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annadoingshitpoorly · 1 year

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Towers Built, and Towers Falling Down

Medieval AU! Knight Abby x Chubby Princess Reader (Part One)

Minors, Men and general fuckheads DNI please 💚

Content Warnings: It’s pretty much just fluff… reader is thirsty for Abby’s muscles, damsel in distress type shit. No use of Y/N and lots of cutesy nicknames.

{Yes. This is for me entirely. My chubby gay ass needs love and attention.}

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Stepping out from the door leading into your bed chambers the dim lighting of the corridor makes you blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the darkness, the large windows on the southward facing wall of your room always let in so much natural light that the contrast between the large openness of the spaces designed for you and your ilk and those of the common folk, the staff and your lover.

The soft footfall of leather and cloth covered feet followed by the easy swishing of smooth pink and green linens are the only sounds left to fill the winding corridors and stairwells that make up the tight and narrow servant’s passageways of the stone fortress and castle you call home. Ducking around dark corners, with only the light from the slight, almost slit, like windows in the wall at the end of each corridor, you rush as much as your slipper-clad feet will allow without tripping against the long trains and skirts of the gown that fall down from your hips. Coming around the bend, the thin wooden door that leads into the library lies shut.

She should be here. But she’s not.

The minutes you wait grow longer and longer, and an anxious pit begins to form in the depths of your stomach. The black snake of nervousness twists and turns tumultuously with no rest or break to its movements in sight. That is until the door you are leaning on is pulled backwards causing you to fall back with it and into the strong chest of the blonde woman you have been waiting restlessly for.

“Abby!”

Her large hand instantly clasps over your mouth as she brings her lips next to your ear.

“Shush, easy princess.”

Her hand lowers to wrap around your waist as you turn around to look up at her, eyes wide as you take her in. You always forget how little of her massive size is armour when on the field or patrolling, wide shoulders carry large muscled arms and frame a firm hardened torso. She’s the perfect parallel to the soft curves and rolls that royal life has thus far afforded you. And Abby loves it.

“I thought you weren’t coming, that perhaps you had forgotten?”

“When you’re involved and our time together is at stake, your highness, I’d sooner be dead than forget.” Her voice exudes sarcasm, and the title sends a smile across your face knowing the nature of her and her often relentless teasing.

“Oh, hush.” The hand you hold against her chest shoves into her, but it makes no difference to her stance.

She pulls your chin up so that her lips can easily collide with yours, as you kiss she takes a tentative step backwards and into the library pulling you with her. An intricately woven tapestry depicting an ancient battle from aeons past with soldiers wielding spears and bows carrying out their assault on a large grotesque creature with many limbs is all that hangs in front of the servant’s entrance. The tapestry acts as the only thing shielding you from anyone or thing in the large tome filled room.

Large windows allow for light to flood into the room, and with the bright mornings that come as standard for the early summer, slivers of sunbeams cut through the gaps and holes that time had left in the cloth of the tapestry. Breaking away from her lips, almost immediately you miss her chapped lips and their heat against yours, but the new angle allows you to admire your love and admire what you do. The sneaking golden light of the late afternoon that pokes through those holes adds an almost ethereal glow to Abby’s sun kissed skin and freckled cheeks, the loose dirty blonde strands of her hair that have fallen out of her braid turn into a crown around her face as the sun hits it at the perfect angle. Oh how much easier this all would be if that were an actual crown adorning her head, but alas…

A smirk befalls her lips as she removes her hands from your side, and bends to fall into a deep bow

“Well, your highness, if you would be so kind as to join me by the fireplace?” Abby’s forearm is offered to you as you’re left giggling at her antics.

“Why, kind knight! I’d be honoured.”

Allowing her to lead you over the fur rug that lies on the oak wood floor in front of the seemingly ever-roaring fire, as she moves to get comfortable on the furry mat the position she ends up in can only be described as completely lounging. With her back pressed against the birch chest used to store firewood, her legs spread as she looks up at you from her seated position. “Are you planning on standing there watching me,” A hand pats the space on the rug between her thighs, “or would you rather join me?”

Instead of answering, you drop to your knees and crawl up into the gap she’d left for you. “Good choice, princess.” Your hands are captured in one of hers, large calloused fingers wrap around the little chubby knuckles and lily-soft fingers all the while her other hand moves to its favourite position on your lower stomach, rubbing against the soft flesh under the layers of rosy linen.

“I do wish that you’d call me something other than ‘princess’, you know?” you mumble into her neck.

She laughs, the chuckles causing you to jostle lightly as you lean against her chest, “I know, but even you can’t deny it’s perfectly fitting.”

Pulling away from her warmth, icy eyes meet with yours and you frown. “True that may be, but it doesn’t pardon or excuse the teasing that comes along with it, Abigail.”

As her name leaves your mouth a pout subconsciously dons your lips, her gaze flickers downwards at your lips before she pulls you back towards her giving her the opportunity to pepper kisses across your face.

“Pretty girl, you expect me to not tease you? Even when we both know all too well how preciously adorable you become after such jabs.”

“Let’s just count ourselves lucky that I haven’t fainted from your jabs, and we haven’t yet had to call upon your father and his expertise.” Your response sends her into a fit of laughter, a heavy heat comes over her cheeks and her already warmth reddened face grows even deeper with colour as she attempts to catch her breath again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll hold back on my torture, to an extent... That is, I’ll hold back if you’ll give me a kiss.”

Rolling your eyes you place a singular chaste kiss on her lips before getting up from her lap and stretching, your face scrunching up as you do so and allowing Abby to admire how cute you are, eyes closed and little creases appearing as lines across your skin. She watches contently as you wander away and into the rows of shelves lined with various books.

“Princess, where are you headed off to?” Asking even though she could hear you clearly, moving various books.

“Somewhere…”

“Do you need any help?” She could hear the confusion in your voice.

“Nope, I’ll manage.”

The crackle of the wood in the fireplace and your footsteps soon were the only sounds to fill the library and Abby sighs, you’re being a lot more self-sufficient than norm-

“Abbyyyy! Help please?”

Your whines come just as she’d anticipated.

“I’m coming, don’t worry.” As she rounds the corner she sees the cause of whining. There you are halfway up the bookcase with your arm outstretched and one leg hiked much higher than the other a couple of shelves difference between them. You had gotten yourself stuck a full four five in the air.

She grins at you and your predicament.

“Has her highness found herself in a bit of an awkward situation?”

“Abby… it’s not funny. I can’t get down and I can’t reach the book I want.”

