it, I suppose. I don’t know if there’s more of ‘em out there to scare off, but even if it’s just punishin’ the damned thing, that’s fine by me.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Seems a bit… excessive.”

Roger leaned in close with an angry sneer. “Listen, the damn thing’s vermin, no different from a fox or stoat. Worse, even. Poor Farmer Brown lost a whole henhouse in one night, it just… ripped them all to pieces. Blood everywhere. I’ve seen foxes kill for sport, but not like that. It’s torn men’s hands to shreds – did this to me not long after we trapped it.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a series of messy, badly healed scars.

“I wasn’t arguing against killing it,” John said. Good for her, he thought. He struggled to keep his voice level. “Just… why not just shoot it?”

“Oh, we tried, believe me. It just… came back.”

A thrill of exhilaration ran through John’s chest. He was right. She was like him, a creature of the same nature. “You’re sure it wasn’t just another creature of the same kind?”

“Aye, that’s what everyone thought at first, but wouldn’t it be a strange coincidence? No-one’d ever seen one before, but then three turn up, here, in just a few months? First I heard of it was Lord Hawkwood apparently caught a strange beast on a fox hunt. They said what was left of it after the dogs were through with it wasn’t worth bringing the pelt back, but it sounds like it was the right size and color and least. But not days later somethin’ starts raiding henhouses. Finally we’ve had enough, a few of us track it down, and Brown shot it. The thing was still moving after half its chest was blown open, thought it was going to limp away until he shot it again. So I thought, well, that’s the end of that, now all we’ve got to worry about’s if Charles – he’s the lord’s gamekeeper – will try to cheat Brown out of a bounty on account of no one ever seeing it before so there’s no price for whatever it is.” Roger was becoming more and more animated and excited as he talked. “Well that worked out fair, Charles strung it up, but a few days later the carcass just up and disappeared off the gibbet. And that was the very same night poor Jack Brown lost his chickens. Not any of the other farmers it was going after before, just the man that shot it.”

At this, John gave a forced, exaggerated laugh. “Ahh… Good one, you had me going for a while!”

“What do you mean? Do you think it’s funny? What’s funny about an honest man losing his livelihood?”

“Nothing, it’s just… come on, mate, I know you’re playing me for a fool. Do you tell that story to every stranger who comes this way? You’re saying it came back from the dead for revenge? Sounds more like something took the body and ate it, and either it or something else ate the chickens.”

“No, not for revenge, it just… comes back. Mrs. Brown saw the damn thing slinking away from the henhouse, eyes burning like torches. It took weeks before they caught the thing. I can’t recall if the pattern of stripes was the exact same as the one we shot before, but Charles slit its throat, shoved the body in a cage just to be sure it wouldn’t wander off again, and the very next day it was on its feet and angry. We’ve tried gutting it, cutting its head off… even burned the damn body to ashes once. I’m telling you, it ain’t one of God’s creatures, if you know what I mean. But even the Bishop didn’t know what it was or what to do with it. So, like I said, we started making a sport of it. Show it off at the fair, make a show of drowning it or setting dogs on it, something like that, then have the people come back the next day to see it… not usually good as new after just a day, but definitely not dead.”

John’s heart was breaking as the story went on. He stood up and hid his hands in his pockets to avoid making fists. God he wanted to knock that grin off Roger’s face. When he was a lad there’d been older boys who thought it was good sport to hold him down and beat him with sticks, because the bruises and even missing teeth would be gone in a few days. And he’d believed for the longest time that it was wrong for him to fight back, because even a broken nose might never be the same. These days it was more about caution, about not drawing attention to himself. But he’d always hated men who took pleasure from tormenting those they saw as below them. Their wives, their children, those of lower social standing, animals.

“It’d be more convincing if you actually had this animal,” he remarked through a strained veneer of casual indifference.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it’s real. You can ask anyone in the village and they’ll tell you the same. Not sure I’ll sleep easy knowing that thing’s loose, though.” He suddenly swooped forward like a hawk, picking up a finely shaped pewter teapot. “Ooh, the wife’d love this! Could you… hmm, could you make a set of matching teacups and saucers to go with it?”

“Sorry, no custom orders. I have to be on my way before tonight. If she enjoys the pot I might have her in mind the next time I come this way,” John lied, having no intention of returning to the village any time soon. Maybe not ever, or at least not until every current resident was dead and buried. “Or I have several cups and saucers to choose from.”

“Well yes, but I was hoping for the flower-patterned engravings.” Roger sighed. “I suppose just the pot then. How much for it?”

“A shilling.”

Roger scowled. “A shilling? What kind of fool do you take me for? He turned it over in his hands, but seemed more preoccupied with making a show of inspecting it than actually doing so. “I’ll give you fourpence.”

“I didn’t take you for a thief, but that’s what you’ll be if I let you take it for that.” John extended a hand. “I’ll be having it back if you can’t pay a fair price.”

“Four’s fair, especially with this scratch on the handle. I might be willing to pay six if that were fixed… or the full shilling with two cups and saucers.”

“Four’s barely what the metal’d be worth as scrap. If you’re going to insult my work you can clear off.” This was ridiculous. The teapot was one of the heavier items he had to sell, and he was eager to be rid of the weight and bulk, but not if he couldn’t at least cover the night’s stay. “I brought the price down from sixteen because of your story, but I can get at least that much in Sheffield.”

“Ehh… I’ll give you eight.”

“I won’t sell it for any less than ten. Take it or leave it.”

“Hmm...” Roger’s eyes darted around. “Nine and that sugar bowl? It’s plain, but -”

“Ninepence and you take the pot and the bowl as they are.”

Roger hesitated for a while. “I’ll take ‘em. You’re a hard bargainer and a fine craftsman.”

“As are you, sir. But you’ve got a good eye. It’s a pleasure doing business with you – and give your wife my regards.”

