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writerblue275 · 5 days

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Hii may I request heartsteel lads and how first kisses goes?? :3

First kisses with Heartsteel!

Hi hi hi lovely anon, of course you can!! Thank you for requesting, this is such a cute idea! I’ll keep this to just first kisses, but I’ll definitely make a general kisses headcanon at some point.

Inspiration: Love a good first kiss moment.

Genre: Headcanon

Type: Fluff

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader!

TW: Swearing. Slight discussion of rebellious activities (lmao guess for which member).

Extra: Some of these I felt like I could keep completely in bullet form, but some others I felt required more set up, so there’s some prose interspersed.

Aphelios

Definitely happens further down the line when things are really getting serious. Aphelios just gives me the “takes it slow but he’s in it for the long haul” vibes (love it! You go king). It takes a while for him to let someone in, but once he does, you know you’re extremely important to him.

So you’ve been dating him maybe two-three months now. And while he hasn’t kissed you yet, there have been other kinds of physical moments (like hand holding, cheek kisses, slight cuddling, some pet names, that sort of thing) that have progressed that shows things are moving well in the right direction.

Not to mention the subtle things. Like the way he thumb lingers a little on the corner of your lips as he wipes away some ice cream your napkin missed. Or how he has to look away when you bite your lip. (Because he wants to be the one to do so. 😝) Just other subtle things that seem to signal Aphelios is ready to take that next physical step with you. You just have to figure out how to ask him in a way that won’t spook him.

One of the things you two do together? Well he’s teaching you sign language. Or at least the basics. He fully doesn’t expect you to sign all the time, hell he doesn’t even do that. But since he has to be careful to protect what remains of his voice, he does use sign language as one way of communication.

And you being the kind, wonderful partner that you are, you want to learn to sign too. Communication with your partner is so important and of course you want to be able to communicate with Aphelios as effectively as possible, so you asked him for help. (He’s so touched that you’re taking the time/making the effort to do that for him btw. Learning any new language is extremely difficult.)

So one night, after a date, when you two are just vibing together on the couch in his studio, you and Aphelios decide to play a little game that has become common for the two of you. You sign something and he grades your signing, telling/showing you what, if anything, you can do better. And for the most part it’s just been fairly basic signs and phrases.

But little does he know, you’ve been practicing more than just simple phrases at home.

Can I practice signing some questions?, you ask.

Yes, he signs. Of course! What do you have for me tonight, cutie?

You smile brightly and blush at the pet name, making him smile in response.

You start off with some basics. What is your name? How are you doing? Where are you from? Those sorts of questions. And you watch carefully as Aphelios helps you make any adjustments to clarify your signing.

“Phel, can I try and ask something more….personal? I-I want to make sure I have it down” You ask, your voice getting a little shy. You know you’re taking a risk, but you really like him and you just want to confirm he’s on the same page as you. That the connection you’ve felt isn’t just one-sided.

His eyebrows go up in surprise but he nods. Of course, he signs. What is it? You’ve really peaked his curiosity now. Especially with how shy you got.

So you take a deep breath to settle your nerves….and another one…before finally blushing deeply and signing, Will you kiss me? (You sign it flawlessly btw. You practiced for DAYS as you gathered the courage to ask him.)

His eyes widen and he blinks at you for a few moments, giving you a good clue that you did ask what you intended to.

As the silence drags on for a few moments longer and you see Aphelios try to process what you just asked, you fear you’ve made a terrible mistake of things and you start to just completely panic.

“Sh-shit Phel I’m so sorry! Oh god, I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I…Please forget I asked. Please forget I said anything! Oh I ruined everything…I’m so so so sorry. I’ll go. Please can we pretend like this didn’t happ-mm?”

You’re so frazzled and upset with yourself you didn’t even notice Phel sign absolutely yes before leaning over and kissing you slowly, his fingers threading in your hair, completely cutting off your panicked rambling.

And when he pulls away? This time you’re the one left staring at him in surprise, blinking rapidly for a few moments before smiling widely as he signs back to you, There. Now will you kiss me, please? And of course you’re more than happy to oblige. He said please, after all.

Ezreal

I think Ezreal would kiss earlier on in a relationship. His love language (giving) is physical touch and kisses are included in that. And of course with him, your first kiss is going to be fun and sweet because those are the vibes Ez gives off like 95% of the time.

In this instance the two of you are at an arcade for a date. You’ve noticed he’s been giving more and more signs that he wants to kiss you. Subtle (he thinks) glances down to your lips when the two of you are talking or the way his lips linger when he kisses you on the cheek after walking you to your door post-date. And well…you want to kiss him too. In fact you have a little plan to help move things along.

You asked Alune, who introduced the two of you, what Ezreal’s favorite arcade machine is before-hand and she immediately responded ski-ball. She told you he’s a god at ski-ball and how no one in Heartsteel will play with him anymore because he always wins. Always. His aim is just unmatched. (Though Phel is certainly practicing hard to beat him.)

So what do you do? You challenge Ezreal in ski-ball of course! But the stakes have to be raised. What’s the fun without some flirty competition?

Him: “And if I win? What do I get? Your tickets? Dinner? A kiss?” *Said with a little cocky smirk* (Of course.)

You: *grin widely at him* “Yeah sure, I’ll kiss you. Deal.”

Him: *His eyes wide and he’s very alert now* “Wait, actually??”

You: *smirks* “I mean what I say, Ezreal. You know that. Besides, I’m sure I’ll win, so why does it matter? You know how competitive I get.” (Muahaha, clever you. You got him hook, line, and sinker.)

Oh now it’s ON. He’s fully tuned in. You can tell his competitive nature made him play right into your plan. He wants that kiss.

And he’s absolutely going to get it. Ez is rolling a perfect game. Like it doesn’t take long for winning to be completely out of reach for you. So you pause to watch him, eventually starting to laugh before just going for it, leaning over and kissing him deeply (of course it’s just as he sinks the shot to break the high score record on the machine).

And once he gets over the initial surprise, he very eagerly kisses you back, one of his hands cupping your cheek. And the kiss lasts for a lovely few moments before you gently pull back and smile widely at him.

“If you wanted to kiss me to badly,” you let out on a giggle, “you could have just asked, you know. Hopefully I won’t have to knowingly embarrass myself at ski-ball again to get another kiss from you.”

Ezreal laughs shyly and kisses you again, letting his arms wrap around you. “Of course not. Happy to kiss yo- wait a second did you say ‘knowingly?’ What do you mean? How’d you even know I love ski-ball? I didn’t tell you that.”

You grin. “How do you think? Alune told me! I asked her what your favorite arcade machine was. It was clear I needed to take matters into my own hands since though I could tell you wanted to kiss me, you’re such a gentleman,” you tease playfully before kissing his cheek.

Somewhere else in the city, Alune starts laughing loudly, surprising a gaming Aphelios, as she receives a text message from Ezreal:

Ezreal: Name anything you want. Dead serious. I don’t care what, it’s yours. You’re the BEST. THANK YOU!!!

Alune: 😂 Holding you to that. Glad (Y/N)’s plan worked!

Ezreal: 👍👍

Kayn

Something tells me that Kayn would kiss earlier on in a relationship. Not that it’s a bad thing! I definitely don’t think it is. And he wouldn’t do so unless he thought you returned his feelings. He’s a rebel, not an asshole. He’d never force himself on someone.

All that aside, there is something to be said for Kayn’s recklessness playing into his first kiss with you.

I don’t think it would happen on a planned date. Kayn strikes me as more of a “go with the flow” sort of guy, at least until things are getting serious. Then he’d actually plan out dates. Otherwise spending time with him early on in your relationship consists of him calling or texting you and saying, “Hey, I’m doing ______ tonight or tomorrow. Want to come with? Food’s on me?”

And these “things” can range from errands (he just like being in your presence, ok?) to actual events like concerts or other things like that.

And ok, like 90% of what Kayn calls you for are things that are law-abiding. But there is that 10%. That piece of him who still loves to rebel and do things for the adrenaline. Don’t worry though, when you do those sorts of things with him, he won’t let you get in trouble. He’s a pro.

In this case, the two of you are sitting on a random roof in the city after going around and doing things you definitely shouldn’t be doing. (On a completely unrelated note: A couple city cop cars have some lovely new colorful decorations on them.)

And the two of you are just quietly laughing together and watching the moon, the adrenaline from the shenanigans you two participated in still going through your veins.

And Kayn looks over at you, admiring how attractive you look and how happy you make him. And he can’t help it as he reaches over and takes your hand. When you don’t pull away, he just quietly says “Ah fuck it…” and goes for it. He leans over, gently tangling his free hand in your hair, and kisses you absolutely breathless.

Kayn can’t help but chuckle once he pulls away as he sees the slightly dazed (but very happy) expression on your face.

And once you finally get your wits back about you and go to return the favor, he’s so relieved you feel the same way as him.

K’Sante

Not the earliest member to have a first kiss with their partner, but definitely not the latest. K'Sante is for sure somewhere in the middle.

And with K'Sante? Your first kiss with him is almost a little...accidental? Not in a bad way, but the circumstances surrounding just were slightly unexpected.

But the chemistry between the two of you is undeniable. You can definitely feel a lovely sort of tension building in your mundane acts of physical affection. But neither of you have taken the final step to kiss the other person yet.

But that’s about to change. K'Sante is taking you out on the town for the night. The evening starts with a really delicious dinner at a really really nice restaurant (where of course he made a reservation because this man PLANS).

This is then followed up by getting ice cream and him driving the two of you to a secluded point that overlooks the city. You two can just enjoy each other's company (as well as the yummy ice cream) while he also plays some music from a little bluetooth speaker he brought that connects to his phone and relaxing on a lovely picnic blanket he has in his trunk. (1000000/10 vibes like oh my god?)

Now something that K'Sante does, he uses his phone as little as possible on dates with you. He wants to be fully present in the moment and enjoy what moments he can when he's with you.

So that's why he's so surprised when he turns on his phone to play music (since he had it off during dinner and the drive with you) to find 7 missed calls from Alune.

"Shit," he murmurs.

“Everything ok, K’Sante?” You ask, feeling concerned as you take in his furrowed brow.

“Looks like I have a bunch of missed calls from our manager. Normally she doesn’t call me unless something is wrong….”

“Uh oh…and since she called so many times….Call her back. I don’t mind,” You tell him.

“You sure? I don’t want to be disrespectful,” he says.

This makes you smile. “K’Sante, you are one of the most respectful people I know. Checking to see if there’s an emergency isn’t disrespecting me,” you reassure him.

And after another minute or two of warring with himself, he does. He realizes he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about what’s going on if he didn’t, and that’s not fair to you. He puts the phone on speaker. Since it’s affecting your date, he figures you might as well get to learn what’s going on too.

As Alune picks up the call, you hear her groan. “Finally, K’Sante! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Alune, I told you I had a date with (Y/N) tonight. I’m still on the date, actually, and you’re on speaker,” he chuckles.

“Hi!” You shyly say.

You hear Alune sigh. “Hi, (Y/N)! I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt your date. I just have really exciting news for K’Sante and I wanted to tell him as soon as possible.”