She rolls her eyes as she wraps her arms around your upper thighs and takes your full weight onto a single shoulder causing you to squeak above her, allowing her to bend at the knees and have you hop down safely. You don’t think you’ll ever not get warm in the cheeks when you feel how her muscles strain against the soft leather and linens of her casual wear, gods only know what you’d give to see her in a tunic without sleeves or a blouse that’s so thin the curves of her biceps practically burst from the cloth concealing her skin… her soft skin and her hard muscle…

“Which one?”

Abby’s talking to you and snapping you away from your train of thought.

“Pardon?”

“Which book are you looking for?”

“Oh the new one, ‘Sir Orfeo’ I think it’s called?”

You watch as Abby scales the shelves with far greater skill and agility than you ever could and as she reaches up to the top shelf she grabs a small book, bound in a deep blue leather with engravings on the front cover.

She drops back down to the ground, book in hand. Abby holds her arm out, “Here you go.” As you reach out to take it from her, she shoots her arm up into the air withholding the book from you by at least 2 feet.

“Abby. Give me the book.”

“So demanding? What if I don’t want to give it to you, besides I am the one who was able to actually get it from the shelf. I’ll give your precious book to you when I get my reward.”

You huff an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” You reach on tiptoes to plant a kiss on her cheek. And are thus granted access to your book.

You make your way to the armchair that had, up until this point, remained neglected and although its rather grand size would’ve easily let you both sit on the chair, Abby opts to take a seat on the rug by your feet, resting her head on your thigh. Opening the book you begin to read to yourself and get a full page in before being rudely interrupted.

“I wanna hear too, baby.”

You begin again from the top of the page.

“Grief filled the air upon the death of the dear wife of the beloved bard, Sir Orfeo. His lute that normally filled the walls of the castle grew silent and abandoned as unhappiness filled his heart instead…”

Neither of you know when you had fallen asleep, Abby drooling onto your dress and hair slightly tussled and you imagine yours is much the same. The fire has been whittled down to embers and the light coming in from the windows is deeply tinted red, the setting of the sun seemingly imminent.

“Abby,” you place a hand in her hair, “you have to get up.” Your movements cause her to stir and wake, instantly she’s up and rushing to her feet and pulling you to yours. She snatched the book from the rug and places it in your hand while grabbing the free one and pulling you to stand up.

Before you can ask what she’s doing she picks you up in her arms and carries you bridal style, back past the bookshelves, behind the tapestry and through the hidden door. She’s relentless as she passes through the corridors and up the stairs leading to the servant’s door to your bed chamber. Setting you down in front of the door she tentatively opens the door and glances inside, deeming it safe enough she proceeds into the room with a hand in yours, leading you.

“Get on the bed, princess.” Still a little tired and in no mood to argue, you do as instructed. Abby’s warm hands fix the quilt and tuck you in. “If anyone asks where were you?” She kneels down to make straight on eye contact with you as she speaks.

“I was in bed, feeling a little bit sick.”

“Good. And if someone asks ‘Do you need the doctor’?”

“I shake my head, say ‘It’s not serious enough to worry the doctor, but the doctor’s daughter might be free’ and I wait for you.” You follow through with the actions as you give her the memorised spiel.

“Atta girl.” Her hand ruffles your hair, and she stands up and turns to leave through the servant’s door once more. “Abby?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“I love you.”

“I know, princess, I know.”

This is my baby, my love child. I love hearing what people think about this stuff so any comments or reblogs are fondly found. 💚

Part 2 is out and on my master list

#abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #chubby reader #tlou x reader #medieval au

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qqueenofhades · 8 months

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just saw your offer for book recs and would love some fantasy/sci fi books, it seems like we have similar taste. i just finished nk jemisin's broken earth trilogy, and also loved the city we became by her.

Aha, I am at work right now and thus do not have my bookshelves at hand to make sure I'm not missing something blindly obvious. However, I will start you off with these:

The Rook and Rose trilogy by M.A. Carrick (The Mask of Mirrors, The Liar's Knot, Labyrinth's Heart). Yes, this is the series I have been screaming about nonstop for the past few weeks and thus craftily suckering unsuspecting passersby into reading. An AMAZING world, an OT3 who own my entire ass, lots of political intrigue, cultural and social commentary, a unique magic system, and also plenty of humor. It really has it all. I continue my one-man quest to make this fandom bigger. Ahem.

The Green Bone trilogy by Fonda Lee (Jade City, Jade War, Jade Legacy). Another fantastic fantasy series that NEEDS more readers. Inspired by Chinese/Hong Kong kung-fu movies, set in a gritty modern universe, kind of like the Godfather but with magical jade-wielding families. Tons of discussion of empire, culture, violence, appropriation, power, war, family, Asian identity, more. They're likewise nice and long to keep you busy.

The Daevabad trilogy by S.A. Chakraborty (The City of Brass, The Kingdom of Copper, The Empire of Gold). Another you-gotta-read-this trilogy (yes, I have many of them). Set in the 18th-century Middle East and the magical djinni kingdom of Daevabad. Politics, empire, religion, history, intrigue, magic, scheming families, ancient wars, and my most beloved, Muntadhir al-Qahtani. What is not to love.

The Priory of the Orange Tree and its standalone prequel, A Day of Fallen Night, by Samantha Shannon. Absolute doorstopper (800+ pages apiece) epic-with-dragons-and-medieval-worlds fantasy, like Game of Thrones if Game of Thrones was a) good b) gay c) feminist and d) had people of color. She is also the author of the Bone Season series (four books thus far) which is a unique blend of futuristic sci-fi and fantasy set in an alternate totalitarian London and a ruined Oxford.

Winter's Orbit and Ocean's Echo by Everina Maxwell. Two M/M space opera romances (set in the same universe, but can be read independently). She got her start as a fanfic writer and it shows; these are both delightful, plotty, funny, and full of sassy gay disaster homosexuals in space.

A Memory Called Empire and A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine (I have read the first one, need to read the second one). Historian of medieval Byzantium writes space opera set in Space Constantinople which is also Space Tenochtitlan. Explores language, history, memory, power, identity, assimilation, and more, and is also very funny.

Autonomous, The Future of Another Timeline, and The Terraformers by Annalee Newitz. High-concept social-commentary dystopian science fiction; of the three, Terraformers (the newest one) might be my favorite. They're not related so you can read them in whatever order.

Two books that I have not read yet but I really want to: Swim Home to the Vanished by Brendan Shay Basham and To Shape a Dragon's Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose. Both are fantasy novels by Native American authors; Basham's is magical realism and Blackgoose's is about a Native American dragon-rider facing assimilation at an English (Anglish) boarding school.

