#It makes sense to me in case one of the kids gets sick they can stay in his room lol
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
the-cooler-king · 1 year ago
Text
Gay as fuck valentines day gift ideas for your not-boyfriend: a key to the house you're going to share
0 notes
sketchtastrophee · 7 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)
im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk
okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..
hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL
Tumblr media
people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person
I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the employees under his supervision. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people
prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.
this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made
if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year
elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)
so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.
this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life
more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭
no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time
2K notes · View notes
infiniteglitterfall · 1 year ago
Text
know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!
hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.
I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.
It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.
Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.
It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.
(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."
Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.
Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.
People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.
(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.
Tumblr media
I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.
She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.
And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.
He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.
He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.
I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.
But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.
It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.
(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)
(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.
We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.
People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.
Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.
3,000,000.
Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.
Five times as many.
That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:
Here's a non-paywalled link to it:
https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates
Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:
Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.
You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.
They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)
8K notes · View notes
kaelio · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Hello everyone, I'm here today to engage in the absolutely thankless task of defending the hell out of this sentence getting commuted.
First things first:
I am not a prison abolitionist (this is important)
This former judge is one of the worst scumbags alive. Basically, he sent kids to juvie/prison in return for kickbacks.
So why did I want his sentence commuted? Oh, me? I didn't.
But this was part of a package of commutations requested by prison abolitionists. Yes, they asked for this, even spent hundreds of thousands on advertisements to demand it. Basically, Biden commuted the sentences of 1,500 people who were on "compassionate release", meaning they were already living at home. This is mostly just really old/sick people.
Biden didn't commute this guy's sentence as such, he commuted the sentences of a type of person out on compassionate release and didn't take the judge out of the pile. He didn't say, "except, not him".
This judge (scumbag) served 13 of his 16 years, but in 2020 was sent home because he was in such poor health it was assumed Covid would kill him. He's been at home ever since.
Now, this is important. This man cannot commit this offense again. He's not a judge any more! So recidivism is impossible. He cannot re-offend. So, in his case, prison can't be for rehabilitation or in any way to make sure he doesn't do it again. He can't! Never could have. The only real reason he was there was to punish him, which is fine. Personally, I'm fine with prisons being solely for punishment. But are you? Is that what you've been saying? Has that been your stance, that prisons are to punish people?
"But this guy was especially bad." Oh, so... mercy for people who didn't do really bad things? Then you're not getting any of these commutations. Because if you were in federal prison for long enough to qualify to be out on compassionate release, you did something really bad! Biden also pardoned everyone in federal prison for non-violent marijuana charges and you could count the number of people on your fingers because you don't actually get sent to federal prison over minor drug crimes.
Let's make it clear: "Mercy and leniency, but only for people who I define as innocent" means.... no mercy and no leniency. And you can be on board with that. You can be vengeful or a revanchist or bitter and brutal at heart; you're totally allowed. But then don't pretend you're not! In fact, that's the heart of Trumpism: there are those for whom laws should protect but not bind, and for others laws which should bind but not protect. (Or, as Óscar Benavides put it: "For my friends, everything; for my enemies, the law.") If your stance is just "good things for people I like and agree with, and bad things for those I don't" then you just have a different sense of who should be punished or die. But your thinking is fundamentally the same. Have you had a consistent stance about vigilante killing lately? Let me ask, who's allowed to decide among the populace who may live and who must die?
It's very unlikely anyone will ever again be as generous and compassionate as Biden has been with his powers. Because when he is, when he actually does it, when he's kind down to his very soul, you fucking hate it. That's what 2024 was; the revealed preferences election. You didn't want to pay people a living wage to deliver your burrito, you don't actually want people let out of jail, and you think capital punishment is fine as long as the executioner was hot.
806 notes · View notes
andhumanslovedstories · 8 days ago
Text
The critical care unit is where the sickest people in the hospital go. Those patients need a nurse completely dedicated to them, and the unit needs to keep "code beds" open in case a patient in a different part of the hospital urgently needs a higher level of care. That means critical care is always under pressure to decompress (i.e. to turf their less sick patients somewhere else so they can take even sicker patients.)
In the last weeks before we went on strike, I was floated repeatedly to the critical care unit to take care of boarders. That's what we call medsurg patients who have graduated from critical care but don't yet have a bed on a medsurg floor. Personally, I hate floating to critical care. On the floor, you would (ideally) never get a patient assignment of three patients who were critical care status an hour ago. That's going to be a very heavy assignment. But that's how many I can take when I'm helping out in critical care. And it's dangerous. It's SO dangerous. The scariest shifts I've had have been with patients who should be in critical care but aren't. People with massive strokes, or GI bleeds, or respiratory failure, that are technically able to be downgraded because if you say they're less acute, you can give more of them to the same nurse.
Last June, Oregon passed a law mandating certain nurse to patient ratios on units. While critical care is ideally a one to one ratio, medsurg (where I work, which is the general hospital population that isn't maternity, emergency, maternity, or behavioral health--so, almost everyone) has more patients per nurse. This is good and makes sense! Most people in the hospital do not need dedicated one-on-one care with someone outside their door. As a night-time medsurg nurse, I expect to take four patients a night.
And by the way? There are a lot of medsurg nurses in America who would KILL for four patients a night. I know some nurses reading this are like "four??? are you kidding me?????" Night shift nurses in states with less protections can average seven or eight patients a night. I've seen some go as high as twelve. When I have five patients, I feel like I'm running like crazy. I truly cannot understand how I could possibly give good care to more people than that.
What this means in an understaffed hospital is that patients who should be critical care get classified as medsurg instead, so instead of needing another nurse to treat another ICU patient, you can give that patient to a medsurg nurse instead. This is so common. I'm in float pool which means I work in almost twenty different units in the hospital. I have seen this happen on every single unit. Critical care patients become medsurg patients. Medsurg patients become observation class. Whatever it takes to maintain the legally mandated ratios without actually increasing staffing.