But as soon as Roger was safely out of earshot, Jonathan growled under his breath. “You’re a ball-less cur, and your wife’s a bitch if she married you and hasn’t poisoned you yet.” He almost wanted to use tweezers to count out the coins so he wouldn’t touch anything Roger had touched. But at least he’d told him what he needed to know about the creature. And he hadn’t gotten as much as he’d hoped for the teapot, but it was enough. It would get them to the next town. And if he could make another sale or two, perhaps buy some medicine. It probably wasn’t a good sign that she’d been hidden right there in his pack all this time and not made a fuss.

~~

Roger Snelling turned the teapot over in his hands as he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune. The peddler was a surly fellow, and suspicious, but he had to admit it was good workmanship.

Good workmanship, but Roger wasn’t so sure it was his. He’d gotten a look at the man’s hands as coin and goods were exchanged, and they weren’t smooth, exactly, but they were… odd. Rough and calloused like a working man’s should have been, but not a scar on them. Not from a burn or carelessly touching hot metal or a slip with a knife or other sharp tool. It was strange. All the smiths he knew had at least a few marks, no matter how careful or lucky they were. He was half inclined to believe the man had stolen them, but then a thief’s hands wouldn’t be so pristine either. Probably just a trader who bought and resold things, that must have been why he was so reluctant to change or mend things, because he couldn’t. But the little scratch wasn’t really noticeable. Roger had only pointed it out to try to get a better price.

#whump #my writing #Tansy (OC) #Jonathan Markley (OC) #animal whump tw #monster whumpee #broken bones #fever #past animal cruelty discussion #immortal whumpee

[dlwritings]

Your Favorite Person | Peter Parker (pt 3)

masterlist found here

pairing - Peter x reader word count - 1,533 warnings - vomit A/N - a lot of people requested a part 3, so here we are! Took me long enough

summary - Peter helps you through your Asgardian hangover, and he decides to take Tony’s advice.

(part 1) (part 2)

You woke up feeling worse than you had ever felt in your entire life. Thor was never going to hear the end of this from you. How could he let you drink that much of that cursed liquor?

Your whole body was shaking. You had never been hungover before, but you felt like this was worse than anyone else in the world had ever experienced. “(Y/N)?”

“Shh,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Don’t yell.” Peter laughed softly.

“I’m not yelling,” he said, consciously lowering his voice. “You feeling okay?”

“No,” you said, curling yourself into a ball. “I want to die.”

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms up to you. You cuddled up to his chest and let him hold you. “You’re really shaking,” he said, his teasing tone vanishing. “Do you feel sick?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Yes?”

“Are you going to throw up?”

“I don’t know,” you said again. “My whole body feels weird.” He put his hand on your forehead and scowled.

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” he said.

“I’m really cold,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Do I have the flu?”

“No,” he said. “I think you just have an Asgardian hangover. Let me go ask Thor-”

“No,” you whined, squeezing him tighter. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. You sighed but released your hold on him so he could get up and leave the room. Peter placed a kiss to your forehead before rushing out of his room. He hoped to find Thor alone in the kitchen, but he was with Sam, Bucky, Tony, and Natasha. “Hey,” he said, directing his attention to Thor. “So, (Y/N) has a pretty insane hangover.”

“Ah yes,” he said with a deep chuckle. “The first Asgardian hangover is always a hard one.”

“How can I help her?” he asked. “She’s got a fever and she’s shaking like crazy.”

“A warm bath would ease the fever,” he said. “And perhaps a nice tea.”

“So basically like she has the flu,” he said. Thor shrugged and nodded.

“Aw, is Peter gonna play nurse today?” Sam teased, putting his arm around the young Avenger’s shoulders. Peter shrugged him off and fought the blush on his cheeks.

“I can’t send her back home when she’s hungover like this,” he said. 

“Right, I’m sure that’s all this is,” he said. Peter rolled his eyes and made his way to one of the kitchen cabinets to get some tea.

“Hey kid,” Tony said, getting a mug down for (Y/N). Peter started to boil some water. “You know, now might be a great day to fess up how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It might not be a good time for her to hear something like that. I don’t want to stress her out.”

“Why would it stress her out?” Natasha asked, joining the duo’s conversation.

“I don’t know,” he said again. “This is weird. Why are we talking about this?”

“I just want what’s best for you, kid,” Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Help her through her hangover and if more comes of it-” He shrugged. “-then more comes of it.”

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door, and you groaned in response. Peter walked in with a mug of tea in hand. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve got some tea for you. And Thor says you should take a bath.”

“I don’t want to,” you whined. “Can’t I just lay here and die?”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “I’ll run you a bath. You sit up and start drinking your tea.” You sighed and obliged, taking the mug he was offering you. You held it to your lips, letting the steam blow over your face. God, what had happened last night? All you did was graduate high school, and the team treated it like you conquered the world. Stupid Thor feeding you drink after drink. You couldn’t even remember the conversations you had had. Who had you talked to? What had you said? How likely was it that you said something completely stupid?

Peter came back a few minutes later. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’ve got that bath ready.” You sighed and pushed yourself out of bed, bracing your hand against his end table when you felt your legs start to shake. “You good?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed, closing your eyes. “Just need a second.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, plopping back onto the bed. “Call me if you need anything.” You nodded and thanked him, then went into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You soaked in the tub, closing your eyes and trying to get yourself to relax. It was virtually impossible. Your body was still shaking, and now you were starting to feel nauseous.

No, you thought to yourself. No. Please, please don’t-

“Peter!’

He jumped out of bed like someone shocked him and rushed over to the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” he called without opening it.

“Can you come in?” you said back. “I, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Peter opened the door and grabbed the trash can, rushing to your side and lifting the bin closer to you. You leaned over and hurled into the trash can. Peter kept the bin in one hand and held your hair back with the other. You felt humiliated. You were naked in a bathtub, puking as your crush held the bucket. “I’m sorry,” you whispered once you caught your breath.