Likewise coming soon and I am excited: The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport by Samit Basu. Middle Eastern-inspired fantasy, cyberpunk, techno-magic. In space!

There are definitely more that I will get home and be like oh wait yeah. But this should get you started.

#sinistershit #ask #book recs

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thydungeongal · 2 months

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Most Trusted Advisors and Chivarly & Sorcery: Two Medieval Games with Contrasting Takes on Marginalized Identities

I think I kind of have a not-entirely-undeserved reputation over here on Tungler dot cum as "the rules-heavy RPG guy," owing to my professed love for Rolemaster, Hero System, D&D's both 3.5 and 4e, and a bunch of other extremely crunchy games. However, in what might come as a surprise to many, I don't exclusively like big crunchy games, but have been known to sometimes go absolutely Nut-Nut for games with much lighter rules text. Monsterhearts, a game of horny teenage monsters and a far cry from the 1d100 lookup tables of Rolemaster with its extremely good take on the PbtA engine, might actually be my favorite game, period.

There are two games which I have recently fallen in love with that I think exemplify my divergent tastes in RPGs: Most Trusted Advisors by @thehorizonmachine and Chivalry & Sorcery (link goes to an ongoing Bundle of Holding if you want to get in on the action!). In many ways the two games couldn't be more different: Most Trusted Advisors openly bills itself as a historically inaccurate pastiche, a theme park ride with the trappings of medieval Europe lifted from popular culture. Chivalry & Sorcery is written by people with an actual academic interest in medieval Europe and the desire to provide as authentic a simulacrum of medieval Europe as possible within the medium of role-playing games. Most Trusted Advisors is a straightforward and light system, where everything hinges on a single d6 dice pool action roll. Chivalry & Sorcery makes RuneQuest look downright pedestrian in its attempts at "realism" and goes all in on the simulation.

There is one specific place where I think the two games contrast in an interesting way, and before I dive into it: I don't think either game's approach to this matter is bad. The two approaches are very different but I think both are to be celebrated. I personally happen to prefer one of the approaches, but that doesn't mean I don't see the value in the other one as well.

Okay, ready? It's in how these two games approach queer identities.

Most Trusted Advisors is explicitly written by openly queer people. Chivalry & Sorcery is written by what I suspect are cishet allies. This I feel isn't the only reason for these variant approaches, but it provides some more context.

So, Most Trusted Advisors' approach to queer identities is basically: the middle ages in Europe, of which the game is a humorous pastiche, weren't a great time to be gay or trans. Gay and trans people did exist, but the various institutions of the time very much enshrined cisheteronormativity. As such, even when gay and trans people were absolutely there, a lot of the institutions of the time were at least somewhat hostile towards them. There were even rulers and people of note from those times who would by modern standards count as gay or trans, but they couldn't exactly be those things openly nor can we really impose modern standards on them when they wouldn't have seen things in those terms. Most Trusted Advisors' response is that the fact that the system is hostile to queer people is an acceptable part of the pastiche, and shouldn't be paved over: the game is about playing people in power and to play those people as fundamentally unsympathetic, and since they are people in power in a cisheteronormative system, they are likely beneficaries of cisheteronormativity. To make these characters queer as some form of empowerement would be very much missing the point. The point is to make fundamentally unsympathetic characters and then point and laugh at them. This is why the game doesn't have a blanket ban on queer characters, but the game's (queer) creators suggest not injecting it there.

Chivalry & Sorcery also begins with an acknowledgement of the fact that the middle ages in Europe were what could be considered a Bad Time for not only queer people but many other marginalized people. The game has a number of short essays on this topic, but ultimately falls on the side of "any prejudice these people met put aside, there are innumerable examples of people of these marginalized identities existing in Europe in the middle ages. Literally, shut the fuck up and let your players play a black person." Once again, the focus is on not paving over the fact that the setting being portrayed was not the most egalitarian of times. Whereas Most Trusted Advisors instrumentalizes this for the sake of its satire, Chivalry & Sorcery takes a different route to empowering players: it acknowledges the hardships of the time, but then says that player safety and comfort always come first, and should the group not wish to engage with the hardships of being a queer person in a medieval setting, safety tools ought to be used to allow that player to play that marginalization only to the extent they are comfortable. This is extended to all forms of marginalization, including religion, race (even though it wouldn't have been conceptualized in modern ways), gender, and sexuality.

I personally prefer the Most Trusted Advisors: many years ago I would've preferred the Chivalry & Sorcery approach, because allowing marginalized folks who feel underrepresented in certain settings to partake of the power fantasy is important. But I also think there is a lot of value in a game saying "Yeah, the system as it exists fucking sucks. You can use this game as a means to make up some horrible guys and laugh at them."

Both approaches have merit and I am glad both exist within the hobby.

#long post

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 9 months

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Vikings and their eras

Summary: what era would vikigns be in if they weren't in their own

Notes: I did a lot of text for this one, bc I loved thinking about this!! There are some pretty popular characters missing (Ragnar, Sigurd, Athelstan) where I just couldn’t imagine a certain era for them. Thank you so much for your request :)))))) Some of these eras aren’t wonderful or filled with positivity but that doesn’t mean these characters wouldn’t thrive.

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Lagertha

Lagertha would thrive well in times of crises and war (lmao). The black death, WW1 or 2, or long periods of war/famine/sickness is where Lagertha does well. Think about her what you will, but she brings people together, manages them, and takes care of them. She’s a natural leader, and a fighter, so she’s able to protect her community.

We’ve seen examples of this in the series, think during the sickness in Kattegat, or when she takes over and completely builds up Hedeby. People tend to trust her, and especially women look up to/feel safe around her. When disaster strikes, she would be able to save/take care of them.

Aslaug

I had to think about this for a really long time because I think that Aslaug fits so well into the era the show is set in, however, I finally decided on the 1920s. Even as a feminine woman in Viking Scandinavia, she had a lot of authority over herself and knew how to grow a business (Kattegat) when Hirst wasn’t feeling sexist.

In the 1920s, she’d live in a big city, maybe Berlin or New York, and she’d own some sort of speakeasy. I’d love to think that her speakeasy would be a place for the very few pagans of the city to meet up in secret, and she herself would still be a norse pagan, völva, etc. Also, she’d dip her toes into wild jewellery design (think Schiaparelli). Definitely someone who attracts artists and would be considered a muse.

Rollo

Middle Medieval Ages for sure. He thrives being a knight because he’s a manipulative little hoe that I can’t stand. Gets to do his performative heroism during tourneys and woo women only to leave them all alone.