One of the major things ONA (the Oregon Nursing Association) is striking for protection against decisions like this that put patients and their caregivers at increased risk so that the hospital can save money. Even when laws are put in place protecting workers and patients, companies will work as hard as they can to circumvent those requirements. It's not enough to get legislation passed. We need the power to enforce that legislation. And baby, there is power in a union.
499 notes · View notes
thewitchblue · 2 months ago
Text
"I told you not to touch that."
You had warned a very curious Tim repeatedly. This one wasn't anything harmful. You simply didn't want him touching your potions. It was a very annoying potion to make.
You had left it boiling on a burner while you got a snack, but Tim shut off the burner to touch your half-baked potion. You had no idea how long he's had it off the burner, but it wasn't boiling anymore.
"What does it do?"
He didn't have the guts to do anything but hold the boiling hot beaker. At least, not in front of you. He felt like he was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"It was SUPPOSED to be a present for Jason, jackass. Now it's ruined."
You aggressively took the breaker from Tim and borderline slammed it down on your windowsill. You stormed over to your burner and turned it on again. Maybe you can salvage it. It had stopped boiling because Tim was too curious for his own good.
"Oh."
Tim looked embarrassed. You didn't bother to tell him it was liquid weed, so Jason could stop stinking up the manor when he smokes.
You were sick of getting accidentally drugged because Jason left brownies out without a "do not eat" sign. You think Jason secretly likes drugging people, but there was an unspoken agreement: shut up and leave the drugged person alone.
You were hoping this potion would get him to go to you instead of some shady drug dealer, but Tim doesn't need to know any of this. This is between you and Jason.
"Do me a favour and never touch my stuff. My next potion won't be so friendly."
You grumbled. You were the family witch. Yes, the stereotypical potions and general magic. You learned from Constantine and Zatanna how to use spells, but potions are where you shine.
You are called The Alchemist at night and are feared mainly due to how prepared you are. You had a potion for anything and everything.
The villains actively avoid you as a result of your preparation. You're seriously more prepared and paranoid than Batman in a lot of cases.
Scarecrow is the only one salty enough to go after you. He wanted you as an apprentice, but he's not getting anywhere by kidnapping you on the occasion. Come on, just give him one potion that he can replicate if he can't have you on his side!
Joker found you boring, Bane doesn't want to tango when you take away his muscles with a potion, Ra cares more about physical combat, and the list goes on. It's ridiculous, truly.
You were actually quite close to Poison Ivy, however, and she supplies you with various plants for you to use. You even send her photos to update her on how the plant is blooming with a thank you text (yes, you have her number, score!)
Being a Wayne helps with the potions as well. You can get you an endless supply of various metals, chemicals, and powders to work with alongside the plants. You often question if you are on a government list somewhere. It doesn't look good to order 15 kilograms of gunpowder and potassium nitrate.
The family doesn't know any of this, but then again, they don't know much about what you do. They rarely ask questions about your potions except nosy Tim, who refuses to leave your room until he knows more about whatever potion you are making at the time.
"I was curious!"
He tried to defend himself, which failed as you retorted,
"And you could have had your finger dissolved if you touched it! For the brains of the family, you really are stupid."
Does he have no sense of self-preservation? Why on earth would he touch a mysterious liquid? Survival of the fittest indeed.
Tim scoffed. How else is he supposed to find out more information if he knows nothing about the process? You had all your potions memorised! No recipe book, no paper trail, you even have a witch/magic users pack between Zatanna and Constantine, so they won't tell the family anything. He can't even identify all the plants you use so he could test them.
"You're lucky I make weapons for you guys. Some of this stuff takes weeks! I have 9 of you guys running around, using MY supply because you guys don't use your potions wisely. What if I needed the paralysing potion for Bane, but uh-oh, you stole it from me, so I can't do anything."
Tim had no excuse. He's, admittedly, stolen more than a handful of potions to reload his weapons, and he's not the only one. He tried to smooth over your irritation. In a nervous tone, he said,
"I'm sorry. I would be surprised if you didn't notice the missing potions, though."
Damn right, you'd notice it. What kind of alchemist would you be if you didn't notice your missing stash and resupply? Granted, you also have the power of bullshit spells that you learned from John and Zatanna, so you aren't entirely helpless, but it's annoying reaching for an imaginary potion on patrol and needing to trudge all the way home just to restock.
"I think you need to keep your hands to yourself. I might have to redo this potion now. Please tell me you didn't touch the potion itself."
You wouldn't know how to handle a high Tim Drake. You tried to keep your eyes on him while putting your potion back on the burner. Is the weed in his bloodstream, or are you safe to continue your drug cooking?
He gave an awkward smile. He may or may not have smelled the potion. It smelled like a freshly mowed lawn, and the tiny sip he took tasted like an apple. When all you got was silence, you groaned and said in disbelief,
"Oh, fuck, of course you did."
Just your luck. The drug will hit Tim any second now. You ran a stressed hand through your hair before turning to him and saying sternly,
"You are going to sleep on my bed and let the potion run its course. Do. Not. Leave. This. Room. Got it?"
Tim looked confused, but what does he know about magical potions? If you say let it work through him, he'll follow instructions. He sat on your bed and then it hit him.
"Woah, what the hell did you do to me? Were you trying to lace Jason with something?"
You frowned and physically pushed him onto the bed. You quickly swaddled him like a baby in a sea of blankets.
He can not leave this room. Bruce would murder you. You were supposed to be the good one. The only one who caused no problems (to their knowledge).
"Tim, look at me."
Tim did not, in fact, look at you. He was distracted by all the plants you have in your room. Did someone drop off more plants in the time he's last been in here?
"Did you get more plants?"