“Why?” he asked, rubbing your upper back.

“I’m such a mess,” you said. “This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It happens.”

“What, puking while naked in the bathtub?”

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

How was Peter such a gentleman? A sweetheart? A good person? You could tell he wasn’t even tempted to look at your body despite the fact that you were naked in front of him. Granted you weren’t exactly in a sexy state. You were still naked. And Peter was keeping his eyes trained respectfully on the floor.

When you felt like you weren’t going to get sick again, Peter left you alone to get out of the tub and get dressed. Now dressed in a clean pair of his sweats and t-shirt, you wrapped your hair in a towel and made your way back into his bedroom. He was sitting there in new, clean clothes as well, flicking through channels on his TV. A smile grew on his face when he saw you, and you managed to give him one back.

“Feel any better?” he asked. You shrugged and walked over to the bed, crawling under the covers beside him. You cuddled up to his chest, and he smiled and wrapped an arm around you to pull you close to him.

“I think cuddles might be the cure,” you muttered. He chuckled and nodded, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Whatever you need,” he said.

“Just need you, Pete,” you whispered.

He looked down at you to see your eyes trained on the TV. He had settled on a rerun of Bob’s Burgers, knowing it was one of your favorite shows. 

You’ve got to take a chance on something -or someone- sometime, right?

“(Y/N)?” Peter said, running his fingers through your hair.

“Mm?” you hummed.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

You looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows and sat up a bit. “What’s up?” you asked, ignoring the turn in your stomach. You didn’t know if it was because you still didn’t feel good or if Peter’s words were making you sick. Maybe both?

“I’ve been thinking a lot about how we’re done with high school,” he said, “and how a lot of friendships kind of fall apart after graduation.”

“Mhm,” you hummed.

“And I don’t want that to happen to us,” he said.

“Course not,” you said. “I don’t either.”

“I just-” He hesitated and ran a hand through his hair.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N), I really like you. And by really like, I mean you’re my favorite person and I love you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly at his words, but it didn’t take long for a smile to grow on your face. “You love me?” you said. 

“I really love you,” he said with a nervous laugh. 

You laughed the same way. “I love you too, Peter.”

He put his hand on your cheek, frowning at how warm it was. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked. You shrugged.

“A little,” you said.

“Good enough to kiss?”

You giggled. “You’re a dork, Peter Parker.”

“Is that a yes?”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Peter smiled and kissed you back, keeping his hand resting gently on your cheek.

There was a knock at the bedroom door that made you and Peter pull apart. When you looked, Bucky and Sam had stuck their heads in the room. “Ooh, nurse Peter giving wittle (Y/N) the special treatment,” Sam teased. 

Peter groaned. “Goodbye, Sam!”

“I bet you’re feeling better now, aren’t you (Y/N)?”

“Goodbye, Bucky!”

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

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[evathenovice]

Shelter

I has a story here! A gift for @tyraeltheapprentice​ I hopes you like it! Just some soft interaction between Eva and Tyrael. Aand..y-yeah sooo- *Shoves here and hides*

Just my luck, Tyrael huffed. And it was usually her luck; storms and weird weather happened rather often when she traveled. Not even the thick lush of the forest could hold back the rain drops or icy winds that bombarded her. No, there was no traveling in this kind of weather. “We need to find shelter, and fast.” she groaned to her two familiars, who were unseen if any other were to come across her, but their presence was felts. 

Trudging through the woods with both hands to her hood to keep it in place despite the battle with the wind, through the bramble and the bush that was lessening,  seemed to be a small clearing. Normally the opposite of shelter from a storm, the small cottage that was giving off light and smoke made said clearing much more appealing. The woman lowered her head to push through the storm challenges and made her way to the door, banging on the wooden circle since someone had to be home if there was a fire going. 

“Coming!” A lighthearted voice came from the other side as the sound of metal latches and the creak of the wood followed suit. “Hello, this isn’t the best weather to be out in- wait! Tyrael?” 

“Eva?” Her golden eyes widened as she looked down at the redhead at the door. This was the last person I was expecting to find

“Oh my gosh get in here!” Eva’s small hand reached out to grab Ty’s wrist and bring her into her home, “Get in front of the fire, quickly” the shorter woman kept pulling deeper into the home and right to the fire. “You are soaked to the bone!” “I-Uh, yeah. The storm hit pretty hard,” Ty honestly didn’t know how to handle the other woman’s attention. Not that it wasn't appreciated of course, but it was just not the common treatment she expected from the former apprentice of her mentor. Heck they had only met perhaps a handful of times when Eva would come to the shop looking for Asra or drop off something. 

“Wrap up and then have a seat,” The redhead instructed, gesturing to her blanket and chair by the fire before stepping away to another room.

“Oh uh, thanks” Tyrael mumbled, wrapping the blanket around herself before sitting as she was told to. Looking into the fire as she scooted closer for warmth, a small smile touched her face as the salamander rolling around in the embers looked up at her in a brief pause before continuing its play, “hey there little fella.” Perhaps it was how tired she was, or the focus on the little creature in the firepit, but the traveler didn’t expect the warm fluffy towel that was dropped on her head. “W-what are you doing?” Eva’s hands started working the towel through her hair, gently patting and ringing out the water trapped in the strands, “We need to get you dry, or you could catch a cold” The other woman’s tone gave off the feeling that this was the most natural thing for her to do. 

However it was far from what the blue haired sorceress in training would say was natural. Such kindness, and unabashed care…. A small blush formed on her flustered cheeks as she sunk deeper into the cozy chair, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself. “T-Thank you.” she stammered, eyes going back to the little critter in the fireplace. 