Rollo is not a good person, esp. towards women. He constantly gets into trouble with the church and with fathers whose daughters he ‘dishonors’. Definitely needs a wife like Gisla to slap some sense into him. I think that eventually (mid forties) he’d start to mature. Also, having children would help him become a better person (I think they should have put that into a show).

Bjorn

Bjorn thrives well in the late 2000s to early 2010s, when travel blogs were on the rise. He’s one of the early influencers, and travels the world together with Halfdan. This only works bc cancel culture isn’t real yet. Bjorn would say some stupid shit and get hounded for it let’s be real. Nonetheless, there is always some rumour about him and Halfdan being a thing (they would be if they both didn’t constantly say ‘that’s gay’).

Alternatively, Bjorn might make a good colonizer (can I say that?), but it’s not like he isn’t that already.

Ubbe

Ubbe would thrive during the late medieval ages (defo not the Renaissance though). He’s the type of man who would enjoy the idea of the charming knight. I think Ubbe would definitely enjoy the idea of quests/saving damsels in distress/having the arranged-marriage-turned-lovestory (he’s a booktok girly tbh).

This doesn’t mean that all of this is totally pure. Ubbe gets some shit twisted in canon as well (ESPECIALLY concerning Margrethe). Maybe his first war was something crusade-like, and he went into it thinking of heroic acts and blabla and then got fucked up by battle and gore. Also has a religion and Madonna/whore complex problem.

Hvitserk

In the show, Hvitserk was always seeking sense/purpose while also struggling with balance, which is why I think he would thrive in the 1970s. This is THE era for protests and social change. Climate change, feminism and sexuality all became important topics. Going to protests would be able to give him a sense of change, and I think it would be liberating for him as well, to be able to free himself of his restraints by changing something.

I’ll go into communes a little more for Helga, but I think Hvitserk would thrive in an early commune a lot. He needs to have people around him taking care of his mental health, and this would be great for his mental health. Yes, therapy helps a lot of people, but I think if Hvitserk lived in our time, he would think that talk therapy is stupid, and completely close himself off to it. This guy just needs a lot of love, okay?

Also, he needs to smoke some 70s weed every once in a while.

Ivar

Just like Hvitserk, Ivar would thrive during the 1970s. However, this is for completely different reasons and also means that no one else gets to thrive. I chose the 1970s because it’s THE serial killer decade.

That honestly sounds terrible but we all know it’s true.

Ivar would be bitter about being discriminated/not being able to fully take part in society/not getting any women and that would turn him homicidal. He definitely overcomplicated his killings and does shitty bloodeagles to get some cool name but all he gets is like “the Viking killer” or something and he’s so mad about that he reveals himself on his deathbed to change his title. It doesn’t work.

Floki

Floki just wants to be where Helga is, but he would not thrive in the 2020s. I think he’d get in arguments with Helga about vaccinations. However, I want Floki to be in the 2010s/2020s with Helga. He definitely has some kind of hallucination-related mental illness at the least. I think that especially the season where he acted out against Helga (season 4?) shows that his mental health was making him harmful towards others and probably towards himself.

I can’t diagnose Floki, but I think we can all see that he might have some kind of bipolar disorder/mania disorder on top of a schizophrenia. He needs some kind of meds, and he needs someone to help him taking them.

Helga

This is very specific, but Helga would do AMAZING during the early era of Covid (like March 2020). Yes, she’s a very social person, but I do believe that Helga would be part of a quite isolated commune if she lived during modern times, and even during that time be isolated with Floki.

I would like to think that the commune could be self-sufficient and Helga just gets to go ham making banana bread and care packages. She thrives in this time where she doesn’t really have to go to work (even though she loves being a kindergartener too) and gets to take care of the people in her commune, and even further than that from the comfort of her own home.

Astrid

This woman thrives where no one else does, and that is toxic 2020s twitter. All she does is tweet, get cancelled, tweet, get popular, repeat. She’s so so annoying and bullies a bunch of people who don’t deserve to be bullied. Is most definitely blocked by trump, hailey Bieber and the Kardashians at least.

Makes a living by selling feetpics.

Ecbert

Ecbert thrives in the 1980s. Now. Hear me out. Ecbert in neon Zumba clothes. There, that’s my reason.

I’m just kidding, there’s more. I’m not old enough to fully understand most of the decades I’m talking about in here but the 1980s, it seems, were this extremely colorful and wild decade. Literally everywhere, color just kind of seemed to explode, and I think Ecbert would thrive in this kind of chaotic atmosphere.

(are there people in their forties or older on this post that can verify?)

Aelswith

I’m really sad that we didn’t go into Aelswith more in the show, but I firmly believe that Aelswith would make an amazing Sufragette. Thinking back to her time on the show, she was always very firm in standing her ground, more so than Judith or even Lagertha in some ways (especially in the sense that she was SO YOUNG). She directed and strengthened Alfred, and I think during season 6, she used a beartrap to defend her baby?

Anyway, I imagine her as a rich/aristocratic lady in London who definitely steers the household while Alfred brings the money in (he likes art) and she decides that, if she puts in the work in the house, she should be able to decide over the country that house is in as well.

#history vikings #request #vikings #ivar #hvitserk #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ubbe #lagertha x reader #ubbe x reader #hvitserk x reader #aelswith #rollo #aslaug #floki #vikings ivar #ivar ragnarsson x reader #rollo x reader

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weaponizedducks · 24 days

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my dudes we have reached the end of an era. i have finished my merlin rewatch. thanks for sticking with me all this time brave soldiers (like a month or two max but i'm dramatic) however i do need a new (or old fav) show to watch so feel free to give reccomendations! i will miss the medieval gays but i'm sure it's only a matter of time before i return to them

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #blue rewatches merlin #last time i use that tag (absolutely not)#but pls give me a show to watch #but if any of you fuckers tell me to watch voltron i swear to god #love yall #also don't take this seriously i'm just being a dramatic fuck

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chaoticfandomgirly · 3 months

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So you all have the Marauders fandom that is mostly out of jkr's clutches. It's super gay and fun and we all love it.

BUT...what if I tell you about the Four Founders fandom where Jkr only has her the tip of her little pinky, giving us a LOT to work with. Where it's old magic, medieval fantasy with cottage core aesthetic, discovering Hogwarts, battles, royalty, found family, strangers to hostile friends to friends to lovers to enemies! and as usual pain...a lot of pain. This one is also gay just in case anyone was wondering.

'Cause I have a project going on. I already have some dedicated readers, but just in case anyone missed out here's your chance!