You huffed. You didn't. They have only grown since he's been snooping in your room. You tried to get his attention by snapping your fingers and calling his name,
"Tim?"
When he continued to look around with rapidly reddening eyes, you squished his face in your hand and forcefully pushed his face until it faced you.
"Tim, you are going to sleep. I'm going to play some music for you and we are going to forget all about this when you feel better."
You can make a potion to erase recent memories. Tim can't know you are making drugs in your room. Nobody can know except Jason.
You decided to turn on some calming music in hopes he would drift off, which seemed to be working as his eyes drooped, and he smiled at you like he knew something you didn't. He was lost in his thoughts, clearly.
You wondered what was going on in that big brain of his. It didn't matter. He can blaze in blissful peace while you deal with his mess.
You kept the music quiet and soft like he was at a spa. You hoped the combined warmth of the blankets with the soft music would work faster.
With a sigh, you stood up from your position at his bedside. This is not good. Tim needs to learn when to leave your stuff alone. What if you boiled his blood or poisoned him? It's best to leave the witchcraft to the witch.
You watched him like a hawk. His thoughts seemed to be slowed and sluggish. You supposed you can bottle your potion after all. Should you put a dropper on it? Normally, your potions soak through the skin and clothes, but you were extremely careful with this one.
You gave his forehead a small kiss once he fell asleep. You went to your bottles while shaking your head in disapproval. You were very happy with the results of the potion, not so much with the tester. You would hate to think about what could have happened if you didn't swaddle him. Would he be walking around high and babbling about funny potions? Probably. He was already hallucinating pleasantly by the time he passed out.
You were so lucky that Tim didn't get the potentially dangerous symptoms. You can handle a mellowed out Tim, but not if he was going through psychosis.
After successfully bottling and hiding the potion, you pulled out one of your memory potions.
You felt bad drugging him then making him forget about it, but you can't have him telling anybody, whether accidentally or purposefully.
You know you could just tell Bruce that Tim touched a memory potion on your burner, and he'd believe you, but why draw in the eyes of Batman? He would want to know about all future potion making.
You frowned as you put one drop on his forehead and watched it sink in. He won't remember any of this.
You were a bit overprepared, but you were Batman and Constantine trained. Of course you'd have some weaselly way out of accidentally drugging someone.
Oh, John would be so proud of you.
322 notes · View notes
fluff-lover · 2 months ago
Text
Healing Touch | Chapter 3: Love is a battlefield
Tumblr media
Logan Howlett x fem!Reader
Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.
Warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, mentions of torture and kidnapping. Blood. Nightmare and PTSD. Alex “Havok” Summers being an ass, does that count as a warning?
Masterlist
Charles caught wind of one of Stryker’s bases. While the Sergeant  in question was long gone, his plans were carried on by his followers, and some mutants were still being experimented on. That’s how you found yourself in one of the team’s missions. It wasn’t your first, but you still got nervous and you doubted that would ever change.
Ororo flew the X-Jet to the destination while the rest of you got ready, making sure your intercoms worked.
There weren’t many things that scared Logan, but flying was one of the few. You remembered being a bit surprised by this when you went on your first mission. Now you made a note to always sit next to him so you could help him.
“Are you okay?” You whispered, leaning in closer so others wouldn’t hear you. “You look a little bit… green.”
Logan grumbled.
“I think my breakfast didn’t sit right with me.” He lied.
You smiled and offered him your hand.
“Let me help…”
Logan took your hand and he instantly felt better. You took away both his nausea and his anxiety with just one touch. Logan closed his eyes in relief and rested his head back on the seat.
“Better?” You asked.
“Mhmm… You’re a miracle worker.” He said. Just as you tried to pull your hand away, Logan tightened his grip. “We still have a long way to go. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” He reasoned and you felt your face getting warm. Your hand stayed in his for the rest of the flight.
When the jet landed, everyone took their positions. The stronger X-Men would descend first and clear up the path, taking down any threat. Logan, Scott, Hank and others like Havok and Bobby were part of this group. Then came the second group: Jean and Ororo would free the mutants that were being experimented on. And finally, the last group: you and Kurt were there to get the mutants out safely.
Of course, the first one to get out of the jet was Logan. Not only he couldn’t wait to get out of there, but he was always ready to go head first into a fight. You knew he could heal quickly from any wound, you’ve seen it happen yourself, but that didn’t make you worry about him any less. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to get your head in the game. You had to stay focused in case anyone needed you.
The first group went into the base, clearing it from any soldiers and mutants that worked for Striker. Once there was a clear path, the rest of you made your move. The place was a maze, but thanks to Jean’s powers, she could sense where the prisoners were, and she knew where to go.
It didn’t take long before you found a big room filled with cages.
“Oh god…” Ororo said in despair when she saw kids trapped in those cages.
Jean quickly got to work: using her power she moved the inner parts of the locks and opened them.
One by one you started getting the kids out.
Some of them had gone through literal torture and were wounded or in pain, so you got to work right away, healing them while Kurt took the healthy ones to the jet.
“Place is clear, we got them all.” Jean said as Kurt took the last child.
“My turn.” Ororo said, her eyes turning white. She raised her hands and a could formed on the roof. A lightning bolt struck the controller next to the cages and destroyed it completely. “No mutant will ever be kept here against their will.” She said.
“Angel,” You heard Scott calling through the coms. “Alex got shot, he needs your help.” He said.
“Where is he?” You asked as you picked up your pace.
“We already took him to the jet.”
Rushing back to the X-Jet you saw Scott and Logan standing by the ramp, waiting for you and keeping watch if necessary. Inside the jet, laying on the floor, was Scott’s brother Alex, with a massive blood stain on his suit.
“Hey there, gorgeous.” The young mutant said through a strained voice. “If I had known this is what it would take to get your attention, I would’ve gotten shot a long time ago.” He joked. It was no secret that Alex had been flirting with you since you arrived to the mansion.