“Not at all!” Eva hummed with a smile, patting and gently floofing Ty’s hair. “Hey Sausage, would you be a dear and go heat up the bathtub? I bet our guest could use a nice hot bath to get the cold out of her bones.” 

“Oh, uh, you don’t need to do that,” The guest tried to say, “I’m okay.” “You sure? I don’t want you to get sick, and your face is a bit flush,” Eva knelt down in front of the chair, gently pressing the back of her hand to Ty’s forehead to check for a fever. 

“I guess...That would be nice” Ty’ felt her face heating up even more at the gentle touch. Normally she would say she could tough it out, but the soft doe eyes staring at her.. It was hard to say no to. 

The salamander with a small gurgle of a noise crawled out of the fire, steam coming off its body as it made its way across the stone floor to the bathroom in the back of the hut to do the task. 

The redhead’s smile grew, “There we go. Now, how about something to drink, I was just stirring up some caramel apple cider. Definitely will warm you up from the inside out.”

“Oh uh,” but before the other woman could ask about what exactly *cider* was, Eva had scurried into the kitchen to get them some mugs, as well as a bowl of hot oatmeal for her guest. Ty arched her neck to look over the chair to try and see what was going on in the kitchen, hearing the shuffling of dishes and the hissing of a teapot. “Everything okay in there?” 

“Huh? Oh yes yes, I was just getting something warm for you to eat too. It’s just oatmeal, but I have honey and stuff I can put in if you want.” "Oh you don't need to add that for me. I like it simple.... Do, uh... Do you want to have some too?" She would have felt a bit odd eating alone in another person’s home. Besides, eating together and talking sounded rather nice. 

“Well I think I could have a little.” Eva chuckled, adding an extra spoon to the bowl before bringing it all out on a tray. “It will still be a bit hot, so careful not to burn your tongue, okay” She winked, pulling one of her bean bag pillow cushions to sit beside Ty. 

“I’ll be sure to be careful,” Ty chuckled softly, a soft hum spilling out with her exhale as she took a deep whiff of the cider, enjoying the mix of slight sweetness and spice, as well as the heat that was spreading into her fingers. 

“I gotta say I am so relieved you found my place,” The redhead said between small sips of her drink, “If I found out you were in my neck of the woods and had been out all night in this storm I would have felt so guilty.” 

“It wouldn’t have been your fault though, you didn't make the storm happen,” Ty raised a brow, a rather amused smile on her face at how… well, coddling and doting on her. It was rather confusing to try and comprehend why the girl was doing these things for her, but also it warmed her heart to see how caring and adamant she was, rambling on about how Ty could have gotten sick or lost and so on and on. “Well I didn’t, I am here so we don’t have to worry about that.”

Both the women chuckled a little and decided to change the topic of conversation, whilst sharing in the oatmeal, which Eva had thought had cooled down enough, but the sudden huffing and fanning of her mouth proved that wrong. “You okay?” Ty asked, sitting up in concern and reaching a hand to touch Eva’s shoulder. Getting a small thumbs up and a half smile, Ty chuckled a bit with a sigh, “And here you are telling me to be careful of my own tongue. Seems you need to be careful too.” “Hehehe, w-well I thought it was cooled enough for a little nibble” Eva giggled, “Now anywho, I was gonna ask, what were you doing out in this crazy weather anyway? You are a bit of a ways away from the shop, needless to say” The question brought a small frown to the taller woman’s face. Well, not so much the question, but the answer to said question. The memory of the argument, one of many, she had gotten into with Asra before storming off, not caring where she went so long as it was away from him. “Hey” Eva put her hand on top of Ty’s, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. We can talk about something else if you want.” “N-no.. no it isn’t that it is just…”She let out a deep exhale, trying to quell some of the frustration that was growing in her again just by remembering the fight. “Asra. Let’s just say Asra…” “Awe geesh, I could have expected that” Eva rolled her eyes, patting Ty’s hand before leaning back in her bean chair, “That man might know a good collection of spells, but the way he talks to people is not as charming as he thinks it is.” “No kidding,” Ty tsked, but a small smile came back to her face knowing she was sharing her grievances with someone who could relate. 

Their talk went on, Ty sharing the details of her most recent argument with her mentor. Which led to Eva’ sharing her own issues she recalled when being an apprentice. Back and forth the women shared, finishing their bowl of oatmeal and going through two or so refills of warm cider as they laughed, groaned and confided in each other. Their latest bit of chuckles interrupted by a little gurgle of a noise.  

“Hm? Oh Sausage,” Eva reached and collected the salamander, who was now a few shades darker than he previously was to signal he was cooled down a bit. “That is right, your bath must be ready. It would have been painfully hot if you had gone in before, but you better take the chance before it gets too cold.” Eva set the little creature on the hot brick that bordered the hearth, “I can get some kind of pillow bed set up by the fire for you. Well, unless you want to share the bed with me. It is downstairs so it is nice and warm.” 

“Oh, no thanks I am sure out here will be fine” Ty shook her head and let the blanket around her fall off her shoulders.  “You sure? I mean I want to make sure you are comfortable” Eva started collecting various pillow seat cushions she had and a few blankets from a chest, “I don’t mind cuddling and Persephatta actually loves the rain so she won’t be coming in tonight, so it won’t be too cramped.” 

With a soft smile, the tanned woman shook her head again, “Maybe next time, but I feel I will be pretty comfy out here. And maybe Sausage can keep me company.” She looked down at the salamander that was already starting to get a little brighter in color from the hot bricks. 

“Well he does make a very good hot water bottle,” Eva chuckled, “Okay then, I will see to a nice makeshift bed. Should be ready by the time you are done. And feel free to use my robe in there, it should fit you as a nice thing to sleep in for the night while we have our clothes taken care of.” With a small nod, Tyrael found her way to the bathroom, which wasn’t very hard considering the small size of the cottage. Dipping her finger in the water to check the temp one more time, she went about adding a few of the bath salts and herbs that were set on a shelf for cleansing and calming purposes. For a while she let herself soak, sinking down till the water was just past her chin as she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. What a crazy day it had been indeed, but not without a happy ending. Her thoughts drifted to Eva’s kind words, and how they made each other smile. 