“And you couldn’t leave a message??” K’Sante asks.

“And miss your live reaction to this? Or at least your audible reaction? Absolutely not! (Y/N), would you like to hear it too? It’s actually better that you’re with him so he has someone to celebrate with!”

You perk up and smile at K’Sante, relieved nothing is wrong and beyond curious what the news is. “Sure!! I won’t tell anyone either so don’t worry about that.”

K’Sante drums his fingers on the ground impatiently. “Alright Alune, spit it out. What am I celebrating?”

“K’Sante, they accepted your design for the up-and-coming designer show during Spring/Summer Fashion Week! And not only that, but they want YOU to walk in it! You get to model your own design!”

You gasp and squeeze his hand as she reveals the amazing news, your eyes locked on his expression. “K’Sante!!! Holy shit that’s amazing!! They’re so lucky to have you in their show!” As you talk, you can see just the biggest flurry of emotions playing over his features as he’s stunned silent, his eyes locked on yours.

You laugh softly, “Alune, I think you might have broken him. He’s just staring at me.” You smile widely back at him and go to hug him.

As you get closer, it’s like he’s finally back in his own body, and his expression lands on pure joy as he leans over and cups your cheeks, kissing you deeply for a moment before pulling you into a tight hug and starting to laugh happily.

And your brain is now short circuiting in the best way possible because omg YES FINALLY. And as you pull back from the hug, you gently brush your lips over his and whisper happily, “Congratulations, K’Sante. You deserve this.”

“I know you mean the Fashion Week stuff, but can that sentiment also apply to your kisses? Because I’ll be honest that was pretty great too,” he says as he quickly hangs up on Alune.

You just laugh and nod before kissing him again as your answer.

Sett

While I don’t think Sett would kiss super early on in a relationship, I also don’t think he’d take the longest either. Like maybe a few dates in? Whenever he feels things starting to really get serious with you. And this would be after some earlier physical things like hand holding or kisses on the cheek, etc, and he’s letting you dictate the pace of anything physical. (Once again repeat after me: “Ma didn’t raise a jackass.”)

But anyway, as you’ve gotten to know Sett better, he’s shown you different facets of himself. Like for example, you know he’s fit as fuck (I mean you see the evidence right in front of you lmao) but one of the things you might not have known initially is that he is an excellent boxer. (A/N: We know this because base lore and the MV and shit but think from the perspective of a new partner.)

And while he doesn’t fight other people super often anymore due to his profession, he occasionally accepts a challenge from someone. (Much to Alune’s chagrin. Makeup can only hide so many injuries.)

So let’s say Sett accepts a challenge and he invites you to watch the fight with the rest of Heartsteel. (He absolutely wants to show off for you.)

And at his invitation, you go and visit him in his locker room before the fight, just to show him you made it ok and to wish him luck. “Not that I think you’ll need it, Sett. You’ll kick his ass, I’m sure.”

That makes him laugh and banishes away any lingering doubts/nervousness in his mind. “Well of course I’ll kick his ass. He’s fighting “The Boss” after all. There’s a reason I have that nickname. Besides, you’re here. Like I told you, you’re my good luck charm. With you cheering me on he doesn’t stand a chance.”

As Sett is talking you see his eyes flash briefly down to your lips a couple times. But he doesn’t say anything further. So you take the initiative. It’s not like you don’t want to kiss him. You absolutely do.

“Hey Sett?” you ask, feeling bold. “Would you…like a kiss for good luck? You know…so I can make sure my good luck charm potential is fully maximized?”

And you can tell by his smile and happy eyes that yes. Yes he would like a kiss for good luck actually. (Though his eager nodding definitely gives it away the most 😂.) So you give him one. And it’s sweet and happy and leaves both of you smiling and giggling/chuckling a bit once you pull away.

Oh Sett’s opponent doesn’t stand a fucking chance now. (Not that he did before but still.)

Yone

I definitely see Yone as one of, if not the most reserved member of Heartsteel (it's a race between him and Aphelios), so it’d take the longest to get to the point of a first kiss with him.

Not that he doesn’t want to kiss you earlier on. He absolutely does. But the very last thing he wants to do is to come on too strong or go too fast and scare you away. He really really likes you, after all.

A lot of what goes into Yone’s decision of finally going for it has to do with your body language. He’s looking for a sign that clearly says “ok yes, this person likes me back, I’m not crazy.”

As for the first kiss itself, it happens after a couple months with him, when he’s driving you home.

You can tell Yone wants to take that step and kiss you. You’ve noticed his gaze occasionally linger on your lips when he’s talking with you. Or the slight swallow he does whenever you bite your bottom lip while thinking. (Not to mention the slight twinge of pink that goes to his cheeks. Only you can get that reaction out of him.)

And suddenly you realize, he hasn’t kissed you yet not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s such a damn gentleman and doesn’t want to come on too strong and make you uncomfortable. He wants a sign that you’re ok with him kissing you.

So once he parks the car in front of your building, you lean over, lace your fingers with his, and gently kiss his cheek, letting your lips linger for just a moment longer than what might be considered purely friendly/platonic. Then you whisper in his ear, loathe to break the comforting silence in his car, “You’re not as subtle as you think, Yone. I know you want to kiss me. I also want to kiss you so-”

You don’t even get to finish your thought before Yone’s hands are cupping your jaw and he’s leaned across the center console, kissing you breathless. And my god is it lovely. Sweet but still filled with a surprising amount of passion for a man who presents such a stoic facade to the world. You can’t help but grin like a happy fool once he gently pulls away.

He chuckles at your reaction, but internally his heart is racing. Kissing you was even better than he thought it would be (and his expectations were high).

He clears his throat and looks away shyly for a second as he regains his composure. “Forgive me for interrupting you…but would it be alright if I did that again in the future?”

His question makes you laugh and you lean back over to him and peck his lips. “Yone, you are more than welcome to do that anytime you’d like…you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

Thanks for reading! I absolutely loved getting this request and I hope I did it justice, anon! Got to play into some fun ideas here. 💙

#heartsteel #heartsteel headcanons #heartsteel x reader #reader insert #headcanon #requested #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel k'sante #heartsteel sett #heartsteel yone #heartsteel fluff #league of legends #thank you for requesting anon!!#this was so fun to write #I enjoyed thinking of scenarios for each of them.

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redisaid · 2 months

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Strangers - Part 2 of ???

The Spider in Her Web

Oops, new hyperfixation unlocked lads. Post-Shadowlands Sylvaina slowburn, here we go.

5326 Words

Read it on Ao3!

The first thing Jaina notices upon her return visit to the Maw is that Sylvanas’ camp is unoccupied. The second thing she notices is that another stool has appeared, chipped out of the same twisting black rock that surrounds this place, this cloistered safe haven that almost feels as though it belongs under a canopy of trees and a sky of blue, rather than shades of black and grey.

The first thing Jaina does is test out the second stool, and finding it comfortable, she sits and waits. She sets down the heavy rucksack Vereesa eagerly supplied her with. She listens. She watches. She wonders where Sylvanas might have gone, but realizes that most of her time within the Maw is likely spent on the move, working at her redemption, little by little.

She gives it a few minutes. A quarter of an hour. Surely, Sylvanas will somehow know she’s here. She will sense the disturbance Jaina causes in her routine, the rippling of the calm waters of a lonely pond.

And while Jaina is patient, and the odd silence of this place gives her time to think she’s not normally afforded in her busy life in Boralus.

She thinks about leaving the rucksack and its corresponding letter. She has no obligation to do anything else. In fact, all that she’s done here thus far might be too much to explain to the likes of many of her Alliance comrades. She thinks that if Dori’thur truly could report what she sees to Tyrande, then the looming visage of the High Priestess would have already darkened Jaina’s doorstep, asking her what she was thinking, offering small comforts to her prisoner.

But then, she remembers how Sylvanas reached for her. How she stammered out excuses to keep her there, just a little longer. She does not know her. Sylvanas similarly knows little of her. But Jaina is all she’s seen, all the contact she has had with her world in some time.

So Jaina waits, but thinks to use her magic to shoot a bright flare into the swirling grey of the sky above the Maw, so that Sylvanas might be alerted to her presence.

Only another quarter of an hour passes until Jaina hears the beat of wings. More than that, and she might have given up her small mercy. It's likely only been a few minutes on Azeroth she's wasted, but still, she has other duties today, far less optional than this. She vows to attempt to keep time as well as she can, knowing that she left Azeroth mid-morning. If the rate of dissonance between the two timelines is steady, then she can calculate the difference. She can decide whether she cares to wait.

Dori’thur proceeds her charge by a few moments, perhaps being asked to scout ahead, perhaps just doing as she pleases. Jaina wonders if the owl offers any aid in Sylvanas’ work, but has no time to ask. Once again, she meets Sylvanas Windrunner with a drawn bow and an arrow between them, though it is lowered much faster this time, upon those burning blue eyes recognizing her.

“Sorry if the flare spooked you, I didn’t know how else to get your attention,” Jaina tells her, and this time it’s her hands that fly up in surrender.

If things were to turn, if Vereesa’s good intentions and well-packed supplies are for naught, then she doesn’t need to worry about where her hands are. She can defend herself. Jaina thinks that she should have when she was taken by the Mawsworn, but there were three of them, and they knew to chain her and gag her in such a way she could not have cast anything against them. She still feels shame in being caught, a year and some time later. She shouldn’t have had her guard down enough to be taken.

And yet here she is, bringing camp supplies, or whatever all of this is, to the woman who saw her captured.

Sylvanas says nothing at first. She lowers her bow, stashes the arrow back in her quiver. She wears her armor today, worn but more intact than the leathers beneath it, and the hood of her long cloak covers her hair, neatly tucked and likely tied up beneath it. Jaina wonders at why she bothers with the bow and the armor and all of it, if there are no more enemies here to fight, but realizes that this is probably what Sylvanas is used to. It is good practice, after all, for a Ranger to be prepared for anything.

She does not seem to be prepared to find Jaina here again. “Back so soon?” she finally asks, though there is a dry sarcasm in the words.

For Jaina, it has been two days. She delivered the letter to Vereesa the morning after she came back, and she arrived the following morning with the rucksack. Jaina had breakfast with her mother, then had decided to take the day to deliver it, making the excuse she had an errand to run elsewhere in the world. Funny, how no one questioned a mage who could transport herself anywhere she liked on where exactly she might be going. Perhaps they guessed each time? Maybe her honor guard had a betting pool over it.

No one would have guessed this destination, or won any money on it.

Truth be told, though it has only been two days, the image of Sylvanas in her tattered leathers, eyes wide and wild, reaching out for someone, anyone, even if they wear the face of her former enemy, captor and captive all in the same, has not left Jaina’s mind. She did not tell Vereesa about that, when she relayed her version of the visit to her. No, that moment was hers alone to ponder, though why she fixated on it so much, she still struggled to understand.

Maybe there was a cruelty in this she had not considered, they had not considered, or perhaps Tyrande had deliberately considered. After all, Sylvanas Windrunner had been sentenced to what might be eons of solitary confinement.