“That’s not funny.” You said before placing your hands on his wound and healing him.
“I agree.” Scott grumbled to his brother.
“Can’t blame me for trying.” Alex said with a shrug. When you pulled your hands away, the bullet wound was gone. “You’re a godsend, aren’t you?” He smiled.
“I bet you say that to all girls.” You joked.
“Only to the pretty ones.” Alex winked and you scoffed.
“Watch it, Havok.” Logan said. “Or I’ll give you another hole for her to heal.” He threatened before turning around and walking back to his seat.
“Fine by me!” Alex said before getting up.
Logan sat down and crossed his arms on his chest, feeling a heaviness in his stomach that made him sick.
It wasn’t a new, unknown sensation. He knew what this feeling was, the very same he felt every time he saw Jean with Scott: it was jealousy. What he didn’t know was why. Why was he feeling this way?
First Scott with Jean, and now Alex with you. What was up with the Summer brothers that always annoyed him? He didn’t have any claim over you -to be fair, he didn’t have a claim on Jean either- but it still bothered him.
Logan told himself he just didn’t like the way Alex acted around you because you were too shy for that type of interaction, when the flirting was so on the nose.
The jet took off and Logan finally snapped out of his thoughts. The seat next to him was empty and he quickly got worried. Looking across the jet he expected to see you with Alex, but instead he found you sitting with the children you just rescued. There was a little girl sitting on your lap, your arms wrapped around her as you soothed her.
Something in Logan softened. 
The kids were in good hands.
When the X-Jet finally landed, everyone got off and started guiding the children to the mansion. Logan stayed behind to smoke. After lighting his cigar, he looked at the lighter you gifted him, his thumb caressing the initials you had engraved on it.
“J.L.H.”
“Hey, Howlett!” He heard someone call. Looking over his shoulder he saw Havok approaching him and he couldn’t help but groan.
“What do you want?”
“If you’re not gonna make a move already, then stop hogging her.” Havok said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked.
Havok simply arched an eyebrow.
“First my brother, now me. What, you’re gonna hate our dad for marrying our mom too?”
“The fuck did you just say?” Logan snapped.
“I’m just saying, step aside. She’s a good person, she deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. It’s just hard to get close to her with you lurking around.”
Logan couldn’t deny Alex was right about that. You were a good person, and you did deserve all that. It just irritated him to think that person could be another Summers boy.
“I’m not lurking around, I’m just making sure you don’t creep her out.” Logan mumbled. “I’m her friend. If she’s not interested in you, then that’s her decision.” He said before putting his cigar in his lips and walking away. If this conversation continued, Logan worried it might end with him stabbing the other man.
Logan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he worried sometimes you would find someone to date and would start spending less time with him. He didn’t care that he didn't have many friends, just a handful of loyal ones was enough. But you? You were the one friend he didn’t want to lose. Or to share with other people. You were the only one who seemed to understand what he was going through with Jean. He never figured out who was the guy you told him about -to anyone else it would’ve been obvious it was him- but at least he knew you understood him.
Was it selfish of him to wish you wouldn’t have someone else to spend your time with? Absolutely! But no one ever said he was a saint.
Logan was a selfish man, an imperfect, rought around the edges, too fucked up by the world type of man. Why were you friends with him? He didn’t know, but he was glad.
“Fucking Havok.” He mumbled, annoyed for letting the other mutant get to his head.
Maybe it was time to stop lying to himself. As much as he loved Jean, he was growing fond of you, in more than just a friendly way. You were kind, beautiful, smart, selfless and you put up with his crap.
But after Jean, Logan wasn’t ready to open his heart to someone else. The disappointment was too big, he doubted he could go through that again.
-
The sun came down and the new kids were settling in. It would take them some time to adjust, but at least now they were safe.
Some of them were so young they hadn’t even shown their powers. They were just assumed to be mutants because of their parents. The fact that people would experiment on children, trying to trigger their mutations for their own gain, made your heart ache.
You were lost in thoughts, jaw clenched and fingers digging on your thighs when Logan found you that night. You were sitting on the couch, there was a movie playing on the TV but you weren’t paying any attention to it.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here? It’s late…” He said, sitting down next to you. You quickly wiped away some unshed tears and shook your head.
“Can’t sleep.” You mumbled. “Today was tough.”
Logan nodded.
“I know. But you did very well out there, bub.” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You were amazing in the mission, and look at all the kids you helped today.”
You sighed and leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. There was something so comforting about being with him. While most people feared him and saw him as a threat, you saw him as your protector.
“I know, it’s just…”
“Just what, sweetheart?”
You looked up at him and the sadness in your eyes and the quiver in your lips felt like a punch to his guts.
“Why do people do this, Logan? Why do humans hunt mutants down? Especially children…” You closed your eyes and sighed. “They say we’re monsters, yet they’re the ones doing monstrous things.”
Logan pulled you closer and rubbed your arm up and down.
“Because they're afraid of us. People are afraid of what they don’t understand.” 
You pursed your lips and hummed.
“That’s not an excuse to hurt children.”
“No, it’s not. But people are fucked up, and they do fucked up things.” 
“I guess there’s no point in asking these questions. All we can do is help as many people as we can.” You said.
“You’re already doing a lot.” He reassured him.
“Wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked softly.
Logan raised his eyebrows.
“You sure you don’t want to go to bed? It’s late…”
“Are YOU going to sleep?” You asked, knowing he rarely ever slept himself. When he didn’t reply you chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” You said before picking up the remote control.
But you fell asleep almost instantly. Safely tucked against Logan’s side and under his arm, you couldn’t help but relax, and the exhaustion from that day finally got to you.
There was no better place in the world to fall asleep on: by his side.