I could get used to such conversations... this feeling.... I hope we can meet up like this again. okay maybe with a little less storm. 

End?

#tyraeltheapprentice #tyrael #apprentice tyrael #ty #Eva Forsyth #Eva The Novice #The Former Apprentice #I can't draw so I write

[penaltybox14]

Oh shit more DecoFiremen.  @zeitheist @darknight-brightstar

ed. note: oakbelly is a somewhat insulting term for an administrator/pencil-pusher, that is, someone who’s been sitting at an (oak) desk too long. 

"The oakbellies are gonna have your belts for this."

Josiah is slouched in a chair by the potbelly stove in the kitchen, his bad leg propped on a footstool.  His brace is propped against his chair, straps open, glistening in the low light, like it's resting, too.  Bad leg spits sparks, sounds sirens.  He tries to flex his foot and the sirens get louder.

Eddy fills a hot water bottle and sighs into the steam, twists the stopper and flops it on over Josiah's knee. 

"You heard me, Birchy?"

"Heard ya."

"They get word of this, they'll come up.  You know it."

"They won't know.  What can they do, anyhow?"

Lufty Parker, filling out his logs for the day, shakes his pen at Josiah and spatters the lot of them with ink.  "You ain't been at it long enough, son.  To know what they'd do."

Lufty's been at this the longest, of the three of them.  His hair and mustache are streaked with gray, and his body looks like a map of a district, patched with burns, pitted from bits of brick, his skin a calligraphy of scars.  Lufty has run young men through drills since before boxes and hydrants, and every man in the city has a story about him.  But his broad hands are gentle, and his eyes are dark and wise and kind.  It was Lufty who fingered the little fellow's shirtsleeve and said well, we'll have to take this in now, huh?

"No," Josiah says.  "They won't take him back."

Eddy opens and shuts his pocketknife.  It shines, bright as brass, in the small, warm, dim room.

"They can't take him back."

Lufty sighs.  "Them fellas up in the HQ, they're all about the rules, my son.  The rules say sixteen, and you know we got half the boys' homes and magistrates giving us the sideways eye anyhow."

"They've thought we were crazy since horses and buckets, Lufty," Eddy says.  "Hasn't meant anything to us, we still put out their fires."

"You dumb-sons think the state and the city don't lean on HQ?  You think if the state pressed hard enough, they wouldn't see fit to stamp this wisp out as searblown and hand him over?"

Josiah hurls himself out of his chair, forgetting too late that he is not twenty, that this is not the house in the Bronx with Silky grabbing for his belt, that his leg will not hold, and he sort of crumples gasping against the old table.  "Don't call him that.  Don't you dare, Parker, don't you dare say that of him."

When a man winds so tight he snaps, or when he comes loose and can't get back together, when the smoke and sparks are all he sees, when the sirens and the screams are all he hears, they call it searblown.  There are a few places trusted to take care of men who go mute, men who tremble in the daylight - soft and quiet places.  Not at all like Little River.  But Lufty is right - the little fellow, young Cleary, is too young to be their jurisdiction, and he would not go to some gentle, wooded place.  If it were the state was in a foul mood, they'd take him - and it wouldn't matter, then. 

One run  - a few years back - he went with Lufty Parker to the state hospital in New Amoskeag, and found a great big lad, tied up in a cold-sheet pack.  Two years at Wynantskill, they'd managed to get him talking again and honed his paranoia into something like a weapon, as deft as smoke and fierce as a pig-axe.  Still a strange lad, working down on the piers.  His captain wrote to say the lad had rescued three children from houseboat, three newsboys hiding out for the night that no one knew were there.  Boy's a bit of a madman, the captain wrote, but by god if I wouldn't put in for six more just like him.

But it wouldn't matter for the boy.  Josiah knows - he knows, after two years orphaned, after getting his Sear alone and bearing the fever, Cleary would not survive to sixteen if he were at the pleasure of the state. 

"Birchy," Eddy says.  "Birchy -" Eddy catches his elbow as he stumbles.  "Lufty's not saying that he is.  Lufty ain't saying that.  Right, Lufty?"

"Jesus.  No.  Birchy, I'm just saying, we got to tread light.  You dug yourself in on this one."

Josiah struggles not to lean.  He aches.  He wishes his leg could bear him rightly, and he wishes that Silky were here.  Silky was always the cooler head.  Even when before they had their coats and brass, Silky could put a peace on any fight.  Usually, ones that Josiah had started.

"What would you've had me do, Lufty?  Leave him to another couple years with the county?"

Alone.  Days, weeks, months, years, alone.  Knowing someone was out there.   Back at the House, swimming in the fever, striving to surface, struggling for the brightness.  Like shattering a window and the whole building gasping for it.  Back at Hudson Classical, when he could never keep still, when he sat with his books and flipped again and again through the pages as if they might tell him how to find what his body trembled for.  Back when he was a little boy and drew maps of pretend places, mountains and rivers and cities, always adorning them with a proper compass rose to point the way.  Mother and father had always thought him a little odd, his bedroom papered with maps in graphite and crayon. 

Young Cleary's eyes had brightened, there, in that small, empty room.

They'd gotten to Wynantskill at the dinner bell, and the big yard was all of a sudden a rush of young men struggling to sort themselves into a mess line, and Eddy's voice booming at them something about being more a swarm of rats than a pack of wolves.  Eddy, one of the tallest men Josiah had ever known, and broad too, whose cooking as much as his bellowing raised the training ground in the morning.  Birchy, Eddy had said, eyeing the little fellow, they make sixteen a lot smaller these days.