“How long has it been for you?” Jaina asks, still curious, still wondering if perhaps this grim sentence is hurting the effort for peace and justice more than it is helping it.

“As I told you before, it is difficult to tell. Perhaps something near to ten days,” Sylvanas answers, a bit more straightforward this time.

Five times as long. Well, that was easy math at least, though Jaina would be more exact about it upon her next visit. If she were to keep up with this chore, then at least she could endeavor to learn more about the Maw and the Shadowlands from it.

If such time dilation is constant, then that means Sylvanas has been here alone for five years, not even knowing the name of the owl who watches her. And still, Jaina thinks this difference might be somewhat variable in nature.

This feels correct and true to her own experiences, when the Mawwalkers found her in the last of her many escape attempts, and later freed her from Torghast to abscond to the safety of Oribos. There, she’d been informed she’d only been missing from Azeroth for just two weeks. It had felt like months to her, but she had blamed it on the menacing nature of this place, on being held captive and kept busy navigating the twisting tower of Torghast, and on the lack of night and day by which to tell the time.

A part of her feels justified in the confirmation, but another part feels remorse at the loss of that time, stretched and strange and terrifying as it was.

Perhaps then, for subjecting her and Anduin and Thrall and Baine and who knows how many others to this, Sylvanas deserves to linger in the same. But the length of it is still worrying. How can anyone expect a person to come out better, changed, and repentant, after so long alone?

“Vereesa was very eager to get this back to you,” Jaina rouses herself from her thoughts to explain, and lifts up the rucksack a little.

It is heavy, and something within it rattles. Jaina thinks she should have maybe been nosy enough to inspect its contents before agreeing to transport it, but again, she trusts Vereesa. She still does not trust Sylvanas, or know her, really.

The letter she carried back for her in return was much shorter than the younger Windrunner sister’s, written on some blank parchment Vereesa had included with her own correspondence. She’d only left one page, but Sylvanas had only needed three-quarters of it. Her handwriting was neat, and militant, the Thalassian runes each shaped perfectly and correctly to a tee, crammed together and narrow.

Jaina had provided a conjured quill for her, as well as some ink. Vereesa hadn’t thought that part through, it seemed. For her extended services, Jaina felt slightly entitled to read what she carried back to Azeroth, but had only glanced at the first few sentences. They seemed civil. Beyond that, it had felt as though her eyes had better things to see.

Now, today—two days later for her, ten for Sylvanas—those eyes stare across a chasm of their own making at another pair of blue ones.

Sylvanas approaches, finally. Dori’thur circles the sky above them, coming to rest on the top of the lean-to, near where Jaina sits, a reminder that both of their actions here are subject to judgment. Only Jaina has never enjoyed being judged.

A gauntleted hand reaches out to her, reminding Jaina of how it had been, bare and unarmored, desperate in so many ways, reaching for her before. Sylvanas has no such tension in her now. She is a woman seeking what she is owed and has asked for, and Jaina hands her the rucksack dutifully. There is nothing more in this today. An exchange of part and parcel, but nevermind the extra stool upon which Jaina sits.

She is a stark contrast to Sylvanas in her armor, not having bothered to make a show of herself this morning, or whatever passes for such in the Maw. She wears only the white blouse, navy trousers, and sensible boots she went to breakfast in. She considered bringing a jacket, at least, but what for? The Maw is neither hot nor cold, at least not here in the shelter of Sylvanas’ grove of rock. As a mage, her armor is as unnecessary for her as any of the rest of her battle regalia. It is all for show, and something about how she caught Sylvanas last time didn’t sit right with her.

If she were dressed down, so Jaina should be, but now they have swapped places again, and Jaina isn’t sure which is right, only that it feels wrong.

“Thank you,” forms on Sylvanas’ lips, stiffly and formally.

She takes two steps back, sets her bow on her bedroll, and the rucksack on the ground before she kneels to dig within it, leaving no space for further ceremony or to add to her graciousness.

“There is another letter within,” Jaina explains instead. “Should you want to reply.”

Again, she had not checked and does not know where it is, only taking this information with a grain of salt, as it were, from a delighted Vereesa. If nothing else, she reminds herself that she endures the unnatural stretching of her hours, the dismal neutrality of this place, and the awkwardness of serving as a messenger girl to her once-enemy, because it seems to be bringing a great deal of happiness to her friend.

There are few people on Azeroth who have stuck by her as Vereesa has. Through all of her decisions, questionable and rage-tinted as they might have been for a while. Through nights where they held one another, crying over losses they could not otherwise express. Through days of war and strife new to neither of them, but quickly growing old. Jaina would watch the twins and tell them of their father, sometimes, because she knew they were curious and she knew it was too painful for Vereesa to speak of Rhonin much anymore. Vereesa would all but force her to come out with her and do normal things, lunches, shopping, festivals, and would sometimes point out a thing that Pained or Kinndy might have enjoyed, to remind Jaina that living was a thing she could do to honor them too, just as much as anything else.

So for that, Jaina could endure an awkward pause or two here in the Maw.

Sylvanas, knelt beside the rucksack, takes inventory of its contents in a militant way, saying nothing. One of the first items she does lay out is another sealed envelope, so there’s that. Next to it she lines up an odd assortment of things she must have requested. A length of rope concerns Jaina slightly, but as for how, she’s not sure. Sylvanas certainly can’t climb out of the Maw on thirty feet of rope, but it’s still odd to see. After that is a large bundle of dark material that Jaina can only assume are new leathers, and she breathes a private sigh of relief at that.

Again, it is an odd thing to focus on—clothes of all things. Still, if it were her, down here, alone, left only with her regrets and the glowing judgment of Dori’thur’s eyes, she would not want to be wearing tattered clothes.

A smaller odd assortment follows, laid out in an organized fashion. Jaina catches glimpses of new flint and tinder, bow strings, a small knife, a crisp white hand towel, an odd brass instrument that’s something like a sextant or viewfinder—distinctly elven in nature but close enough to both that Jaina guesses it is meant for finding the value of distances, quills and ink and a stack of parchment, a large piece of thick, fine velum lined with a grid, perhaps meant to be made into a map.

So little of it is sentimental. Sylvanas could have asked for anything, but what lies before her is a military requisition. It seems she is a General through and through, and has put all of her concern into the practicality of her mission. She is here to seek souls and guide them, and if a map and rope and measuring of things will help in that, then Jaina supposes there is no harm in such tools.

Still, none of it is what she expects to come out of that pack, save the leathers.

Only when Sylvanas makes a face of sorts, long eyebrows twitching, does she pull out something unexpected, and the expression that comes to rest on her sharp features tells Jaina it is not something she asked for, and perhaps not something she wants.

She presses the button on a small circular case in her palm to reveal it is a compact, not a compass or some other practical instrument. The face she makes is at the mirror within it, and Sylvanas swiftly closes the lid, setting the offending object aside, away from the rest.

The last thing she retrieves comes out with a rattle. A copper kettle, out of place in the wash of monotone greys and whites and blacks, chimes as two matching mugs attached to its handle slam against it. While it is well-made and elven in nature, it is simple enough that it too seems to serve a military purpose.

“I told Vereesa, about the tea,” Jaina confesses before the curiosity alighting in Sylvanas’ eyes can seek satisfaction.

It’s only then that she looks up from her hoard at her, one long eyebrow slightly lifted. Sylvanas, once again, says nothing.

“She thought it was a good idea,” Jaina goes on. “And that I could use a break while I wait for you to write your replies, as it were.”

Sylvanas says nothing still, pulling aside the lid of the kettle to find that what rattles inside is a strainer and small tin of tea. She sets these aside separately, lining them up with the rest of her expanded inventory.

She looks over the items, not back at Jaina, as she finally nods, just slightly, and says, “Running a nation is a daunting task.”

Jaina knows. She’s run three of them, should one count Dalaran as a nation, which she certainly does. Sylvanas has run one and the military of another, and led an entire faction of united nations and races, for a time. On this, they can both agree.

Jaina watches, fascinated, as Sylvanas packs some things back into the rucksack in a very focused and practiced way. She leaves aside the leathers and the kettle and its accessories and the mirror compact. Everything else is stored away with purpose and precision.

Her fixation is interrupted when Sylvanas stands, walking over to her to hand her the kettle.

“I have no water,” is her explanation.

There is water in the Maw, or at least in Korthia, still chained to it even now. Jaina had looked there first, assuming that Sylvanas would be among the trees of a more familiar landscape, closer in Azeroth to its nature. But no, she had camped here, nearer to Torghast, in what Jaina now thinks is probably a more practical home base.

Dare she even think it, but Sylvanas Windrunner seems to be very boringly pragmatic, when left alone to her own devices.

Jaina takes the kettle, recognizing her usefulness in this situation. Perhaps that’s why the arcane arts were always appealing to her. She thrives on being useful.

Conjuring water and fire for her own tea, at least, will give her something to do besides joining Dori’thur in her silent watching of Sylvanas.

The odd domesticity of the scene isn’t lost on Jaina as she kneels by the firepit, measuring out tea leaves from the tin in pinches. Sylvanas is seated on the stool she had not occupied, reading her letter in silence.

A tension fills the stale air of the Maw, but it’s different than any they’ve simmered in before. Jaina is used to being in the same room with Sylvanas Windrunner only in states of distress—during Garrosh’s trial, or when she stopped Varian from attacking her by teleporting his entire army away. Jaina’s life is made up of moments she rethinks years after, and that is one of them. Had she not interfered, would Teldrassil have burned?

Then again, would Varian have died sooner? Would Sylvanas not have been justified in killing him then, had Jaina let that fight play out? She had asked for help to win back her city, and had far more claim to the ashes of Lordaeron than anyone in the Alliance—even Jaina, who, if not for many other lost moments, might have been its queen. Would they then have come to their own blows, ending it all in the bowels of the Undercity, a clash of ice and shadow?

This is why Jaina can’t think on these things. She’ll get lost. Time slips away like sands in an hourglass, and she wonders how the bronze dragons can manage to know the outcomes of such scenarios and not go mad. No, it is better to be present where and when she is now, tending to the kettle over Sylvanas’ fire pit, waiting, as strange a scenario as that might be.

Stranger still is the question that breaks the silence, “It seems you know my nephews. How do they fare these days?”

Do you know them is the question Jaina wants to ask back, but she knows the answer. No, well, maybe not. Maybe she knew Arator, as a baby. He’s a man grown now, and last Jaina saw him, he was excited to hear all about her interactions with Uther in the Shadowlands, and wanted to know all about her stories of the legendary paladin of old.

Of old…that was not all that long ago. Fifteen years back, she stood with him at Stratholme, in another moment in which her mind frequently stalls, questioning everything, able to change nothing.

“They’re well,” is Jaina’s answer. “Arator is busy with the Silver Hand. Giramar and Galadin continue to grow like weeds.”