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myguiltyartpleasure · 5 months

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Cozy games recommendations! part 2

As I promised here is another one bunch of cozy games. This time it's not stardew-like only.

Carto

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've completed it for 8.5 hours without any rush)

I don't really see this game in lists of recommended cozy games, but it really deserves to be mentioned! It has interesting concept and beautiful art style. You're playing as a kid, who can change landscape by making changes in their map. You've lost from you grandma, you're trying to find her and all map pieces that were lost. It's a bit of a puzzle, you're travelling through different areas and see different people. It's quite short, but I loved it a lot.

Potion Craft

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've played for 32 hours. There are still things to do and developers still release new content)

You're and alchemist in medieval kind of town. You need to create potions according to customer's request (there is no time limit, so don't worry about it). Brewing potions has it's own mechanics, which is easy to get used to. There is no plot, just some optional goals. The final one appears to be creating philosopher's stone. This is a kind of a repetitive game kill some time.

Unpacking

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've played for 8 hours)

You're a person going through different stages of life. There are boxes with personal stuff to unpack and to put in places the way you want to. And I've just realized that "Unpacking" isn't just about things, but also about person's own life and problems, which is shown quite subtle. It's very relaxing and cozy

Cloud Gardens

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I have about 8 hours, but there are still things to do)

The world seems to be post-apocalyptical and you're helping the life to thrive again. Place plants to overgrown ruins and trash to create better scenery. If you love this kind of post-apocalyptical view, you'll like it. Just relax and pick places for plants to grow

Dorfromantik

PC, Nintendo switch (I have about 16 hours)

Place tiles with few rules to create as big area as possible. No plot or quests, just beautiful landscape to create. Apparently there is also a board Dorfromantik game, but I haven't tried it

PowerWash Simulator

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I have about 120 hours)

You basically just washing different surfaces with pressure washer, but it's really satisfying. There are stories from customers and missing cat, but I usually got too involved in washing process to track them. There is coop mode and paid additional content, but there is enough locations if you don't want to pay extra

Storyteller

PC, iOS, Android, Nintendo switch (I have about 4 hours)

You have a book to fill with stories. You can create ones that asked to be completed or create some weird stories. All you have is a page, characters, scenes and actions to create your fable. I've created number of gay marriages and game allowed me to 😄

What's your definition of cozy game? I have some more to share, but they don't always match the "cozy" term, so I'd love to hear your opinion

#cozy games #cozy gaming #carto #potion craft #unpacking #cloud gardens #dorfromantik #powerwash simulator #storyteller

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marximoff · 2 years

Text

to grow old in | w. maximoff

summary: after getting hurt on a mission, you're back home, into your wife's arms. but it's time to think about the future, and what will become of your family if you and Wanda continue down this path.

warnings: heavy make out, mommy kink (but not really??), graphic description of injury, canon typical violece, but just pure fluffiness as a whole (and me simping for Wanda ofc)

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 5k

A/N: this one shot takes place in the universe of the main series, i wanne be somebody (somebody to you), but can be read separately. it's just very, very gay

enjoy!

|series masterlist|

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

You were fully aware that you had spent more days away than initially agreed. And you knew Wanda Maximoff well enough to hold some certainty that your fidgety wife would be waiting for you for far more seconds and minutes than she initially expected to have to pass away from the caresses of your arms.

But two days (two days and one night) can easily take an entire week's worth of sleep when you're only sleeping four hours a night, with your spine outrageously toughened poorly against the door can of a military jeep and a rationalized amount of food and water that was just (sparsely) enough so that there would be no collective hallucination that could compromise the mission's development – or, to a greater extent, lead to some type of collapse provoked after some serious condition of starvation.

Steve said he'd only seen it happen a couple of times in the fields of the war he fought in (young chicken-skinned lads swooning from weakness, their scrawny muscles barely able to lift their heavy iron rifles above shoulder height), and then you decided you wanted to go home soon.

Wherever home was now.

Perhaps in the extensive fjords surrounded by ranges of the sharp mountains of Sweden, or in the tracks of the enormous castles of Denmark that referred to a distant medieval memory. Wherever your wife was with your children at that moment, there would be your home.

And dear God, how you missed them.

Every time your jaded vision ended up capturing the image of your left hand with something missing to adorn your ring finger (no wedding rings allowed during the mission), you'd remember Wanda, her sweet smile with her scrunched nose, and something in you wished she was there, as she had been so many times before that (two young teenage girls in love taking time out of the woodwork to make out in a few snoozes that went beyond the limits of common sense, kissing sounds echoing behind a thicket or a sunny tree).

But it had barely been a month since Wanda had given birth to two children at once, between thunderous screams and glimmering lights and shattering mirrors. And you wouldn't let your very young boys away from the mainstay and zeal of a mother's gaze, or your recovery-time wife soaking up in hours and hours of blistering scorching sun on top of her pretty red head.

No, no.

The most you could keep from them, in those desert miles of dust and sand, was a crumpled and folded photograph tucked into the back pocket of your army-cloth pants (Wanda tenderly nursing Tommy by stroking her partially exposed right breast, with Billy placidly asleep like a teddy bear on her thighs).

But when you've been ambushed for so long among the hard dunes of the arid and remote Syrian desert, already feeling like a new part of the sandy gravel that haunted in small flat and uncomfortable mounds inside your military-sized boots, with the sweat assorted with the sunburned tediousness corroding your brain so much that the act of counting and cataloging grains of sand had become your new hobby, time and space merged into a single dreamlike figure, and there was no more how to keep any sense of how many days have passed since you last asked what day it was.

(Sam said it was actually only two hours and twenty-three minutes, and then you grumbled and huffed, slapping your open palm into a small pile of sand like a frustrated child, sending a cloud of dust flying everywhere)

And there were many and many miles of pure nothingness around you, miles in diameter spanned by vast expanses of downcast sand dunes and dry, mountainous canyons. As far as the eye could see, as far as your eyes squinted to perceive with redundant effort. Sky and sand meeting on the horizon as if it were the endlessness of the blue sea.

You wanted to run back to kiss Wanda and never stop again (even when your lungs burned for air and your jaw was too stiff to move properly, like you were chewing on a lead ball).

A sandy, inhospitable soil – and, in a way, even unruly – that could well compile into factors that are unattractive to the external eye in the face of the sandy environment, at any moment of rest in its intermittence. A long steppe that ran south towards the Arabian Peninsula and dried the face of your tongue.

You knew that there was, by the vast constitutive magnitude of the universe, no soul that liked (or even prized for) sand. You didn't like it at all, at least. But the mission was to be somewhat simple; or at least as simple as it could be, given its nothing less than treacherous nature.