Josiah hadn't the strength to explain, but Eddy understood, in that quiet, exhausted moment where the child hovered beside him, eyes wide.  Eddy understood at once that Monroe's report from Little River was a stone truth.  Well, he'd said.  Bet you're both hungry. 

"I couldn't leave him, Lufty.  You know I couldn't."

"Lufty," Eddy says, "I wouldn't have left him, and you know you wouldn't have, either."

Josiah feels an old challenge rise in his heart.  "He's ours.  If the oakbellies and the state say it's not by rule, then he's ours by right."

Lufty twirls his pen.  Scribbles a little in the margins of his log.  "Birchy, you're a catfish to handle when you're right, so I hate to say.  But no - I wouldn't have left him.  Of course not."

Half-satisfied, Josiah hobbles, slowly, pridefully, back to his chair.  "So, what'll you have me do, old men of the mess?"

Eddy kicks him, gently, in his good leg.  "Feed him up right."

"Fix him some proper clothes."

"Teach him his manners and his Latin."

"Eddy, you said you went to trade, not Classical."

"No more I did - but you've got a hand in it, too, Birchy.  He's ours, by right, that's what you said."

Josiah chuckles.  "Alright.  His manners and his Latin.  At least one'll come out right."

#decofire #decofiremen #stubborn men #josiah may or may not have unresolved trauma #ok fine the name of this book is basically unresolved trauma #found family #is decopunk a genre #is this a genre

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

A Little TLC

Summary: Short and fluffy piece about mortal Ahkmenrah’s first cold--all he really needs is a little TLC.

After a long day at work there was little more that you looked forward to than relaxing with your newly mortal boyfriend. It had been a little over six months since Ahkmenrah had shown up at your apartment in the middle of the day and gifted you with the news of his restored life.

Knowing Ahk was yours for as long as you would have him, and you knew that would be for a lifetime, renewed your spirit. There was nothing more you enjoyed than seeing the world through his eyes—every innovation of modern life was fascinating for Ahk, and he never tired of learning about his new world.

He also never tired of showing his appreciation for you. Ahkmenrah was loving, affectionate, and endlessly interested in every facet that made up the woman you were. In short, it was difficult to believe he was truly yours, but day after day, when you returned home to him, he was waiting, a smile on his face.

Normally, when you got home from work, Ahk was practicing his reading. He had carved out a routine for himself, and in the fall, he was going to start university. Despite his fluent speech, reading in English was something that was taking longer than Ahkmenrah thought necessary. He worked tirelessly to develop his reading ability, and you were happy to help, listening to him read aloud, helping him as he sounded out new words and quietly explaining why some letter combinations in English made such drastically different sounds when put together.

At times, he grew frustrated and started muttering in ancient Egyptian; you caught a few phrases that you were sure meant “buried alive” or “eaten by scarabs.”

When you arrived home today, the apartment was uncharacteristically silent. You tossed your keys on the entryway table as you kicked off your shoes and glanced around before walking back to the bedroom.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you took in the sight of Ahkmenrah, fully clothed in his ancient Egyptian garb, crown included, lying on your bed as still as a statue with his arms crossed over his chest while his hands clutched his crook and flail.

“Uh, Ahkmenrah?”

He didn’t move, not even a twitch. At that, your heart began to speed up, your mind filling with questions, wondering if this were some sort of aftereffect of the tablet.

“Ahk!” you said as you rushed to the bed and clutched his shoulder, your eyes raking over his form and noticing his somewhat ragged breathing.

His blue-green eyes opened slowly, but your breathing remained unsteady, your heart still quickening its pace in your chest as you filled with anxiety.

“What’s going on?”

Ahk’s tongue poked out as he wetted his dry lips, his voice replying in a harsh whisper, “I am doomed.”

“Is it the tablet? Is there someone I can get to help? Holy fuck, Ahk! What should I do?” you said, your voice rising with panic.

“A plague has taken hold of me, Y/N. I haven’t long before I am gone from this world.”

“What?” you asked, tears of fear filling your eyes.

“My head, it pounds. My breath, it is short and ragged. I have lost all sense of smell, and my nose is leaking and tender.”

You could hear the ringing in your ears as the room filled with silence and you plopped onto the edge of the bed.

“Oh my god,” you breathed in a whoosh of exasperation.

“Yes. That is what I do now. I wait, and I try not to curse the gods before Osiris comes to collect my soul. But, Y/N! How could they give me such a short time with you?” Ahkmenrah looked at you, his sick eyes full of love and of quiet desperation. . . that was until you laughed at him.

Ahkmenrah’s expression changed, comically slow. His eyes filled with hurt, and his cheeks flushed as he looked away and said, “I had not realized our time together meant so little to you.”

“Ahk,” you said struggling to stifle your giggles. “You have a cold. You aren’t dying.”

“I do not feel cold,” Ahkmenrah said with a dismissive tone. “Please. Leave me to await my fate now I feel even more certain of death since my heart is broken.”

You steadied your expression and turned his face toward you.

“I did not give you permission to touch me, woman.”

You sighed and placed your hand on his forehead. It felt normal, and you lightly tapped your finger along his forehead and under his eyes.

“Does any of this hurt or feel uncomfortable?”

Ahkmenrah refused to answer you, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling over your shoulder.

You sighed and reached under his neck, feeling his lymph nodes and when you prodded along the swollen glands on the right side of his neck, he made a small noise.

“Your lymph nodes are swollen, your head is full of congestion, I am betting your throat is sore, but you don’t have a fever. It’s a common cold.”

“Common—how dare you, Y/N? I am not . . . common.”

“That you certainly are not. Who knew you got so sassy when you got sick? I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You’re such a princess.”

Ahkmenrah unclenched his crook and fail and tried to sit up in bed, but you pushed him back down.