Again, the conversation strikes an odd chord of domesticity. Jaina has really never considered that Sylvanas is the aunt of those boys, but she is. Having seen it up close on her now, Giramar has the same lopsided smirk when thinks he’s said something particularly funny. Galadin has the same look of burning seriousness and focus. Jaina wonders if Sylvanas once laughed, lifetimes ago, as easily as Arator does?

It’s a question she can never ask.

Sylvanas huffs a response, “I’ve never seen Vereesa’s children.”

Jaina thinks this is some egregious sin for a moment, but then realizes, of course she hasn’t. The boys were born when she was already dead. They know their aunt only as the fearsome Banshee Queen. Jaina wonders if they know that, until quite recently, their own mother was still so desperate for her sister, but so afraid of her.

The Windrunners are and remain a complex web of a family to weave in and out of, and while Jaina never intended to be as such, she feels she’s become the spider that maintains it. Yes, she knows Sylvanas’ nephews likely better than she ever will. She helped the twins study for a test last week. She knows Arator’s favorite snack is caramel popcorn, and she buys a big tin for him every Winterveil. She tries to diffuse conversations between Alleria and Vereesa, where the elder sister’s brash and self-assured nature rubs wrong against the youngest’s sensitive one.

And now she makes tea for herself, waiting for the middle sister to write what amounts to a prison letter back to them. Or, well, the only one who has made an effort to contact her.

“I can ask her for a photograph?” Jaina offers, looking over her shoulder for a response, unsure if that was a problem for her to solve or just a statement.

Either way, she likes solving problems. She likes being useful. While she did not intend to be the spider, spinning this web, she still spins it.

Sylvanas says nothing, yet again, but Jaina sees her ears twitch upward. She’s been around enough elves for enough years to understand the language their ridiculously long ears speak. This, while Sylvanas doesn’t give voice to it, tells Jaina she’s interested.

She takes that for her answering, demanding nothing else, and pretends to be distracted by the hiss of the kettle. The earthy smell of Kul Tiran black tea tells her it’s ready as much as the hiss. The Maw smells of nothing, but now, it smells like tea and a fire, and to some, that’s home.

“Do you want any?” Jaina asks over her shoulder again.

When she looks back at Sylvanas for a reply, she just waves her disinterest, offering no explanation for it. The undead do not need to eat or drink, but Jaina knows Derek still likes his tea. It is the polite thing to do, the useful thing. Jaina, spider that she is, is an industrious creature. She cannot stop weaving.

She knows she’s right when she catches another lift of Sylvanas’ ears at the question, and the barest hint of her sharp cheek poking out from behind the paper that covers the rest of her face, a hint of the smirk she shares with her nephew, whom she’s never seen nor met.

---

Such a problem is what brings Jaina now to Vereesa’s doorstep, that same evening.

The smell of a sweet elven curry fills Jaina’s nose as the door is cracked open. She can just barely see the red heads and stubby, pointed ears of Giramar and Galadin, bent over plates at the kitchen table.

Vereesa stands, dressed as causally in peacetime as Jaina is, smelling of spice and vegetables, smiling.

“Jaina! I just put dinner on the table!” she announces. “There’s extra, if you’d like to join us. Say hello to Jaina, boys.”

“Hi Aunty Jaina,” comes in a twin chorus of deepening voices she’s still getting used to. The boys are entering their gangling teenage phase now, as half-elves tend to grow as quickly as their human parent. Apparently, they are eating Vereesa out of house and home, and prove this statement correct as they don’t bother to get up from their dinner to greet her. A hello is the best she can hope for.

They call her aunty, though she isn’t their aunt, because Anduin does it too. Because Arator did it once, to make fun of him.

“I’m good on dinner, thank you though,” Jaina tells their mother.

She does not feel the need to impose or intrude, and is not hungry, but the position suits her. She is not a Windrunner. She is the spider spinning her web on the top corner of their door frame.

“I didn’t expect to see you again today,” Vereesa confesses, leaning her weight on the doorknob she still holds.

She is smaller than Sylvanas, quick both to smile and to cry, though she has had more reason to do the latter. She is not prone to smirking, and does so only when she thinks no one is watching.

Jaina produces a letter as her answer. This time, Sylvanas wrote two pages. That should hopefully mean something to her.

Vereesa’s blue eyes go wide. They’re softer in color, a tone closer to purple, while Alleria’s are a muted aqua. They are normal and natural for a high elf, or as natural as an arcane-infused near immortal being can be. Sylvanas’ bright, burning blue, is as unnatural as the sinister red it replaced. Before, Vereesa had once told her, Sylvanas had grey eyes like their mother, a trait considered highly rare and desirable among the quel’dorei. Vereesa had been jealous of them.

Now Sylvanas dwells in eternal grey, and Vereesa’s home is smothered with Alliance blue.

She snatches the parchment with delight. A little noise escapes her lips, whether she wants it to or not is anyone’s guess.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” she tells Jaina, eyes already pouring over the words. “And for not making a stink about it or refusing on Tyrande’s behalf.”

Jaina had thought about that, certainly. The morality of her acceptance had weighed heavy on her before her first meeting with Sylvanas. Surely, Tyrande would not want this. Surely, there was a breach of hard-won justice. Surely, she should feel strongly against it herself, having been a recent victim of Sylvanas’ actions, fully in her control or not. Jaina had once questioned that deeply, wondering if some of this was posturing and blame, and if Sylvanas had very much willed her and her friends dead and tortured and forgotten as the souls she was now tasked with ushering to better places.

But in reality, free now of any influence besides Dori’thur’s watchful eyes and a sentence one could debate if she’d earned, Sylvanas had been polite to her. Curt, but courteous.

Eager, even, to have what little she was allowed, though not eager to show that. Words and gifts from her sister. The presence of another person from Jaina.

“As I told you before, I suspect that if Tyrande wanted to know and had a problem with it, she would have already come to me,” Jaina says to this, and she still believes it.

Something about the way Dori’thur watches even sets her ill at ease. She feels Tyrande’s eyes on her, feels her judgment, a tinge of betrayal, but not enough to stir her to action. If she has truly watched Sylvanas all this time, then she must understand that she’s suffering enough. Letters and map-making supplies aren’t going to change that.

Her expression must have changed at the thought, because now Vereesa is staring at her, confused, the letter and its contents forgotten. “You’re angry about the knife?”

“I don’t care if you gave her a knife,” Jaina quickly says, raising her hands defensively. “It was small. I assumed it was for cutting quills or fletching. She certainly didn’t turn it on me, so why should I be concerned?”

“Quills,” Vereesa answers, settling back into a grin. “An important part of a proper Quel’thalan pen set, but I debated about that knife for a good hour, packing that bag.”

Jaina knows that, as dull as the contents of the bag seemed, Vereesa carefully selected all of them and made a day of it. She is the type to agonize over gifts, and to ensure she always gives something unique, thoughtful, and unexpected.

For her last birthday, Jaina did not do much in the way of celebrating. She was busy, of course, making herself busy, and settled for a nice dinner with her mother and brothers. They’d given her no gifts and she expected nothing from them. In Kul Tiras, birthday gifts are a thing reserved for children, not for thirty-eight-year-old women.

But to her surprise, that evening she found a little box wrapped in simple blue paper upon her desk, waiting for her. Within it was a bottle of silver polish, a note that explained Vereesa had noticed that her anchor pendant was getting a little tarnished from these years of constant wear, and a fine bottle of port, aged exactly thirty-eight years, with a remark on the note that said waiting such time to be drunk had only made it all the sweeter.

“She asked about the boys,” Jaina reports, attempting to change the subject before she too becomes sentimental over silly little things.

“Oh?”

The odd combination of raised eyebrows and drooped ears tells Jaina she feels odd about this, maybe guilty. Glowing eyes wander her face, searching for more details.

“She’s never met yours, I suppose I hadn’t thought about that,” Jaina goes on.

“I hadn’t either.”

Behind her, said boys shovel curry and rice into their mouths like their stomachs have no bottom. They’re nearly taller than Vereesa now, and have grown up so fast, sheltered by her expertly from this world of war and terror. Both reach for the earthenware pitcher of water between them at the same time to refill their glasses, and laugh as their hands smack into one another.

Vereesa turns her head to them, smiling and shaking it.

“Do you have a photograph of them? Arator too, maybe you and Alleria?” Jaina asks.

Vereesa doesn’t turn back to her, but her ears droop enough to tell Jaina she’s frowning about it. The answer is no, there’s no photo of them all together. The remaining Windrunners in Azeroth are busy people, hard to pin down and gather in one place.

Vereesa turns to her, a rare public smirk on her face. It makes her look as much like Sylvanas as Jaina has ever seen, no doubting they are sisters there.

“No, but I believe a trip to Stormwind is in order to correct that. And I’ll have an extra copy made—for you, if anyone’s asking,” Vereesa tells her.

“Of course, for me,” Jaina tells her, echoing the mischief on her face, glad to see it sparkling through the soft blue of her eyes.

Glad, really, to see anything in them but tears.

#sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #help i am being consumed by this #now with fixed time dilation shit because i am fuckin dumb as hell

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my2phetaliaheadcanons · 6 months

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What would be the 2p Alias's reaction if they heard knocked on they door in the middle of the night, and when they open the door, exept a baby on they doorstep?

Hmmm… For the 2ps it would probably occur after finishing their ‘job’. Maybe the night went smoothly, and they were able to wrap it up early. Or it ran way too long and they were ready to mentally shut down. Either way, they would be tired walking up the steps to enter their dark home.

Some would have quickly ditched their clothing, ready to shower before passing out for a dreamless sleep. Others, bogged down by the weight of their world, would attempt to numb it with their chosen poison. All of them would be ready for their night to end.

That’s when the mysterious figure would knock, and a baby would cry.

France: Disturbing François when he’s relaxing is like approaching a large, aggressive dog. He stomps his way to the door and throws it open. The sight of the child is shocking but doesn’t quell his anger too much as he shouts into the darkness. Demanding that the so-called ‘parents’ come and collect their kid.

Unsurprisingly, no one answers, even after he runs around his property looking for any signs of disturbance. To which he finds too few to work off.

Grumbling, he makes his way back and harshly scoops up the kid. The action makes the babe scream more.

At first, he sits ‘em on his bed, letting them exhaust themselves, and calls the Child Services. Sadly, the early hours only get him a messaging machine to which he curses harshly at. He doesn’t want to commit to the emergency line due to the larger amount of paperwork it would require.

Reluctant, François would turn to the infant and calm them. He would be reminded of his days with Matt as he rasped lullabies and whispered stories long forgotten. Eventually, it would end with the child and François cuddled together as the sun rose and reached its height.

Finally awake and both feeling better, François would finally reach Child Services who would come and collect the child.

There would be no tearful goodbye or feelings of regret as he allowed the babe to be taken from his hands. All he would hope is that life’s hand would be fair and that he would never become a target for the frumpy Frenchman.

America: Allen’s night was pretty rough, so much so that when he discovers the infant, his mind is just pure static. The mental blizzard causes him to only look from his porch for the lad’s parents and when he doesn’t see them, just take the kid inside.

In his daze, he would create a makeshift crib out of a drawer and then go back to bed. It did help a lot that the kid fell asleep from the rock in his step.