Logan stayed awake a bit longer. First he tried to focus on the movie, but eventually moved on to watching you. He never had the opportunity of looking at you so closely before. Now he could see every freckle on your face, every little eyelash on your eyelids, the rise and fall of your chest with every breath.
There was a little tug in his chest.
Have you always been this beautiful? 
Logan wasn’t blind, he noticed your beauty when he saw you for the first time, dancing with Charles in his office. Your kindness and selflessness also added to your appeal. Having grown closer to you and spending time together, Logan had no doubt in his mind that you were one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet.
But this was different. This was the kind of beauty that had his fingers itching to touch you, to run the pads down your cheek and across your lips. His hand flexed as he tried to stop himself. Instead he tilted his head and pressed his lips against your forehead. Your shampoo’s scent filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.
You mumbled in your sleep and nuzzled his shoulder, making him freeze. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he stayed as still as he could.
-
The needles piercing his bones caused excruciating pain. His muscles twitched, his heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping through his body. There was nowhere to go, he was locked in the glass box filled with water, machinery attached to him. He could hear Stryker’s voice, though it was muffled by the water.
“Logan?”
He turned his head but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The machines around him lit a red light, warning signs flashing on the screens.
“Logan.”
The adamantium filled his body, causing him to scream against his airmask. His body convulsed in the box pulling away from the needles, tearing everything off of him.
“Wake up.”
Logan jumped from the box, glass shattering and scattering everywhere. He screamed out of pain and confusion as Stryker’s men rushed to him with their guns.
SNIKT!
“LOGAN!”
Logan snapped out of his dream and found himself back in the mansion, back on the couch where he fell asleep.
And what he saw was horrible.
You were kneeling above him while his claws were deep inside your chest. Blood ran down his hands and arms as he held you up, basically impaled by his claws.
His pained mumbles and thrashing against the couch had woken you up. You tried to wake him up by shaking his shoulder gently and calling out his name. Never in a million years you would’ve guessed he would hurt you.
“Lo- Logan.” You cried, blood dripping from your mouth. Logan quickly retracted his claws, and when he did you slumped forward, landing on top of him. He lifted you up, his panic finally making its presence known.
“No! No no no no no no!” He turned you over and laid you on the couch. “Fuck, no! Please! Please don’t!”
“It’s okay.” You managed to say before taking his hand. But he wouldn’t listen.
“Hank! Jean! Anyone! Please, help!” He cried.
“Logan, look. Look at me.” You said before placing a hand on his face and forcing him to look at you.
“I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m so sorry, Angel!”
“Logan, stop.” You said taking his other hand. “I’ll be okay. I’m healing already.”
Other X-Men started filling the room in a panic.
“What happened?” Jean asked.
“Who did this? Are we under attack?” Scott said following closely behind.
“Keep pressure on the wound.” Suddenly Hank stood next to Logan and pushed him away to press his hands on your chest. “Ororo, go to the lab and get two units of O negative ready.”
“Stop. Stop!” You said pushing his hands away and sitting up on the couch. “Don’t waste it.” You said and lifted your shirt. Right underneath your bra were three claw marks. You had to wipe the blood away before Hank could see the marks looked like old scars. “It’s over.” You said. “I’m fine. I’m fine…” You looked around the room, confused. “Where’s Logan?”
He was gone.
235 notes · View notes
docdudo · 3 months ago
Note
Hi!! I want to start by saying I absolutely love your writing! It’s great writing and is pretty good for me to understand (English isn’t my first language).
I just wanted to ask, How do you think poly hybrid 141 would react to adopted reader getting sick?? And I mean really sick, like a good case of the flu that takes a whole week, like 7 days and antibiotics to go away??
I could see them being so worried and stressed, taking her to doctors and everything because they get better in 24-48 hours with their fancy strong immune systems! I also wonder if adopted reader would be confused by going to the doctors, because if anything happend while in previous foster homes, she was told to just figure it out and get better on her own.
You are right about one thing: hybrids have a better immune system than humans do!
Humans are considered weak and frail in every sense of the word. That includes their health. In fact, a human's health is so discussed that specialists from other races all study the human body constantly so they would be able to treat one, would they ever needed it.
(Because of the lack of total humans on this universe, it's rare to find a human doctor, for example. So, other races have to cover for them in a lot of different fields. There are programs and organizations in this world that entierelly foucused on making sure the few humans that exist would get the care they need. So, for example, if you are a doctor and also specialize on taking care of humans beside some other race, you would probably be paid more by the governement).
Now, little reader getting sick? Like, really sick? Yeah, that house is turning upside down. As hybrids, the whole 141 pride themselves on being good caretakers and providers. They also know how much more frail humans are compared to them.
But know is different from experiencing.
Little reader would start off with the typical signs of the flu. Stuffy nose, throat a bit sore, a sluggish body. All that. But, as we all know, it's very quick for sickness to develop. And in the spam of a night, little reader is waking up with a high fever and a weak, useless body.
The 141 would notice almost immediatly. They can smell how sick you are, even from your room. That weird, almost sour smell that we can usually smell when we blow our nose.
Before you know it, you would probably be in Price's or Soap's arms, surronded by their warmth, hearing their cooed words that make zero to almost no sense to your sick and hazy mind.
And at first, they are very much panicking. They are calling the rest of their pack while cooing and conforting you, Laswell being the one to tell them to immediatly take you to the doctor.
And they do, everyone going on the car together, because if one of them had anything to do that day, it's immediatly getting canceled. They would still hold you close, on their laps, and every single one of them are cooing quietly at you. Even Ghost. Tho his "cooing" sounds more like his normal voice, just extra quiet and gentler than usual.
And it's true, you're not that used to going to the doctor. You usually never get that sick, and as a foster kid, it just doesn't happen often.
But, you were feeling pretty hazy, mind clouded and feverish. You barely remember going that first time to the doctor with them.