Natasha had first been the courageous paladin to infiltrate the guerrillas of a band of terrorists in the heart of Al Hamad, because a former contact from the apex of her occupation as an transnational spy had leaked information that the bandits were receiving shipments of American weapons loaded with Chitauri material, and you and your remaining teammates were called upon to intervene in the shipment before the repercussions were such that it fueled an (already old) religious conflict that had been going on for centuries in the region.

For you, it was the task of purely waiting blankly for Steve's signal (a specific hand movement made by Captain America, an opening and closing of the fingers in a vigorous fist) for you to set sail on bent knees towards some well-armed men, raise your own primed fists clasped like a steel plate, and punch some stomachs and ribs in a dance already familiar to you, when the time was right.

Easy, simple, clean, fair.

And then the damn word echoed in the air, even before you or Steve or Sam or Nat could intercede.

The word that was bequeathed so much meaning, encumbered with such relevance, that it was even outlandish to your ears to hear it being instituted on you and your teammates yet again, after so long shuffling through the darkness, away from any value related to your split up old group.

That same word that would always be distinguished by your ears, regardless of the language by which it would be articulated.

“Avengers!”

It was a half-shrieked cry, like a siren's warning, and droplets of saliva sprang up from the back of the mouth which was covered by a dirty, worn rag.

The index finger of the guy's left hand, sitting snugly on the trigger of a funny looking pistol with an odd outside compartment that pulsed bright violet, like a glue gun loaded with some radioactive material.

And then a streak of whitish-purple light lit, for half a second, the gloom of the cement-and-stone terrorist hideout.

A masked man glanced his way, blinked a few times, and glanced at a companion beside him, before swinging his arm through ninety angles and pointing the barrel of the gun towards you, which flashed a ray of silver as it reflected light from a flickering light bulb hanging in a cone shape above your head.

The same man uttered a guttural roar, before collapsing to the ground not to get up again.

A still-smoking pistol, leaking thick lilac ectoplasm from its partially melted barrel like a fountain of glittery howl juice, still hovering its puffs of thick smoke through the air, lay next to his left hand. The hand clasped in a firm fist of Natasha's was still standing in midair, at the height of where the man's back had been.

And you, as solid and compact as your eccentric active mutant gene allowed your physique to be, had a new hole opened in your body when you fell flat on your back, onto the sandy floor, with a hard thud.

“F-fuck! Fuck!”

A gaping hole that took skin and flesh and clothing with it; a scorching, corrosive hole slashed into your left bicep, the muscle between your shoulder and elbow hollowed out by a quick jet of boiling alien plasma shot out – not bleeding from the suture, though, as an instantaneous outcome of cauterization burning against the open blood vessels.

A sharp, acidic pain that made your stomach feel like ice and pierced your nervous system as if a pin had been stuck in your brain stem, the message coursing through your body to make you realize that yes, it was hurting, and it was hurting like hell.

Your arm wasn't actually ripped off, but from the feeling of torn muscle and throbbing open wound, it might as well have been.

Someone came to your aid (Natasha's dyed whitish hair looking silver in the hiding light and then gold in the sunlight) when someone led the way (in the open blue desert sky Sam looked like a real falcon seen from afar, slicing through the oxygen molecules with his long metal wings) and someone led as far as it was safe (Steve threw a beveled metal plate like a square Frisbee that hit a man in the forehead), and then someone closed the hot, gaping wound on your arm (a thin, gold-colored twirl derailed from the Mind Stone embedded in Vision's metallic forehead, creating fresh new skin tissue to join the opening of muscle and mass in the structure of your biceps).

“It will add another cool scar for the collection” Natasha said from behind you, as you looked down at the freshly healed wound on your skin reflected in a small wall mirror, “Girls dig a scar, I can tell you that”

“I don't know about girls, but my wife is particularly going to be very worried when she sees this here” you sighed, lifting your open shirt sleeve to fit the fabric back to the outline of your shoulder, “Damn…”

And it was as if nothing had happened. You were brand new, good to go.

At least, that's how you felt when you walked into your modest rented apartment in a tiny hamlet of Danish territory two days into a quick quinjet ride later, your partially healed wound long forgotten in the confines of your memory – all that was left was a funny story to tell among friends and a likely ugly scar located in an easy spot to hide from the eyes of other people.

You slipped your sneakers off your feet with the help of the bent index finger of your right hand, tucking them into the gap between your shoe and your heel, and then you hung your thick coat by the collar on the brass rack near the door. A throbbing twinge gripped your shoulder, but you didn't care all that much.

As you held the coat up to your eye length, the wedding ring back where it always belonged in shimmered in the light of a lamp, in a thin golden spark. It was a slender band, pretty and reserved, but it still carried with it some elegant charm of bright simplicity.

Like your marriage to Wanda, you always liked to think with a smile on your face. Simple and commonplace, but no less special or prestigious.

Your wife had always been a person to wear a considerable amount of rings on the extensions of her slender, delicate fingers, but the wedding ring was an extra touch, jubilantly jutting out from her other circular ornaments.

From the wandering silence on the walls of the dwelling, you knew the twins were asleep; It was late and children so young are not able to sleep for a whole night, so you decided not to announce your arrival noisily or even do some very booming sounds.

Wandering quietly into the apartment, you didn't take long to find Wanda, and something in your gut reverberated with craving to see her there, your wife, sprawled and huddled in the right corner of the linen sofa set right in the center of the living room of short walls and ghostly curtains. She looked lenient and peaceful, her chest rising and falling deliberately as she snored delicately to the rhythm dictated by sleep.

Her long hair dyed a light copper color was like a blanket of fire that encompassed her luscious body, and you didn't have to look more than once to see that Wanda was wearing an old rock band t-shirt around her thin torso (the same one that you had bought on Hot Topic when you were sixteen years old).

The blouse was already worn out and battered, but it fit Wanda effortlessly – she, who had her pink lips half-opened and leaked narrow streams of oxygen between them.

You might as well kiss her and never let her go.

But you just approached with lethargic steps, without making any noise, and lowered your right hand so that the tenderness of your fingers deferred caresses to the bare leg (for Wanda was wearing cotton pajama shorts) along the soft skin next to her heel, the affectionate touch, rising towards her thigh, causing a brief thrill in your wife's body.

Her hips were wider after nine months of pregnancy, and her figure was lyrical and stoic, so beautiful to see with your eyes.