The crying in the morning would wake him again. This time, his mind having had a chance to reset would spook him. In a panic would wonder where the kid came from and how they go there.

So, he does the only rational thing he can think of. Call Oliver.

He gets snippy with Oliver as he rocks/feds the lad, nearly agreeing to give it to him, before realizing how bad that would be.

Allen, going off the given advice, can take care of the child for a couple of days. He even feels accomplished when he gets to hear the baby laugh. Until nation work and baby care start to collide.

He’ll feel like a failure and his temper would cause him to snap at his men and push them to do better. This would go on for a couple more days until his right hand recommends giving the kid over to CPS. That this world is too much for a bachelor to mix with a family while single.

Allen feels guilty when he finally makes the call and fights back tears as they remove the child from him. This attachment keeps Allen hooked on keeping tabs on the kid. Often sending gifts for birthdays and holidays until the 18th year. From that point, Allen considers the kid an adult and steps back.

Hopefully, his involvement means the kid flies high in this world.

Canada: Matt would be pretty stunned at a baby swaddled on his porch. Especially since it would mean that this ‘parent’ got past Kuma and made it away without a scratch. At least he assumes so since Kuma looked to be sleeping by his bear house and there’s not a puddle of red.

He would be quick to take the child inside and warm them up. His hold of the babe would be awkward until a semi-normal hold would balance the kid on his chest as he rubbed their icy extremities.

For an hour, Matt would do this while singing French lullabies. Once he felt like the baby had returned to a normal temp and was asleep, he would tuck them into a makeshift crib. Then, reluctantly call England, just like Al does.

The chipper man would seem all too happy to help Matt with the child, already giving advice. Until Matt mentions giving him due to a lack of resources and the dangers of nation work. Then he switches to asking for the young lad.

Matt gives a swift no before hanging up. He’ll cater to the infant for the next hours before calling his 1p, telling him to get him in touch with child services.

Once contact is made, he’ll inform them of the child. He’ll request a pickup but demand that each foster and potential adopter is vetted thoroughly, more so than for anyone else.

When the infant is gone, Matt will look for the ‘parent’ to punish them in some way shape, or form. Then, this ‘rough’ Canadian will occasionally check in on the child, just until he’s sure his life is at least average, maybe send a gift or two over the years.

Once he’s happy with the current state of the kid’s life, he’ll slowly drift out. Content that he saved at least one soul.

England: Oh boy. Oliver is typically a grumpy person when awoken from his slumber, but the infant on his doorstep made him do a 180.

A giddy giggle would leave the typically sadistic nation as he cradles the child. Fully intending to keep the infant as his own. After all, if he can’t have his mini-nations, then he’ll just use a human child as a substitute.

He caters to this child’s needs to a tee. He never goes hungry, experiences cold, or wants for anything. It's perfect, if it wasn’t Oliver attempting to create a parental relationship where the child is overall too reliant on their parent. So, he always has one being attached to him, feeding his Savior complex.

For a few months, this goes on, and Oliver is all too willing to keep it up forever. Except he forgot about the meeting he was supposed to host for a 1p-2p bonding experience. So, when Arthur walks in and sees the babe, he is quick to spirit him away from the 2p.

Oliver rages, but due to the 1p magic trio working against him, the babe is lost to him. And, surprisingly, he mourns his loss.

Maybe one day, he’ll finally fulfill his desire.

Russia: Why are you here? – Calls Services and pays to make sure kid is well taken care of

Viktor’s view of the disturbance was curiosity. Why would anyone leave a child at his home, better yet why would a stranger think he could do better for their child than they?

Similar to some of the nations, he would look around for any signs of the parents, but like the rest, none was found. He would take the child inside and place them in one of the empty rooms of the manor. Pillows surrounded her to prevent injuries from rolling off the bed, and he would watch them for a moment to ensure there would be no suffocation.

He would then step out for a moment to call his sisters. He expected that they would be able to give decent advice and be willing to help with the child. Instead, he got harsh lectures about how he was in no place to take on a child and that it would be best for everyone to give up the kid.

Their logic at first wouldn’t sway him, but when they arrived on his doorstep within 48 hours of saying he would raise the child, did finally sway him. Notably when they held the baby and threatened to report him for abduction and barracked themselves in a room.

Usually, he would continue to fight for his desires, but in this case, he gave in. Especially since the child looked much more comfortable in the arms of his sisters than his.

Viktor would call Child Services and once gone would set up a savings account for the kid. It would be anonymous and accessible once the baby had picked a career path.

China: Jin would tiredly pull at his eyes as he would take the baby into his arms. A curse on his lips as he turned to calm the child while calling his men.

His orders are simple to find the parents, and to conduct surveillance. Within 24 hours, they are found and a whole portfolio is given to Jin.

If the parents are down on their luck, he’ll not only return the baby, but he’ll also give them a hand. Money, a home, a job, all of those, and more are on the table of things Jin may give. His quiet angelic works may be sprinkled in like small rainstorms during a long drought until he is sure that the family is stable.

On the other hand, if the parents are absolute trash, then there is no mercy. Jin will have his men worsen their lives to the point where death will seem like a gift that will never be given. No release ever, and he’ll make sure at the end they are begging at his feet.

Either way, Jin picks out the new family himself. He’ll watch them from a distance and happily act as a distant uncle until it's time to go to vacation island. Then he’ll make sure an ‘inheritance’ is set up.

#2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p america #2p canada #2p england #2p france #2p china #2p russia #2p allies

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straycalamities · 2 months

Text

I… FORGET WHEN SPOOK’S BIRTHDAY IS BUT!!

here’s my lil oc lad giving spook some cake

submitted by @kaelosmythos

#submission #jericho chavez #omg thank YOUU SO MUCHHH #its bday is valentines :)#sorry i was late seeing this #mobile tumblr app treated it like i got nothing

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weshallc · 8 months

Text

HAPPY 75th BIRTHDAY NHS

Call the Midwife Special AU FIC

HAPPYBIRTHDAY @ilovemushystuff I know you aren't 75! but I hope you enjoy this. Like the NHS you are so loved, appreciated, valued and vital to this community. But in a much better state than the NHS. ❤💌🎈🎁🎂

Thank you @fourteen-teacups for being the most patient person in the world. It felt like 75years since we started writing this. 🥰@roguesnitch yes you can adopt a donkey.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to TV presenters living or dead are completely coincidental. Absoloutley. 😬

July 5th 2023, Aylward Care Home, Poplar.

“Come on Jack, do you want to have a wee sit in the garden? It's a lovely morning. Let’s fetch your cardi.”

The tall man is stooped, no longer able to carry his previous imposing six foot stature. Bent by age and years of working his failing muscles and bones are always tired. He turns his head to look at the young fresh faced girl at his side. He likes this one. They are all nice, pleasant, some a little kinder than others. But they are busy, they have mouths to feed, medicines to dispense and bums to wash. This one she seems to have more time than others. Maybe it is because she has the gift of youth. She has time to play with. Jack’s time is running out. Time has started to tease him. Started to play cruel games. Time does not play fair. Time plays by its own rules.

A loud noise alerts Jack and he clings to the girl. She doesn't panic but steadies her friend. For a split second he is back in Derry, but only for a second.

“It’s only the telly Jack. In the day room, don’t worry. Someone’s put the sound up.”

An older woman appears in the corridor, older, but not as old as Jack. He thinks she has a beautiful smile and a hint of a foreign accent. This one always makes him laugh. He asked her where she was from once and she said Hackney and then she roared with laughter. Jack laughed too; he didn't know why, it just feels good to laugh. But he never asked again.

“Who’s in the day room?”

“I’m not sure, I thought there was just one lady, but it can’t be. You take our Jack the Lad, here, into the garden while I go check it out, Amy.”

Amy. That's her name, sweet Amy. They wear name badges but the writing is too small.

“Thanks Flora.”

Ah yes, Flirty Flora. Now he remembers.

Amy returns to the day room, the telly is still too loud for her own comfort, but bearable. Flora is fiddling with the hearing aids in the ears of the only other occupant. She is being brushed away. Flora doesn't notice or if she does it doesn’t bother her,

“You want to hear, don't you? I’m too big to be a fly, you know. Can’t swat me away so easily.”

Amy smiles and sees what she thinks is a hint of what might be one in the resident resisting Flora’s ministrations.

“Who turned the sound up?” Amy asks as she looks around the otherwise empty room.

“No idea, I don’t think, my lady here, could reach the remote or figure out which button to press. It took me five minutes to guess how to turn it down again."

“Maybe Dangerous Dave is playing pranks again.”

“That’s what I thought but his daughter has taken him out today. It's Wednesday. If you ask me, that TV set is spooked. It’s always doing it.”

Flora completed her challenge of securing and tuning in the hearing aids, She gently takes hold of the arm that was flying into her face and asks if all is now comfortable and clear. She receives a slight nod in response, perceivable only because Flora knows what to look out for.

“Is this the right channel?” asks Amy.

“Yes, It’s 9 o'clock time for Lorraine.”

“I hope it isn’t that footballer’s missus again, right annoying she is.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“What give up this life of luxury for some sweaty millionaire, as if? The residents would miss me. You’d miss me.”

Flora smiles at Amy's protestations and thinks she may have detected another slight nod elsewhere.

A squeaky non descriptive tune pours out of the television and the screen is a vibrant mix of pink and white.

Three people sigh as Lorraine appears before them on screen.

Lorraine, a jolly looking white woman with dark shoulder length hair, who looks to be in her late fifties, fills the screen. She begins to talk to the camera. A Scottish lilt in her voice.

“Good Morning everyone, how are you today? I hope you are all well. And if you are feeling well this morning, it might be in part to do with the focus of our show. That’s right we moved out of our cosy wee West London studio to venture east into Tower Hamlets.”

It becomes clear Lorraine is standing in front of an old building probably dated back to the late 1800s.

“The reason we find ourselves in Poplar this morning is to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the birth of the National Health Service. And what better way to do that, than in the Patrick Turner Health Hub that has provided primary care predating the formation of the NHS. In all that time it has been the working home of one family.”

The camera now pans out to reveal a Victorian building that has been extended and modernised over the centuries. Some additions are more historically sympathetic than others. Lorraine continues.

“There has been a Turner working here since the end of the Second World War. Including our very own medical expert and friend of the show, Dr Teddy Turner.”

A man of similar age to the presenter pops into view. He is tall, but doesn’t overshadow our host. His hair is dark but the light grey that highlights his unruly tresses may once have been blonde. He is smartly dressed in a dark tailored three piece suit, pink shirt and tie haphazardly adorned in medical equipment such as thermometers, stethoscopes and those things for looking in your eyes and ear.

“Good Morning, Dr Turner.”

“Good morning, Lorraine and welcome to Poplar.”

They chat in the tone of two old friends surprised to have bumped into each other at the doctor’s that morning.

“Well, it’s lovely to be here and the staff have made us very welcome. I’m sure the last thing they wanted on a busy Wednesday morning is a TV crew to contend with, but they've been really lovely.”