“I’m teasing you,” you said through another giggle.

“I feel terrible, Y/N. This is no laughing matter,” Ahkmenrah said, his voice a nasal whine of misery.

“Oh, my love, I know you do,” you said, your heart aching for what he must have put himself through this afternoon.

You bent to press a kiss to his brow, careful not to disturb his crown.

“Didn’t they have colds in ancient Egypt?”

“A king never gets sick!”

“Well, king, you’re sick now.”

Ahk groaned.

“How long will I feel like this?”

“A few days. But you know what?”

“What?” Ahk asked, his eyes closed and his lips turned down in a pout.

“All you need is a little TLC. And some chicken noodle soup.”

“T…L…C?” he asked, puzzling over the acronym.

“Tender, loving, care,” you said, punctuating each word with a kiss to his brow, his right cheek, and then his left.  

“So you do love me? And would have been devastated if it were death that had come for me instead of this . . . cold?”

“I can’t imagine living a single day without you, Ahkmenrah. In fact, I refuse to imagine it because my heart would shatter.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, my king. But if you ever call me “woman” again. . .”

Ahkmenrah looked sheepish.

“I misspoke, my queen. Forgive me—"

Ahk’s apology was cut short by a violent coughing fit, his crown bouncing off as he sat up and covered his mouth.

“Oh, gods. Please take me,” Ahkmenrah whined as he collapsed back onto his pillow with enough force to bounce his crown off the bed and onto the hardwood floor with a clang.

You hid your smile as you said, “Come on. Let’s get you out of these clothes and into a hot bath. The steam will help loosen up some of that congestion.”

“I am too weak.”

“What if I get in with you? Rub your shoulders? Massage your scalp?”

Ahkmenrah opened one eye.

“I supposed I can manage the journey.”

You bit your lips together to stop your grin.

“Rest. And this queen will prepare his lordship’s bath.”

“Y/N?” Ahkmenrah said softly, his eyes watching as you made your way to the bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

Ahkmenrah’s smile couldn’t be suppressed this time, even by the dastardly cold that had claimed him, its brilliance filling your soul with happiness as you shook your head and made your way to fill the tub.

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #natm ahkmenrah #rami malek #rami malek character

[firstdegreefangirl]

Chris Diaz Week Day Two: Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: None, team as a family

Word Count: 1843

Original Pub Date: 21 April 2020

Read on Ao3 here

Day Two I Day One

“Daaaaaad!” Eddie sighs when he hears his son cry out, pulling a t-shirt on as he goes down the hall and tries to smooth down his hair.

“What’s up, mijo?”He pushes the door open to see Christopher sitting up in bed, rubbing his ear against his shoulder.

“My ear hurts,” he whines, and Eddie moves forward to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I know it does. The medicine should start working in a couple days and help get the pressure down, but  until then we’ve just got to do our best and get through it. Want to try a hot rag again?”

Chris nods. “Can we sit on the couch? It hurts when I lay down.”

“Yeah, we can sit on the couch.” Eddie tries to hide his exhaustion as he passes Christopher his crutches.

It’s getting harder to act like he’s not tired, though. It’s been three days since Chris has slept through the night, and they’ve just hit a record high of … three hours, according to the superhero alarm clock on his nightstand. He knows that once they go downstairs, neither of them is going to sleep anymore tonight. At least he’s off work tomorrow, and Chris still can’t go back to school until he kicks the low-grade fever the antibiotics have yet to counteract.  

Together, they walk down the hallway, and Eddie makes sure Christopher is settled in the middle of the couch with a blanket before leaning the crutches against the coffee table.

“I’ll go get a washcloth and we’ll sit together, alright?” He waits for a nod, and heads back up the hall to soak a rag in hot water, wringing it out before he folds it in fourths and rejoins his son, who’s pulling at his ear and pouting. “Right here, buddy. Here we go.”  

Eddie sits down next to him and wraps his arm around Christopher’s shoulders, helping guide him to lean against his chest, the wet rag resting on top of his shirt.

“Hurts, Dad.”  

“I know, mijo. The steam should help, and if we point it down, the pressure might drain some.” Eddie runs his hand through Chris’s soft curls and sighing. “Close your eyes, see if you can fall asleep.”

“It hurts too much.” Chris wiggles against Eddie’s side, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Woke me up.”

“I know,” Eddie runs a hand down his face and makes his peace with another sleepless night, sitting on the couch and holding his son, hoping he’ll feel better by morning. “If it doesn’t pop by bedtime tomorrow, we’ll go back to the doctor, ‘kay?”

“Mm’kay.” Christopher pushes his face against Eddie’s shirt, and Eddie feels the tears soaking through the fabric.  

“Hey, you’ll be alright. We’ll get on the other side of this before you know it.” The words aren’t good enough; he still feels horrible that he can’t do anything more than placate his son and hold a washcloth against his head. But there’s nothing else anyone can do, no more medicines to be taken, no fatherhood magic that can suck the ear infection away before Chris’s immune system fights it off.  

So they sit, together, Eddie’s hand rubbing gently at his son’s scalp while he sniffles quietly. And they’re still there, together, when the sun comes up a few hours later.

Eddie makes it through to lunch the next day before he’s ready to give up. He’d never be upset with Christopher for needing him, ever, but he hasn’t even managed a full night of sleep over the last three combined. So after he makes sure Chris is set with a bowl of mac and cheese and Finding Dory, he drops into a kitchen chair and fires off a handful of texts.  

“Hey, Chris,” Eddie slides the empty bowl away, passing him a popsicle in the hopes of providing at least a little more hydration. “What do you say to moving the sickbed down to the station, going to visit Bobby and Chimney and Hen and Buck?”

He smiles a little and nods, but the relative lack of enthusiasm is a testament to how terrible he must feel, and Eddie’s heart breaks again. Chris turns back to the movie, while Eddie packs a small bag with snacks, a couple of books and his antibiotics.  