You barely remember the kind doctor that was trying his best to easy your foster parents' worries, and all the examination he did on you, even if you couldnt cooperate much with how confused you were.
You certainly got treated at the hospital and monitored until your fever came down a bit. After that, they send you back home with your parents, who had gotten a lot of new instructions and medicines to properly take care of you at home.
You took almost a full week to finally start getting better.
They would't let you sleep in your room anymore, since you got sick, you had been sleeping on their shared nest, with them. They would constantly check on your breathing and heartbeats, and would even feed you themselves and make sure you were plenty hydrated.
And even after you got better, they would still be extra careful and overbearing for a little while longer.
You can be sure that they would be taking extra measures now so that you never get sick again.
393 notes · View notes
loveinhawkins · 10 months ago
Text
ao3
A gnawing sense of foreboding creeps up on Steve as they head to Eddie’s trailer, armed with weapons.
He tries to outrun it through action: ensuring he’s the first one to go through the Gate; jumping back and forth between The Upside Down and their world whenever someone forgets something, “It’s okay, I’ve got it!”; triple checking that the cables for Eddie’s amps are long enough; searching for the slightest thing than seizing upon it with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate, “Hey, we could use this, right? Better take it, just in case.”
But that only works for so long, and then Steve’s just standing in Eddie’s kitchen, the real one, staring blankly at the cupboards, all out of distractions.
Out of time.
He hears a grunt of exertion behind him, then an unsteady landing, a muffled curse. Eddie.
“Jesus Christ, Steve. Wanted to fit your aerobics routine in?”
He’s teasing, so light-hearted despite it all; Steve can’t stand it.
Keeps his back turned, gut twisting, opening the cupboards then slamming them shut, thump, thump. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He never has.
“Uh, so I was thinking,” Eddie continues, like Steve’s not doing anything weird, “that I could stretch out the, um, the song? My playing? Could buy you some more time, anyway.”
“Sure, great,” Steve says shortly.
He thinks—with a numb kind of calm—that he’s going to be sick.
He gets to the bathroom, tries to shut the door, but his grip slips on the handle.
Turns on the faucet, scoops cold water from his hands into his mouth, and it helps until it doesn’t, until he’s almost choking on it, and he’s been here before, the feeling familiar: a shadow looming over him, just waiting, waiting, and he knows it’ll pass, it always does, but he can’t stop thinking of Robin, it might not work out for us this time, and what if, what if—
He can hear Eddie knocking on the doorframe, just out of view—as if he’d seen Steve’s failed attempt at shutting the door and wanted to respect it.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Then Eddie mutters to himself, “Obviously not, get a fucking clue.”
Steve’s laugh is strangled but real. He wipes his mouth dry and shuts off the water.
“You don’t need to talk to a wall, dude,” he says.
And Eddie steps into view, leans against the open door. His eyes flicker across Steve’s face, and Steve doesn’t want to know what he’s noticed, so when Eddie opens his mouth hesitantly, he speaks first.
“We should—they’re gonna wonder where we are.”
Eddie pauses on the verge of speech; Steve watches him reevaluate whatever he was going to say.
“Well,” Eddie says, gesturing to the bathroom, matter-of-fact, “we could be peeing.”
Steve manages a chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”
Eddie grins like he’s saying yup, that’s me, like he’s won a prize.
Steve has seen him wear something close to that expression not even an hour ago: when the kids had started a line to use the bathroom in the RV, and Eddie had snorted, giggled with a childish kind of delight, “You—ha! You all look like you’re on a field trip,” before joining the line himself—calling out that he hoped their plan accounted for bathroom breaks because, “There’s no way I’m pissing in the alternate dimension,” and that had made Nancy break, laughing in a way Steve was certain he hadn’t heard since ‘83.
Eddie steps into the room and shuts the door quietly. Steve gets why: his breathing’s still all wrong, and if Dustin happened to see him, he doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself.
“Sorry.” Steve sucks in a breath, tries to hold it. Loses it in an exhale that shudders at the edges. He speaks through the tail end of it, hoping that’s enough to conceal the sound, “Gimme, like, two minutes.”
“Make it ten,” Eddie says.
The way he says it makes it seem like it’s already a done deal; he must’ve spoken to Robin and Nancy before he tumbled through the Gate.
Despite himself, Steve feels a wave of relief: just for a little while, he has time; it overpowers the shame, leaves him sinking down to sit on the closed toilet seat.
He closes his eyes, just breathes. In… out… in…
He doesn’t realise that Eddie’s sitting down, too, until he hears the clunk of his boots, the rustle of clothing as he moves.
“Sorry,” Steve says again, and it annoyingly still comes out a little shaky, like he’s in the pool and he’s left it too long to snatch a breath. “You can go back, man, I’ll… I’ll be right there.”
He opens his eyes to see Eddie shaking his head, sat with his back against the bathtub.
“Stop apologising,” Eddie says, and then it’s as if the seriousness of it is too much for him, because he adds, with a self-deprecating smile that Steve hates, “I get it. You’re walking into the dragon’s lair, I’m just putting on a concert.”
“Don’t,” Steve says, and he doesn’t intend for the word to come out as sharp as it does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he means it. He means it.
Eddie’s smile fades.
“Don’t,” Steve repeats, quieter. Not quite an apology.
Slowly, he moves off the toilet seat, until he’s sat next to Eddie. There’s just enough space that they don’t need to touch, but Steve presses his shoulder against Eddie’s anyway, like he can somehow pass on everything he means through that alone.
Eddie sighs, presses back for just a second. “Don’t what?” he asks. He sounds tired all of a sudden.
“Don’t—don’t joke like that,” Steve says. “Like you’re not—” He swallows. “Like it’s not dangerous.”
There’s a pause. Eddie reaches across and puts a hand on Steve’s knee. Squeezes briefly and pulls back; already Steve finds that he misses the warmth of him.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Eddie says. There’s no joke in this, not a trace. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to Dustin.” Another smile. Gentle. “Swear on his mother.”