“I think like everybody else involved in patient care we are only too glad to have the opportunity to celebrate 75 years of the National Health Service. And share a little bit of our part in that incredible history.”

“Well, shall we do just that very thing? After the break we will be venturing inside the Patrick Turner Health Hub. Where we will be meeting more Turners talking about the last 75 years of working within the NHS. We’ll be looking at some of the most significant changes over that time, with a family that has always been at the cutting edge, if you will please pardon my pun.”

Those who went to brew a cup of YorkshireTea during the intermission miss the NHS75 anniversary retro adverts for Radio Rentals, pink wafers and playtex girdles.

“Welcome back. As you can see we’ve moved into a sort of conference room. Is that right, Dr Teddy?”

“Yes, it's where we hold training days for our staff and the wider district. We also run information sessions for newly diagnosed diabetics, dementia support, mental health, stopping smoking, drug and alcohol advice. And of course women’s health, which here at Patrick Turner’s we specialise in.”

“Well, we are going to come on to that, but I see over here some lovely people. I would like you very much to introduce us to.”

The camera moves towards a group of people sat around a functional table with mugs in front of them of various sizes and designs.

“This is my big sister, Angela. She was a full time GP here for over thirty years and now runs a lot of our education programmes and Well Woman clinics. Her daughter Jools has taken over her mantle and also her office and is currently one of our full time GPs.”

A slim blonde woman who appears to be in her late 50s or early 60s becomes the camera operator's focus. Her hair is tied back from her face, which is thin and angular, but her blue eyes have a gleam and her lips are failing to hide a smirk. She carefully clutches a blue mug and seems to be holding it quite tensely at a deliberate angle. A few letters are revealed between her fingers UK, THE, IES.

“So she’s your niece. We might be able to catch a word with Dr Jools later, but she’s busy seeing patients right now. Is that right, Dr Teddy?”

“Yes, she is my niece. No-one does nepotism quite like the Turners.”

“Moving on.” Lorraine is starting to sound as if she is wondering who is running this show? “And who is this distinguished looking gentleman next to your lovely sister?”

“This gentleman also celebrates his 75th birthday this year. He's actually slightly older than the NHS. This is Sir Timothy Turner, Lorraine. Or as I refer to him Lord Buggerlugs.”

“That seems very unkind, but having a sibling myself it's relatable. I must also apologise to anyone offended by any inappropriate use of language so early in the morning. Regular viewers will know this is to be expected when Dr Teddy is my special guest.”

“I’m seeing a disapproving glance from the lady next to Sir Timothy and the main reason we are here today. Dr Teddy’s, Sir Timothy’s and Dr Angela’s mum is also here. Dr Teddy, please introduce us to this remarkable lady.”

“Lorraine and viewers this is Sister Shelagh Turner, my, sorry, our mum. She came to Poplar in July 1948. It was the inception of the National Health Service. She arrived as a nurse and newly qualified midwife to work on the district with the nuns at Nonnatus House.”

“I wonder if I could ask Sir Timothy to explain a wee bit of the history of Nonnatus House and its relevance in the East End of London.”

The camera focuses on a tall gentleman looking a good ten years older than his siblings. (They definitely appear to have been a good ten years). He is also dressed as smartly as his younger brother, but minus the novelty tie. Anyone who studied medicine in Edinburgh would recognise this tie’s pattern. He clears his throat and looks directly into the camera.

“Only if you cease referring to me as Sir Timothy. I accepted my knighthood from the late Queen in recognition of my rewarding career as a GP and as an advocate of the NHS and Public Health. I am now retired from medicine. I do continue to campaign for justice for those who through negligence contracted Hepatitis C and the HIV virus as a result of blood transfusions. Compensation has still not been fully distributed and no UK public body has ever admitted responsibility. Therefore, my job is not yet done. So therefore, I’m just Tim.”

“That’s so well said, Sir Tim. And that seems to be a thread that runs through the Turner family. Generation after generation. Your father, the late Dr Patrick Turner who this medical practice is named in memory of, was an early advocate for the families affected by Thalidomide. As you have so rightly reminded us, you have spoken up for all those affected by the 20th century Factor 8 scandal. Your sister, Dr Angela Turner is a voice many will be familiar with on Women’s Hour on Radio 4 sharing her wealth of knowledge on the menopause and postnatal trauma. And of course our own Dr Teddy brought clarity and evidence based truths to our viewers during the recent Covid pandemic.”

For the first time they all look less assured, even Dr Teddy is lost for words. He and Angela both look towards their older brother.

“We’ve all been inspired by our parents. Dad was a great believer in medicine's ability to heal after witnessing the return of the injured as a child in Liverpool from 1914. He was able to compare those times to the wider use of antibiotics which he witnessed as an army medic during WWII. As a GP working through the 60s he saw, thanks to vaccination, the demise of TB and Polio both of which had previously left their scars on our family. The Thalidomide scandal was a heavy blow to recover from, for a GP who only wanted to prevent and ease suffering. Fortunately he married Shelagh, who loved and believed in him completely." He nods towards the lady sat next to him.

"Through her religious background she understood the way ahead isn’t always clear or certain, She always used to quote St. Julian of Norwich to us as children, ‘He did not say you would not be assailed, you will not be laboured, you will not be disquieted, but he did say you will not be overcome.’ My father was not a religious man, but I believe he drew strength through my mothers steadfast faith in God, and even more so from her faith in him.”

“Thank you Sir...Tim. Well, I think that’s given us all a lot to think about as we go to another wee break.”

Viewers who want to adopt a donkey are infuriated by adverts for Babysham, tinned spam and a Tiny Tears doll.

“Welcome back to Lorraine in Poplar.”

“So here I am, sitting next to the mother of these fine boys and the gorgeous Dr Angela, Sister Shelagh Turner.”

“Greetings”

A small woman with steel grey hair pulled into a tidy bun sits between Tim and Angela. She wears a tailored navy jacket with a delicate gold pearl and ruby brooch on the lapel. She holds her mug less furtively than her daughter and viewers can clearly read the words If In Doubt Just Ask Mum.

“From what I’ve been told by your son you qualified as a midwife in 1948.”

“I did.”

“Dr Teddy, your mother is Scottish!” Lorraine cries in surprise, because obviously she hadn’t introduced herself to her guest before the show. “I can see we are going to get along quite famously. Can you tell me the changes you have seen over the last 75 years?”

“Oh my dear, you may have to cancel one of those shows that follows this one, about relocating abroad or selling something you found in an attic, for me to tell my story.”

Viewers are frantically trying to work out how old Shelagh Turner is as this indomitable lady cooly answers every question. She brings a sense of calm to the temporary studio, in a building she has been familiar with most of her life. If at that moment anyone asked Alexa or Siri to show them the meaning of professional they would instantly produce a picture of Shelagh Turner.

“My mother died when I was young. I nursed her through her affliction, as I would my father too. I didn’t want to be a greengrocer, like my family before me. All I had ever done since being a small child was nurse. I knew no other life. So after my father died at the end of the war I headed to London. They were crying out for nurses and that is who I am.”

“The greatest change I’ve seen besides the obvious advances in technology, is the reliance on single use plastic. Nothing was disposable in my day, including syringes and enema tubes. Everything had to be autoclaved and reused. But technology has to be the most significant advancement in the day-to-day practice of nursing care. We didn't have machines to do the work for us. If someone was receiving blood or intravenous fluids, through a drip you understand, we had to calculate the drip-rate in our heads or on paper. Then we had to count the drips in the reservoir every 15 minutes to ensure it wasn’t going too fast or too slow. There weren't any machines beeping to alert us to problems.”

Angela, who had been quiet up until this point,just watching the whole shebang with the same amusement of someone not at the top table observing a bridesmaid with a nosebleed, chose this moment to interject.

“I think a lot of current nurses would be happy to get rid of those infernal bleeps.”

“I’m sure you are right, dearest. When I first qualified, the only machinery I was familiar with was the iron lung used to treat Polio patients..."

Below the lens two hands brush against each other.

“I remember it well.....” He says.

“Too true, dearest. It may now be antiquated and look barbaric but we were glad of it during the Christmas of 1958.”

“Did you have Polio as a child, S...Tim?”

“I did, Lorraine. As Mum said, I ended up in hospital over Christmas when I was ten-years-old. My parents had to cancel their wedding.”

“Oh no! Deary me.”

The presenter appears to be lost for words. This part was obviously not rehearsed. Guest co-presenter Dr Teddy is of no help as he has the countenance of the youngest child, who is always in bother, becoming aware that his big brother is finally going to get it.

“I suppose that wouldn’t be considered very shocking or unusual these days. But just for the sake of propriety, Timothy’s father, Patrick, was a widower. Timothy sadly lost his mother to cancer a couple of years earlier. Another dreadful disease we have made great strides in treating in the last 75 years.”

“You and Dr Turner worked with the Nonnatus nuns, I'm led to believe. They may not be known to our wider audience, but are still very much remembered with affection and gratitude in Poplar, am I right?”

“I hope so, I would like to believe so. The Order of St Raymond Nonnatus trained as nurses and midwives in Euston, arriving in Poplar in 1899. Once the NHS formed, the nuns worked alongside state trained nurses and pupil midwives, most of whom lived in the convent originally based in Leyland Street. They moved to Wick Street in 1959, where they stayed until the late 70s. The Turner practice was always closely linked to Nonnatus. Patrick, my husband, unusually for the time, had a special interest in women’s health. It wasn’t like today, women were just expected ‘to shut up and put up’ as Sister Evangelina used to say. She was a rather bold nun who was always a little ahead of her time and not afraid of telling it like it is, or was.”

Shelagh pauses for a moment as if she is recalling something she chooses not to share. Angela, sensing her mother’s brief loss in concentration, picks up the thread.

“There were more home births in those days. Mum and Dad ran what we would now call a mother and baby unit, but they were known as maternity homes. We are actually sitting in what was once a four bedded ward. The rest of the rooms were divided up to house our phlebotomy service and provide extra clinic space. One of the labour rooms we still use for minor surgery. Most health centres provide a particular service these days so there isn’t a doubling up of specialities. Patients will know they may be sent to a different centre than their own GPs surgery for let’s say, diabetic advice, heart monitoring, eye checks and podiatry. At Patrick Turner’s Health Hub we have continued my parents’ work. Focusing primarily on women’s health, neonatal care and respiratory conditions, something my parents as ex-smokers were very keen to learn more about and educate their patients.”

“Sister Shelagh, you were a smoker? I am shocked to hear this.” Lorraine looks horrified, she appears so wholesome.

“Oh, everyone smoked during the war years and into the 60s. It was even thought to be good for you at one time, or so the tobacco companies wanted us to believe.”

Dr Teddy suddenly realises he hasn’t spoken in over ten minutes and is getting paid for this.

“You didn’t smoke when you were a nun though, did you Mum? I blame Dad, he was a bad influence. Tim told me he remembers him smoking in clinic." Before his mother's glare alone ruins his blossoming media career, Lorraine interupts.

“A nun!? You were one of the sisters, Shelagh?”