“Wands?” you called to her in a low, cordial voice, flanked by an affectionate tenderness that was reflected in the tiny, domestic smile distended by the pulp of your lips.

“Hmm...?” it was the murmur in return, more of a crisscrossing sigh of sleep expelled through her nose than an actual answer.

You were crouched down next to the sofa, your bent knee touching the face of a soft linen pillow. Wanda shifted a little, her lips parted, her warm hair swishing as she did; and you felt the red heat emanating from her, through her soft, sleep-warmed arms and legs.

You instantly realized that you could kiss a crack of skin on her neck or the corner of her mouth.

“Wands”

“Y/N...?”

“Hi there, little witch” you smiled smally.

But then your wife opened her eyes, and from between her long eyelashes an emerald -green shrouded in a dense fog of drowsiness.

The eyes that scrutinized through the features of your face analyzed you with a certain glint of misunderstanding, but then a flash of identification shone in the irises adorned with esteem and affection, and it was that an exultant smile appeared on Wanda's lips; a smile that meant that even after a long and tiring mission, after all you were home, where you belonged.

The smug smile gleamed with the two vaguely larger front teeth that marred Wanda's pretty features, as she pressed her eyes gleaming in love into two good-natured lines, exuding scarlet bliss through her pores, scrunching a beam of skin of her nose as she did, making her look like a cute little rabbit.

"You're back" Wanda announced, still a little waved by the drunkenness of sleep, her voice a little groggy from the slumber, supporting her head weight by the neck so that you were at eye level, "You're back, zaichik "

"I'm back indeed, my love"

Something affable reverberated through your heartstrings at the little affectionate nickname uttered in her native tongue, in innocent simplicity when she was plunged into a haze of sleep.

She raised her arms like a child crying out to be lifted, and curled the outline of them around the back of your neck, pulling you lazily as close to her as possible, and you stuck your nose into a beam of bare skin from her exposed neck, between a fluff of silky auburn hair as she did the same, tucking her face into the hollow where your neck connected with your collarbone, both of you letting out a pleasant sigh as you did.

There it smelled like strawberries with a mix of mild cinnamon and vegetable soap and just the whole red color. It smelled like home; like Wanda, like your children. You touched the warm skin of her back beneath the fabric of her shirt, caressing her flesh in careful circles laid down the length of her spine by the tips of your articulate fingers, pulling her closer to your body.

She snorted into a silly giggle as you took advantage of your exuberant strength to grab her around the waist and then sit her on your lap as you turned around with your knees bent and sat on the couch, where seconds before Wanda was the one lying there; the ends of her sleep-rumpled red hair brushing against the material of your blouse, the cotton fabric of her short shorts pulled up in folds down the insides of her thighs.

It was such a casual, everyday sight, so domestic, that Wanda couldn't be more beautiful than she was there in your lap, wearing only some pajamas and your t-shirt on her slender, good-looking body.

“I missed you” she whispered in a breathed voice, the tips of your noses almost touching due to your close proximity, your smiles sliding against each other, “I really missed you, malyshka”

The fingers of her left hand curled around the back of your neck, the coolness of the wedding ring contrasting against Wanda's warm palm touching your skin, caressing there with the tips of her clipped nails, lacquered with a sober black nail polish.

“I missed you so much too, baby. God, Wanda, I missed you so, so much..." and you sunk your forehead into the valley between her breasts, exhaling her scent there from the fabric of your shirt, "I hate being away from you and the boys. I swear, I could hardly wait to get home”

"But you're back now, sweetheart" without showing her teeth, Wanda smiled with just a line of lips, never stopping with the caress on the skin of your neck, "You came back to me"

“I will always come back to you, Wanda. Always. To you and the boys”

“They really missed mommy, you know” she mussed, trying to hide a smile from blooming on her mouth.

You, on the other hand, felt something primal awakening inside you.

“Is that so?” you arched an eyebrow full of meaning, your hands squeezing with pleasure the inside of her thighs, “Just them?”

"Well," Wanda whispered, rather mischievously, "I missed mommy too"

However, Wanda's smile frayed at the edge of her throat like the echo of a desire, as you saw your wife's dark gaze magnetized toward the pulp of your lips, and nothing else could be what she craved, in a color of shadier and darker moss green sparking thorough her eyes, with such pleasure and delight aimed towards your gapped mouth.

And in just a simple act, Wanda did what was the right thing to do – reached forward and took you to her, flattening the commission of your lips against her hibiscus-cinnamon-flavored mouth.

Soon, through an aggregation of lips, a tongue became evident, and with it you took for yourself all the flavor of tea that encompassed your wife's mouth. Not allowing herself to be outdone, however, Wanda unleashed her own tongue, and that one tangled with the one you wet your lips with in the first place.

A lingering kiss dissolved, but you held your breath and again sought out more of your wife's taste, being eagerly returned by an affectionate Wanda.

And then, a strong, powerful touch, palms spread wide and pressed to the curve of her ass, prompted an ambrosial moan that crept from the inside of her throat to pulse against the alignment of her teeth; a certain familiar sensation taking hold between your legs as you did.

But the next groan came from you, when Wanda's left palm touched and then lasciviously enfolded your injured biceps through your blouse, inferring an immediate, instinctive recoil on your part along with a lame grunt of sharp pain. It was painful like accidentally hitting an arm that had recently received a vaccine against the wall.

You grumbled under your breath at the sensation, wrinkling your nose and pinching your brows together.

“Ugh!”

You leaned your spine against the back of the sofa and Wanda leaned back a little too, panting, chest heavy and quite confused, lust and misunderstanding glowing in her irises lit by the dim yellow light of a nearby lamp.

"Baby? What happened? What's wrong?”

"N-nothing" was a whispered lie, "Nothing, don't worry"

And you started to drink from her lips again, but a steady hand kept on your breastbone retained you stagnant against the back of the sofa.

“Y/N” Wanda frowned her eyebrows in an air of concern, showing seriousness in her measured tone of voice, coercing you into sincerity, “Please tell me what's wrong”

And then, a lame sigh.

You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish, not quite knowing what to say, and then you chewed poorly on your lower lip between your upper teeth. But all it took was one steady look from Wanda for you to finally give up, shrugging both your shoulders in surrender.

"Just promise me you won't get mad"

"I won't be mad if you just tell me what happened, Y/N"

And then, a moment's hesitation; Wanda's red hair like tongues of fire around her sharp jaw as the locks were lit by the yellow lamp as she sits there, snuggled in your palpitating lap as she was.

“I… got hurt on the mission. Nothing too serious or dangerous, and Vision has taken care of at least ninety percent of that” you shrug, “It just hurt a little when you squeezed it, babe, that's all, it's okay”

And then, a silence went by.