I’m not worried about that, Steve wants to say, but of course that’s not true; he’s tried hard not to look at Dustin directly ever since they arrived at the trailer, because his throat would start to close up alarmingly whenever his gaze lingered, and he knows the kid’s doing that whole semi-aloof teenager thing lately, but a part of him still wants to hold him tight and never let go.
It’s more that the shape of Steve’s worry is different to what he thinks Eddie’s imagining, covers more than Dustin’s safety alone—that the cold dread in his stomach brings him back to the tunnels in ‘84; to clutching Dustin, who was so small, Steve desperately trying to shield him with his own body, thinking the kid’s thirteen, only thirteen, this isn’t fucking fair; and that if this had to end one way, all he could do was pray that he’d be the only one to…
And Steve hadn’t wanted to die, but he was suddenly facing it anyway, and Christ, looking back at it, that was crazy, the whole damn thing was crazy, but it all made a twisted kind of sense at the time.
Eddie must spot that his train of thought’s gone down a dark alley because he knocks their knees together, but he doesn’t say anything. Just breathes, slumped against the bathtub; it’s probably the first time he’s been still—truly still—in a long while.
He must be exhausted, Steve thinks.
The gnawing feeling digs in, grips his heart.
“I can hear you thinking,” Eddie says quietly. “Listen, Steve, I know I’m new to, uh… all of this shit, but I’m on it, okay? Got it all up in here,” he taps the side of his head, “trust me—”
That’s not what—I trust you, of fucking course I do, but—
“—no deviations, and—”
“Plans change,” Steve says, and he hears himself, the calm decisiveness, just get ready; Dustin’s scream carrying across the junkyard, Steve, abort, abort! “Just… just promise me.”
“Promise you?” Eddie murmurs.
Steve feels the words on his tongue, the weight of them. Don’t do anything stupid. 
He swallows them down—afraid suddenly that if he really puts a name to it, it’s going to happen.
Fuck it, he’s exhausted too, and for a long moment he evades speaking: gingerly rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Feels his body heat, the swell of his breathing.
Eddie doesn’t tense up, just lets him rest there. 
If I kissed you, Steve thinks, drained, would you stay?
He doesn’t say it. Instead he lifts his head and asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Eddie chuckles. They’re still so close, Steve can feel his amused sigh.
“Tomorrow? I’ve not really… like, hopefully I’m not in jail. Anything else is a bonus.”
“We’ll fix it,” Steve says fiercely. “Trust me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Eddie says, grinning fondly, but he sounds genuine. “Shit, man, I think you could do anything.” He gestures outside. “Got the fucking dream team out there.”
“We solved a secret Russian code last summer.”
Eddie laughs. “Did you?” His eyes sparkle with mirth.
You’re beautiful.
“Gospel truth, I swear,” Steve says. He tries to stay light, but he makes the vow anyway. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
I have so much to tell you.
They stand up, and Steve doesn’t know who’s the first one to move—just that they both probably sensed the time dwindling.
And maybe it’s that, the inescapable thought that something’s coming to an end that does it. Steve doesn’t know for sure, just knows that his eyes are burning suddenly—mortifyingly—with tears. He looks up at the ceiling, hurriedly trying to push them back, but Eddie notices anyway.
“Steve, what is it?” he whispers, with a look of utter devastation.
Steve shakes his head. “Just being stupid,” he says, voice brittle, cutting himself off before he can say something ridiculous.
God, Eddie, let’s just stay here and grow old.
“You’re not stupid,” Eddie says, heartfelt—he stops just short of touching Steve; he clearly wants to help so badly, but he doesn’t know how.
Steve wants to tell him it’s fine. He doesn’t know either.
Maybe nothing can help this.
They leave for the Gate in unspoken agreement; at first Steve finds comfort in the sight of Eddie dangling on the rope, not quite in either world. Like every possibility is laid out before him.
I’ll tell you tomorrow.
But there’s a near imperceptible shift as Eddie keeps climbing, and Steve needs to look away, anything to avoid the pit in his stomach: the suspicion that the path’s already been chosen.
464 notes · View notes
watermelonlovershigh · 1 year ago
Text
"Y/n, I really want a baby!" /blurb/
AN: i started writing this the same day Gemma announced she had a baby but you know me, i'm a slow writer and proofreader. so sorry it took me a few days to have it finished and posted. hope you enjoy and make sure to leave your feedback. xoxo
This story contains: talks of wanting a baby, heavy persuasion, small smut scene, breeding kink maybe?
{ husbandrry - soft!harry - uncle!harry - current harry era }
word count- 1,484
After the pregnancy announcement of Harry's older sister Gemma, Harry has become sick with the case of baby fever and tries to convince you over and over to start having children now rather then later.
Tumblr media
Ever since Harry has become an uncle to his sister Gemma's new little baby girl, he's had massive baby fever. And it's not like you're opposed to having a baby with Harry. Of course you want a baby with your husband of a year, boyfriend of nearly eight years. But your original plan was to wait for another year or two and that's what you were hoping to stick to. But Harry is mighty convincing.
------------------------
Gemma had invited you and Harry over to her little house back in Holmes Chapel that she shares with her long time boyfriend, Michal. Harry's been finished touring for about a month now so you had a bunch of free time to make the drive up there. When you arrived, you got the sense something was up. There was this sneakiness in the air that you couldn't ignore.
But that all ended after your dinner, as you sat on Gemma's nice plush couch, when she looks to you and then to Harry before blurting out, "We're having a baby."
Harry's eyes nearly bug out his head and he shouts, "What! Oh My God!!" He stood up from his spot on the couch as Gemma shook her head yes and walked over towards her, giving his big sister a big, warm hug. You allowed the brother - sister duo to have a moment before also standing up.