“Yes, I was, when I first arrived at Nonnatus in 1948, but not when I left in 1958. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Lorraine is looking at all Shelagh's children seated around her. “Your children are giving all your secrets away today, Shelagh. I think Dr Teddy might end up on the naughty step when he gets home.”

“It was a long time ago and I learned everything I know working with the Order, especially from my dearest friend, Sister Julienne. But the last sixty years have been the happiest and most fulfilling of my life. And the majority of them have been spent working within and for the NHS. And that’s why I’m here with you today.”

“Nice deflection back to our main topic today, Shelagh. Are you after my job? The producer in my ear has just asked me to not let you leave before I book you in for another show... on your own without your lovely family. Oh! I see.. before the Daily Mail gets to you first for your story, he‘s added. Don’t think that will be happening anytime soon, looking at the expression on Shelagh’s face.”

“We are off for another break now, viewers.”

Viewers wanting to take out an over 55s life insurance policy securing themselves a free pen are now on the phone to the TV regulator Ofcom in protest to advertisements for Brylcreem, old Spice and the Dandy and Beano.

“Welcome back. So, we are going to end today’s NHS75 special with a lovely gift for the Turner family. It’s the least we can do after all this family has done for us over the last 75 years. This is a complete surprise for the Turners. Not all of the Turner children are here today. Tim, Anglela and Teddy’s sister, May, is also in the family firm. She chose to follow in her mother’s footsteps. No! She is not a nun. But the Chief Nursing Officer in a hospital based in Hong Kong. When did you last see May, Shelagh?”

“Oh, it was before Covid, she was due to come home Christmas 2020 and couldn’t and she's been so busy she hasn’t been able to reschedule. She’s so dedicated.”

“Wonder where she gets that from?” Tim and Ted say in unison.

“I don’t like flying now at my age. Angela went out there last year, didn’t you, dear? They’ve always been very close.”

“Look up at the big screen on the wall, Shelagh.You won’t see a video about vaccination or what to do if you are having a stroke. But, who is this?”

The numbers for the surgery disappear from the screen and are replaced by the bright smile of a Chinese woman wearing a white silk blouse, giggling and shouting “now” repeatedly.

“Hello Mum, Hello Fam! How are you all? And how is dear old Poplar?”

The East London room is full of forcefully expired air and cries of “May”.

“I'm going to leave you all to chat privately, in a moment. But can I just ask, May? You grew up in Poplar, do you have good memories?”

“Oh, yes. I came from Hong Kong in 1963 and couldn’t speak a word of English. Patrick and Shelagh fostered me and eventually my birth mum gave permission for them to adopt me. Mother Mildred brought me and some other children, who were orphaned or estranged from their parents, to start new lives. But I remember Poplar with so much love; the sisters, Fred, Vi and Reggie who ran the corner shop. Darling Aunt Trixie and Jonty, my friend Colette and her mother, Nancy. Then there was Pastor Robinson. Too many to name.. Nurse Crane and Miss Higgins mustn't forget them. And lots of girls called Alison. I actually thought all English girls were called Alison for a while. I even thought about changing my name to Alison. Everyone was so welcoming and helped me feel right at home. It was just a shame about Teddy really.”

“Oh! That Turner sense of humour. I see it is intact over the miles. Angela is nodding her head in agreement with your remarks about your younger brother. I need to maybe have a few minutes chat with her in the Green Room after the show. You returned to Hong Kong, May, as a nurse. Can you tell us a wee bit about that?”

“Of course. As much as London will always be my home. I wanted to give something back to my place of birth. The reason Mother Mildred brought me to England was because there wasn’t provision for someone in my situation over here in the 1960s. I wanted to return and see what changes had been made and if I could contribute in any way. It also gave me a chance to meet my Chinese mother again and thank her for giving me the opportunities I had because of her sacrifices.”

“Did you get to spend much time with her, May?”

“Yes, I did. She passed away a few years ago. I got a chance to say goodbye and to be with her at the end of her life as she was at the beginning of mine.”

“That’s lovely May. I’m going to let you catch up with your family now. I’m sure your mum has a lot of questions for you to answer. Probably starting with when are you coming home? Thank you, May Turner.”

“And thank you to all my guests on this NHS 75th anniversary special. Thanks to all the Turners: Shelagh, Tim, Angela, May and our own Dr Teddy. I will be back tomorrow with more inane guests to chat with. Won’t be anywhere near as much fun as this, I promise you.”

The camera focuses on Dr Teddy Turner who is rubbing his right forefinger against his thumb.

"We will leave you with the words of the Health Secretary in 1948, Mr Nye Bevan."

"No society can call itself civilised if a sick person is denied medical aid because of lack of means."

As the credits roll the camera moves to on an outside wall. It focuses a well polished brass plaque on which three lines are written.

KENILWORTH ROW MATERNITY HOME AND SURGERY DR. P. TURNER

"Here, here!" Is followed by cheers and clapping.

“Well that was the best episode of Lorraine I've ever skived off to, with a cuppa, in all my working days.”

“Flora, we are not skiving, we are socialising with the residents and attending to their recreational and creative needs.”

“You do have a way with words, our Ames. You applied to tech to do those exams you need, yet? You know the ones to get into Uni to do your nursing.”

“No, I haven’t. Stop nagging me. I’m not good with exams, Flo, you know that.”

“You’re very good with people though, Amy. More than good. And the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“Counts for nothing Flora, you have to be one of those clever buggers to be a nurse these days. I’m happy here with my Grans until Aldi or some other supermarket makes me a better offer I can’t refuse.”

“Well. I’m going to keep nagging. But in the meantime, I Wouldn’t say no to Dr Teddy checking out my auld ticker with his stethoscope, one day.”

“Oh Flora, you are crude. His niece is my doctor. She’s brilliant, she really helped me out with that little problem I had.”

“Well, I could have helped you out with that, Amy. Change your washing powder or tell that man of yours to dip it in Domestos bleach before he comes near you next time.”

“Flora, you're shocking......are you alright, love?”

Amy notices tears streaming down their companion’s face, but her eyes remain bright and clear.

The young carer dabs those tears, “Magic hankie cures all. As my gran used to say.”

“Poor old love, probably brought back memories. Talking about them Nonnatuns,” Flora added. “You alright Sister? I know where there is a nice piece of Victoria Sponge with your name on it. Amy here will put the kettle on.”

“How old do you think she is?”

“Dunno. No one seems to know. No one knows how long she’s been here. Dangerous Dave says she made a deal with God to look after the people of Poplar for all eternity.

“You know Dangerous Dave talks bollocks, right?”

“I’m just saying what I heard. So about Dr Teddy, do you think he's on Tinder?”

“He’s sixty-years-old, Flora. Get a grip.”

As they leave to put the kettle on and cut the cake. The sound coming from the televison set suddenly increases.

#call the midwife #nhs75 #ctm fanfic #turners at 75

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logan368 · 1 year

Note

I have a request idea!

Could I request a fic of a Hermitcraft, Etho x gn!reader where the reader is clueless on redstone, but Etho teaches them, (and they still don’t understand it because it’s too much big brain work… as I also struggle with it LOL) I think it would be adorable! (This could even be wrote with Mumbo too if you want! Your choice! :D)

(P.S I stumbled upon your blog recently, love your writing and didn’t see an Etho one so I came to deliver! 💜 :3)

Yes! You asked and I shall deliver, let's give Etho some well deserved love. I hope you enjoy it. I'm glad to hear you enjoy my work <3.

Ugh, Redstone. Etho x Gn!Reader

You stared at it for a good five minutes. Why was redstone so complicated for no reason. You changed the position of the dust. You tried everything you could to get it to work and still nothing. You grumbled, all you wanted was an automatic storage system so you don't have to deal with chest monsters anymore, but no matter how much you tried following every tutorial online. Nothing worked. You looked at the tab list. Etho was online, but you had gotten so close with the white haired boy, you didnt want to bother him.

After trying for a couple more minutes you sighed in defeat and decided to fly over to Etho's base before he logged off and you were completely on your own. Grabbing your elytra and wiping the redstone dust stuck to your hands on your jeans, which was no help as your jeans were covered in the stuff. You just said screw it and flew over to Etho's base.

Landing with a soft stumble, you were never good at the whole elytra thing which is suprising as you used it all the time. You brushed yourself off and walked up to the door. You stood outside hesitantly for about 5 minutes before swallowing and just knocking on the door. After a few moments the shape of the door was replaced with the shape of a man. A specific white haired masked man.

"Oh, hello Y/N, what a wonderful surprise to see you here."

"Hi Etho." You took in a deep breath. "I want to learn how to do redstone. I have some diamonds I can pay you however much you want, could you please just help me." You begged.

"Calm down, I never said I couldn't." He chuckled softly. "I'll help you out."

You sighed in relief. "Thanks Etho."

He walked into a room as you followed and he taught you all that he could about redstone. Starting from the basics all the way to helping you construct a simple sugar cane farm.

Did you pay attention. Probably not, you kept getting distracted. Seeing Etho so focused was kind of hot. You never realized how much of a redstone nerd the white haired lad was.

"Okay now you try. Here's the materials." He smiled handing you a few items. That spooked you and you blushed hard. You stared at the items. What were you making? Oh yeah a no tick sugar cane farm. It shouldn't be to hard right. You weren't terrible at redstone. After putting together your farm you looked over at Etho who was trying not to laugh at you.

You glared at him and rolled your eyes which caused him to smile. "You did so bad it's almost as if you weren't paying attention."

"I was, for the most part."

He showed you what you did wrong and you giggled at your simple mistake. "Okay maybe I wasn't, but it's not my fault you look really good when you're focused." You mumbled the last part which caused him to stare at you in shock.

After your brain processed what you said you blurted out an apology. "I'm sorry, it must be the redstone messing with my head. Um. Thanks for your help Etho I better get going now." You rambled on which just caused him to smile at you.

"Well I think you look cute when you're flustered."

Then you both just kinda stared at eachother. It wasn't awkward but it was at the same time. Then you both started laughing. "What happened to this being a redstone lesson?" You asked

"You happened." Which caused both of you to just start laughing and the whole redstone thing was forgotten. You decided redstone was a talent. One that you didn't have.

#ethoslab x reader #hermitcraft x reader

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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 8 months

Note

OKAY I SAW YOU DON'T MIND REQUESTS FOR TF2 sooooo

Sniper with a short s/o who's not necessarily a gremlin, but might as well be?? They can hide in tight places, spook folks by accident, and is constantly following Sniper around because s/o is comfortable with him? They don't care that he's awkward as all hell, and as soon as he gives them the okay s/o is using him as their personal pillow everywhere

Sorry lol just love him and have a nice day pleasee

"A perfect pair" Snipers x Reader

YESSSS I get to write for the stinky aussies! I need to get better distinctions for all the classes and not just sniper but here's the gist: red is more goofy and blu is more hard-core/intense.

TW: Suggestive

Lawrence (red)

- Let's be real, he let's you "scare" him and junk because he likes you. He's trained to know a hider. When you suddenly pop up behind him, he'll give a little shrug with his shoulders like you got him and says, "'ello, my little shadow. What am I doin' today?"