“Fresh PJs before we go? You don’t have to get dressed, but clean clothes might feel nice.” Chris nods again, but doesn’t make any effort to get up, so Eddie meets him back in the living room with a new set of pajamas. His movements are unwieldy and lethargic as Eddie pulls the existing shirt up over his head and helps wrangle the new one on.  “There we go, ready for pants?” Eddie helps him stand up and step from one set of bottoms to the other, then hands him his crutches and switches off the TV. “Ready?”

Another nod, and they head for the truck, Eddie following more closely behind Christopher than usual, in case he wobbles too far one way or the other and throws himself even further off balance. The drive to the station is silent, save for the occasional low whine as the truck jostles Chris over a bump.

“Sorry, mijo, you good?” He whimpers again, but nods at Eddie in the rearview mirror.  

When they’re parked and Eddie goes to lift Christopher down from his seat, he clings to his dad’s neck and wraps his legs around Eddie’s torso.  

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint.” Eddie stands back up and adjusts the backpack strap slung over one shoulder. When he opens the door, he sees Bobby waiting on the mezzanine.  

“Hey, Cap,” he calls and waves carefully, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Hey, Diaz.” Bobby comes down and joins them, brushing a hand over Christopher’s head. “Hear you’re feeling pretty crummy.”

“Yeah. My ear hurts.”  

“That’s no fun. If you’re up for watching, your buddy Buck is creaming Chimney at Mario Karts.” He looks up at that, leaning back to look at Eddie.

“Dad? C’n we watch?”

“Sure.” Eddie carries him into the lounge, settling them both on the sofa beside Buck.

“Hey, little man!” Buck looks down for a second when Christopher squirms off of Eddie’s lap to sit between them. “Bobby said you were coming ov—CHIM!” He sticks his tongue out at the other man, who’s laughing from his position in the armchair.  

“Hi, Bucky.” Christopher reaches up to tug at his ear again. “My ear hurts.”  

“Oh no! You think it’s gonna fall off?” Christopher shakes his head and laughs a little bit.

“Dad says it’ll feel better soon.”  

“Well your dad’s pretty smart, so I bet he’s right.” Buck lifts an arm up and lets Christopher curl up against his chest.  

“Yeah …" he trails off. “Are you winnin’?”

“I was, before Chimney tried to cheat with that banana peel.”

“It’s not cheating if they give me the offensive weapons!” Chimney jerks the remote up and mutters under his breath as his avatar topples off of the racetrack.  

Eddie watches a couple more rounds, but feels his eyelids growing heavy. He’s trying not to drift off, every fiber of his being telling him that he needs to stay awake in case his son needs him, but it’s a fight he’s losing quickly. He looks over to see that Christopher seems to have fallen asleep against Buck’s chest without anyone noticing, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment.  

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand clapping him on his shoulder, and he jumps, opening his eyes to see that the television screen is blank.

“Diaz.” He turns around when he hears Bobby’s voice. “Go lay down.”

“Hmm? No, I-it's fine, Cap. Just resting my eyes for a second. I’m good.”

“When did you sleep last?”

“Last night. Got a few hours, before he was up again.” Eddie shifts his weight, turning to face Bobby, and yawns.

“And before that?”

“Couple nights. Not a big deal.”

“Diaz. You’re not on duty, so I can’t make it an order, but there’s a bunk room open and you look like you could use the rest.” Bobby pulls his hand back, but keeps staring at Eddie.

“It’s fine, I’ll … I can sleep when he’s feelin’ better.” He looks over his shoulder at Chris, still passed out beside Buck, who’s now flipping through a magazine.  

“Dude, he’s fine. He hasn’t moved in close to an hour. I’ve got him.” Buck looks up and smiles, running his hand up and down Chris’s arm. “Seriously, go sleep. I’ll come find you when he wakes up.”  

“You’re sure?” He glances between Buck and Bobby.

“I’ll keep an eye on them both. Go, rest.” Bobby nudges him. “This is what we’re here for. Remember, when you don’t know where to take him, this is the answer. Besides,” He chuckles. “If Buck’s being a pillow, he’s not making any messes around here.”  

Eddie doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to admit that he can’t do this on his own. But the allure of sleep is too strong, and he’s too tired to argue.

“Alright, I’ll lay down for an hour.” Eddie stands up. “Seriously, come get me if he needs anything, but I’ll set an alarm.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find you if we need to, but you need the rest. Listen to your body, alright?”

Eddie nods, stumbling toward the bunk room. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, sure that he’ll be awake again within the hour.

But when he opens his eyes, when he cracks the door of the bunk room, it’s gone dark outside. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and heads back for the lounge, changing course when he hears familiar laughter from the kitchen.

“Well look at that, Chris. It’s Sleeping Beauty.” Buck looks up when he sees Eddie approach, and Christopher turns around in his chair. He looks rested, more alert than he has since Eddie picked him up from his Abuela’s after he had to leave school early.  

“Yeah, what’s that make you? One of the fairy godmothers?” He waits for Buck to roll his eyes and bends down to kiss Chris’s head. “How’s your ear, mijo?”

“Better. Still hurts, but not as much. Bobby’s making brownies. He said you took a nap.”  

“Just a little one. So did you, right?”  

“Mhmm.” Christopher looks like he’s getting ready to speak again, but the timer goes off and he turns back toward Bobby. “Brownies?!”

“We’ll let them cool a little bit, but soon, kiddo.” Bobby sits the baking dish on top of the stove and turns around. “How you feeling, Diaz?”

“Like a new man, Cap. Seriously, thanks for keeping an eye on him. Good to know there’s people looking out.”

“What do I keep telling you? We take care of each other. And each other’s kids.” Bobby sits down across the table from Chris. “It’s a lot more fun when he’s feeling better, though.”  

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