"Let me see"

"What?"

“Let me see your bruise, Y/N”

And it wouldn't be worth resisting; you just took the long sleeve of your thick blouse by the fingers of your left hand and rolled it the entire length of your arm, passing from wrist to elbow and then finally to shoulder, like unfolding a gift wrap on Christmas morning.

The action was all scrutinized assiduously by the young witch, who let out a yelp of exclamation as the bandage tightly wrapped around the contour of your deltoid muscle was disclosed, white bands wrapping the entire length of your biceps.

“I promise it looks worse than it really is,” you tried, but nothing would stop the smoldering worry from shuddering into Wanda on a wave of anxiety that washed over her.

“Y/N, your superpower is being impenetrable” your wife muttered, in an apprehensive thread of voice, her eyes never leaving the bandage enfolded on your arm.

“You're not supposed to be able to get hurt! I was less worried about you going on missions with Steve alone because I knew that nothing or no one could hurt you, but now..."

You heard as she swallowed hard, shaking her head in denial (straws of silky fire hair rustling close to her chin), muttering whimpers to herself that all sounded the same guilty tone in your wife's comely voice.

“I should have been there, I should have been there to protect you, I-”

“No, honey, no,” you call out to her, as the anxiety became too much for her to handle and the ghosts of her past came back to haunt her like a constant shadow she always carried around.

You then took Wanda's face between your hands, by the sides of her jawbones, coercing her into making eye contact with you.

“Baby, it hasn't even been two months since the boys were born, you know you still need to recover before getting back into action. And on top of everything else, they need you here for them. It's just a silly bruise, my love, that's all. I can take care of myself. You remember our deal when we found out you were pregnant, right? I would go to the missions, you would stay with the boys. When you recovered, you could go and then I would take care of them. You remember that, right?”

"I just don't want there to be any more missions at all, Y/N" she muttered in a small voice, curling a hand around your forearm that held the sides of her oval face.

"I don't want to have to think that every time you leave through that door could be the last time I'll ever see you. I don't want the boys to grow up not knowing who their mother is"

You tried to say something, but there was really nothing to say.

Not when you knew your wife was all plastered by reason. Not when you knew you had a family to raise, and that it certainly wouldn't be worth dying alone, forgotten in some ditch after an unsuccessful run-in with some bad guy a little stronger than you were used to.

No, you knew the heroic days were in the past to remember.

That soon this life would come to an end, and you and Wanda would be a couple of housewives raising your children with lots of love and affection and, honestly, this idea didn't seem so bad after all.

But there erupted into the air, before you could even open your mouth or she could intervene, a piercing sound that alerted both of you to the maternal senses, dissipating the thin layer of distress that still hovered around the small living room.

In tears, Billy had woken up, and in cries, he needed attention – psychic energy emanating from him, but too weak for Wanda to properly know it.

“Damn, I nursed them before bed, I-”

Perhaps the waves of unease emanating from his parents were picked up by his senses still blooming at such an early age, magical vigor gradually growing in his little body like the bricks that eventually come to form a complete house, but the point is that after a twin waking up doesn't take long for the other to do the same, and then it was that two children cried morosely with their little yells piercing the veil of darkness of the night.

Wanda threatened to get to her feet, already on full alert, but you held her in a deferred firm grip against her waist bone, keeping her sitting on your lap.

“I’ll go,” you said solemnly, when it was that she looked at you, “You handled this all by yourself for a week, honey. Let me go”

“But you just got back from the mission-”

“And you took care of two newborns by yourself for a whole week. Trust me, I know which of these things is the hardest, and it sure as hell isn't fighting some terrorists in the desert"

You then carefully set Wanda aside, draping her legs over yours so you could sit her upright back to the couch.

“And besides everything” you smiled, and already standing, placed a warm kiss against the commission of her lips, “I miss my little dudes”

And you took a few steps away from the couch, towards the whimper, but stopped before you reached the crying babies in the bedroom. Turning with your chin over your shoulder, you aimed your gaze towards Wanda.

“Wands?”

Greenish eyes flickered toward you through the air, watered with anticipation. Once again, you smiled.

“I love you, little witch”

It was a few days later, however, after you'd finished changing a very energetic Tommy's diaper (the baby kicking with his chubby little legs, pressing his own little fist against his pink gums), that you approached Wanda, who nursed little Billy so lovingly against the mainstay of her right breast, humming a Sokovian lullaby in low tones so that only her precious little boy would hear and know, from an early age, what his roots were.

The little newborn who, in turn, was thus sheltered by Wanda's tender and delectable embrace, with her pure breast hidden by his small pearly mouth.

Sucking noises escaped from this exciting union created, then, between mother and son, consolidated by the small cheeky little left hand well screwed on the slender index finger of your wife's right hand.

Tommy, meanwhile, was one step away from kicking you in the ribs with his smart wriggly little legs.

Your watchful gaze skimmed over her for a few minutes, until Billy stopped sucking at Wanda's breast as he fell into a blissful infant sleep, into a breast-milk-induced coma.

Wanda gratified the baby with a warm kiss, deposited the crown of his head in a tuft of light brown hair (as a young Pietro Maximoff had once been), and handed your sleeping son into your embrace, whereupon the child rotation then left her with the other baby to nurse.

“Is anyone hungry, huh, my sweet Tommy?”

The older twin was fierce against her breast, and you noticed the times when Wanda kind of sighed in pain, but tiredness got the better of him after a while; he, too small to fight what was wearing him out, with sleep fluttered in his ebony lashes as his childish eyes blinked.

Both energetic pupils, reluctant before the benevolence of drowsiness squinted to the horizon of his large doll eyes, were obscured by the brutish small lids.

And then, he was soon snoozing like his brother, dispersed in his own reality – his little chest swelling and deflating because he was there, and he was real, and he was alive, and he was fine.

You looked from Billy to Tommy and then to Wanda. Your family. Your greatest asset. There was a lull inside of you.

“What do you think of New Jersey, honey? I lived there during my childhood, with my parents. You know, before the accident, of course. I don't think it's to everyone's taste, but… I've always particularly liked the weather. It’s... nice there, in spring”

Wanda gave you a confused smile; her hand was still cradling Tommy's little head in her arms.

“What do I think of New Jersey for what exactly, dorogoya?”

And then you blinked once, and smiled towards her.

“To grow old in”

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

taglist: @diaryoflife, @iliketozoneout, @raqelacevedo, @wizardofstories, @wlwfanfictionss, @wandsmxmff

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