- He gives a little smile if you say something cheeky, "Nah, I don't think that was it." Before carrying on. He's so awkward but it's dreadfully endearing.

- He likes joking that you're compact. He reckons he could fit you in his pocket and sneak you places if you want!

- Will allow body as pillow usage sooner than one might think. He's not starved for physical affection or anything, but it's nice. Once he knows you're someone he can trust, he'll lean his weight on you jokingly to see if you fall over.

- Just know he doesn't have a lot of comfy fat for laying about! But he is an expert on good old-fashioned spooning. Not really, but he tries with those gangly limbs of his. You'll always feel secure with him, that's for certain.

- At some point or another, he's going to teach you self defense if you don't know any already- he says the two of you together are a one-two punch. They'll never see you coming.

Mick (blu)

- At very first he was annoyed before the dating happened because he doesn't like mucking about and having someone tail him. A little paranoid, you might say. Its how you survive, he says. Yet as he learns more about you and realizes it's because you feel comfortable with him, he let's up.

- once dating you'll get a quiet chuckle from him with your antics. Yet you can't seem to startle him, even when you try. He always knows where you are and, unlike Lawrence, makes sure you know it. But it's alright if you give the other lads a scare. He'd shoot them straight on if they had any complaints.

- It's a good thing, though. If you ever actually startled him, you'd end up with a bowie knife to the neck while he checks you out. Granted, he'd probably kiss you and congratulate you after, so pro's and con's.

- Will only allow you to use him as a pillow if he gets to pet your hair and crack wise about how you need him. He likes having the upper hand in a relationship dynamic. It's cute you want to lay on him. Like a little pet!

- If you ask him about fighting or self defense, he gets way too into it and has you using the ability to squeeze into tight spaces to your advantage. Sometimes, it's in the same space as him where every movement has you pressing closer together...

#foxwriting #tf2 sniper #sniper tf2 x reader

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crazyf0rswayze · 8 months

Text

Johnny Cade: Love Poem

JOHNNYS POV

"Ponyboy?" I asked

"Yes Johnnycakes?" Pony replied walking over

"So y-you know how I like y/n...yea well I wanted to asked her out...but i-i wanted to write a poem to ask her out...a-and tell her how I feel. But I don't know how to write a poem...." I explained

"Ok! I'll help you then." Ponyboy said, taking a seat next to me

"Ok...so I would start off with some things you like about her. So make a list, and then we'll word it so it rhymes" Ponyboy explained to me. He wrote poems for school alot, so that's why I came to him first

"W-well she look really pretty when she wears plaid...l-like flannels and stuff" I said

"Ok! Yes great. That's a nice start" Ponyboy said to me enthusiastically

"Sh-shes really beautiful...and she makes me go mad. Hey! Hey ...plaid and mad kinda rhyme" I said excited that I was getting a good start

"Yea... yea it does Johnny" Pony said...a little shocked that I was catching on quick

"And...I see her...i-im....GLAD! Glad rhymes" I said, as I started writing everything down

"Mmmmm....and...when she cries...I get ......SAD! Sad rhymes "

"Wow...you're a natural! Ooh, so I learned what an Olympiad is, and it's those four years between olympic games! You could say something like....'for you i would wait thousands of Olympiads'" Pony suggested

"Yea...thanks. I didn't know that" I said

"Hey, you learn something new everyday "

"PONYBOY, GET READY FOR BED" Darry yelled out from his room

"OK DAR....GIVE ME A MINUTE IM HELPING JOHNNY WITH SOMETHING " Ponyboy shouted back

"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT....NOT TOO LATE OK?"

"OK DARRY! THANKS" Ponyboy yelled out

"Ok...where were we-" Ponyboy said looking down at my paper with shock. In the few seconds that he was looking away, I had started to form the poem. Ponyboy leaned over my shoulder so he could see what I was writing.

"Johnny, that's really good! I like how you mentioned Robert Frost's poem 'Nothing Gold Can Stay'!"

"T-thanks. Do you think y/n's gonna like it?" I asked worriedly

"Yea! I think she's gonna love it! I gotta get ready for bed ok? But I'll help you in the morning if you need me to"

"Ok!" I replied focusing on my love poem

Ponyboy patted my back as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

'youre a beautiful lad

And you look wonderful in plaid

Your looks made me go mad

And you not being next to me makes me sad

For you, I would wait thousands of Olympiads

And they say 'nothing gold can stay'

Yet you're standing right here'

I yawned as I read over what I had. Gosh...I should go to bed. Just in case Y/n came and stayed at the Curtis house tonight, I gave the notebook I was writing in to Ponyboy to keep in his dresser drawer

"Mmmmhhmm whats that" I heard Sodapop ask

"Nothin'" Ponyboy responded. I think Sodapop was too tired to question it because all he did was groan tiredly. 'Close call Johnny' I thought to myself.

Just then I heard the door open. It was y/n.

"Oh..hey Johnnycakes." Y/n said

"You ok?" I asked the girl. She looked a little spooked

"Yea Johnnycakes! Just tired. " The pretty girl replied to my question

"O-oh. Yea I get it. You can take the couch. I don't mind Darry's recliner" I offered Y/n

"Are you sure? I don't mind the recliner either" Y/n asked

"Yes. I'm sure" I reassured the girl

"Alrighty then" she said with a yawn

She went to lie down on the couch. She looked really cute when she was tired. And cuter when she was all cuddled up in the blankets. I found myself standing there looking at Y/n with heart eyes. I then went to lie down in Darry's recliner.

"Good night Johnnycakes" y/n said in the darkness

"Good night Y/n" I replied to her. It was surprising how easily I found sleep that night.

IN THE MORNING

"Hey Y/n" Ponyboy said as he walked into the living room with my notebook and pen. He sat the notebook and pen down on the recliner's arm rest.

"Thanks Pony" I said with a yawn

"Mmhhmm. Hey Pony" Y/n said sleepily

I opened up the note book to continue writing my poem.

'when I see you I'm glad

But when I see you cry I get sad

And I get mad only a tad when socs pick on a perfect lad like you

I could do better than any guy named Brad, Chad, or Vlad

You're like a beautiful dainty lily pad

My feelings for you are like a wild fire

They won't stop getting bigger

And no Valentine's card card could explain it

You're a perfect shining piece of gold

That I know will stay'

I wrote as Ponyboy started cooking.

"Whatcha doin' Johnnycakes" Y/n asked happily

"Nothin'" I replied

Gosh she was so so beautiful

"Mmmm...ok" she said narrowing her eyes suspiciously

"Y/n, can you go wake up my brothers please?" Ponyboy asked Y/n kindly

"Sure!" She said springing up

Ponyboy walked over to me.

"When are you gonna give it to her?"

"I-i dunno." I replied

"Can I read it?" Ponyboy asked

I hesitantly handed the notebook to him. I waited for him to finish reading it for what felt like forever. I was rocking back and forth, from the balls to the heels of my feet.

"Is it good? Does it seem...wrong? Is she gonna like it? What if she doesn't?!" I asked worriedly

Ponyboy chuckled as he put his hands on my shoulders after setting down the notebook.

"It's great, it seems perfectly right, she gonna love it, and she'd be crazy if she didn't." Ponyboy reassured me.

I was really worried but whatever.

"I'm gonna give it to her later today" I said confidently

"Good" Ponyboy responded

A few seconds later, Y/n walked in with Sodapop and Darry following behind. Ponyboy served everyone their food, and we all sat at the table

"So...how'd everyone sleep" Soda said finally breaking the awkward silence

"I slept alright. Hurt my back at work yesterday, so it was a little hard to sleep" Darry responded before taking a bite of his food

"Mmm...I slept pretty good for once!" Y/n exclaimed with a smile. It made me happy that she was happy

"I slept pretty good" Ponyboy said

"Same here" I replied to Soda's question

"Howd you sleep Soda" Y/n asked, returning his question.

"I slept good Y/n...thank you" Soda replied

I loved how social Y/n could be. It amazed me how one person could so many amazing words. I snapped out of my trance and looked down at my food, and took a few bites. I felt eyes staring at me. And I felt heat rising up my neck. I looked up at Y/n to find her gazing at me. As soon as I looked up she looked away. I finished up my food, and brought mine and Y/n's plate to the sink. What a gentleman I am! I was really glad these feeling flowed both ways. So now, it wouldn't be as bad giving her the poem.

"Y-y/n...i-i have something for you" I said after she and I sat back down in the living room. Ponyboy, Darry and Soda were playing cards.

"Really?!" She said excited

"Y-yea here"

I handed her the folded price of paper. She opened it and started reading. I read it with her, since she was right beside me, so close out legs and shoulders were touching.

"Mmhmm" she hummed out as she read.

She giggled a little, hopefully happy little giggles, not laughing at how odd it might sound.

"Aaawww Johnny!" She said happily

"D-d-do you like it? Was it bad?!" I questioned her

"Gosh Johnny! I-its perfect? I like how you complimented me, talked about you feelings, and added in mentions of your favorite poem all in one piece of writing!"

"Th-thanks Y/n" I replied

"It's so beautiful...just like you!" Y/n said, slyly complimenting me.

"Y-you think I'm beautiful?" I asked

"Yes I do!"

"Th-thanks!" I said.

She leaned her body into me, and cuddled up against my body. I don't really know what to do, but Sodapop told me that Sandy liked it when he ran his fingers through her hair, so that's what I did to Y/n.

"Mmmhhmmm" she hummed out happily. I guess she liked when I ran my fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, I noticed, and soon enough her breathing slowed. She fell asleep....I really didn't know what to do.

"Sodapop! Sodapop! Ssooddaaa!" I whisper yelled.

He walked in the room...

"What do you wa-" he said

"Oh..." He said seeing Y/n asleep on me

"I don't know what to do...Soda what do I do. Just sit here or carry her to bed?"

"Your best bet is to sit as still as possible...that's what I do when that happens"

"O-ok" I said

"You'll get used to it the more it happens" Soda said as the other boys walked in to get him to continue their game

"SOD-"

"Shut up! She's sleeping" Soda said, cutting Ponyboy off.

"Sorry" Ponyboy said in a whisper

"Uuuhhhhgggg" Y/n groaned out

"Shut. Up. Guys" I warned them all.

"Ok, ok. We're gonna continue our game. Call if you need anything." Darry said

"Real quick can one of you grab me a glass of water...please?" I asked quietly

"Yea" Darry said walking to get me a glass of water.

"Th-thanks Dar" I said

"No problem kid." He replied

This was the best morning I've had so far. Y/n being happy, and feeling good, her loving the little poem, her falling asleep on me, even if it was a little uncomfortable. I continued running my fingers lightly through my girl's hair.

"Mmmhhhmmm, I love you so much Johnny" Y/n said. I immediately went red.

"I-i love you too Y/n" I said. I really, really meant it.

She quickly fell back into a deep sleep. After she did, I lightly kissed her head.

Really...best. Morning. EVER!

#the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #fanfic #greaser #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade #kks writings

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