Once Gemma parted from the hug she had with her baby brother, because Harry never breaks hugs first, she reaches out to embrace you in a hug. "Oh My God, congratulations. To you both. I'm so excited for you guys."
Gemma whispers a, "Thank you." in your left ear before stepping back again.
After giving Michal a quick hug as well, Harry questions, "Wait, does Mum know?" His face is still in complete shock.
Gemma nods and responds, "Yeah, she was the second person I told. First being Michal of course. "
You each sit down again and continue the conversation, "I bet Anne sobbed when you told her."
Giggling, Gemma replies, "Oh yes. She first shouted in surprise, quite like Harry did, then cried. It was adorable and sweet."
----
Later that night on your drive back home to London, you look over to the driver's seat and notice Harry has tears in his eyes. You can only see that in the dark because the street lights are reflecting off his shiny eyes. Quietly, you coo, "Harry, what's wrong? Why are your eyes all watery?"
He turns his head to look at you quickly before watching the road again, then answering, "S'just, m'so happy for Gemma. M'gonna be an uncle. But then it got me thinkin', one day m'gonna be a dad and m'gonna get to hold our small baby and care for it and love on it. They get to call me dad. Y/n, I really want a baby." After saying that last sentence, Harry lets a full blown sob come out. One that you debate whether or not to have him pull over because you don't want him to crash the car.
"Oh baby," you say in a gentle tone, reaching over the center console to run your hand soothingly up and down his arm, "it's okay. You're gonna be the best uncle to your niece or nephew and the best dad to our kids one day."
"But what if I don't want to wait for one day? What if I want kids now? Y/n, can we start tryin' for a baby?"
You giggle at his eagerness and respond, "We said another year or two, remember. But I'll consider bringing the wait time lower. Just let me have time to think on it.
------------------------
A couple weeks have gone by since Harry found out he was gonna be an uncle and his baby fever has yet to go away. You haven't gave him an answer on whether or not you want to start trying right now and Harry hasn't brought it back up either. He didn't want to bother or pressure you with answering such a big question. But, he has been bringing more persuasive hints your way.
For instance, the other day you were walking in the park and Harry spotted a little girl running up into her daddy's arms. Harry gets your attention at the sight and whispers, "Can you imagine, our little girl or boy runnin' into my arms? Where they know they'll be safe and loved. Of course your arms too but them feelin' love from their daddy is somethin' extra special."
And the imagine of that does get your ovaries tingling, you can't lie. Just picturing your child running into Harry's arms after a day at school, or after getting a little scrape on the knee, or when someone was being rude to them on the playground. Knowing their daddy will love and keep them safe. Ugh, maybe you do want a baby now.
Another time Harry has shown his baby fever recently is in bed. Right now you're on birth control so you still get to have raw sex and Harry takes advantage of that. Whispering in your ear while making love, "Gonna put a baby inside of you. Fill you up with my cum and give you all the babies in the world."
You breathed out while holding his body closer to yours, "You know I'm..... I'm on birth control, right?"
"Don't remind me. Let me just pretend, alright." Harry mutters while thrusting in to you with love and care. Obviously he knows you're on birth control and he'd never interfere with your medication knowing it's something you requested to be on for the time being. But that doesn't mean he can't pretend he's knocking you up.
And it's something Harry does, not just that time but several times following. Really every time you have sex after Gemma's pregnancy announcement where he got baby fever.
------------------------
What the final straw was to make you want kids now rather than wait until later was when Harry's niece was born and you saw Harry interact with her for the first time. A day after Gemma had given birth, she allowed you and Harry to come visit. Anne had visited first, obviously since she's the mum and grandma, but next it was you two.
When you walked into the hospital room filled with pink balloons and flowers, you saw Gemma propped up in bed with her baby cuddled to her chest. Michal sitting next to the bed in a chair. Gemma waves you both over and asks Michal to grab the baby from her arms and hand her to one of you. (you and harry washed your hands before entering the hospital room) He offers the baby to you first but you shake your head no and say, "Let Harry hold her first."
Michal hands over his baby girl to Harry and it's like some kind of instinct comes forth with how natural he makes it look holding a day old baby. Looking down at the small baby in his arms, Harry coos shakily, clear emotions in his voice, "Oh My God, Gemma, she's beautiful. So small and delicate."
The view in front of you was the best sight you think you've ever seen. Your husband holding his baby niece for the first time. And now all you can picture is you in that hospital bed, looking over at Harry but instead of his niece, he's holding your baby. The one you created together with the love you made. Maybe even doing some skin to skin contact.
----
On your drive back home from the hospital, you blurt out, "Harry, I want a baby. Like right now." Harry nearly crashes the vehical. He has to actually pull over so he can make sure he heard you correctly.
"Y/n, what'd you say?"
"You heard me correctly, H. I want a baby right now. Not in a year or two. Seeing you with your niece today did something to me. Made my ovaries flutter and this big desire to see you holding our baby. A baby we made together." you explain softly.
Not thinking twice, Harry surges forward and crashes his lips to your. One hand cradles your face while the other settles on your thigh over the center console. Then breaking away to catch his breath, Harry smiles wide and speaks, "Yeah, you wanna make a baby together? When we get home m'gonna stuff you full of m'cum and get you so fuckin' pregnant."
His words turn you on beyond belief. And though you took your birth control this morning, you know tomorrow you're flushing the rest down the toilet. Harry knows the likelihood of getting you pregnant tonight is unlikely because you took your birth control today, but that isn't going to stop him from fucking you until his seed eventually sticks. Whether that takes days, months, or years.
(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)
(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )
tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran
 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithhrry  // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey
______________
My Masterlist Masterpost
508 notes · View notes
navybrat817 · 2 years ago
Note
Tumblr media
A little steam to power you through your Monday?
I barely made it, but I will take him. And a little something because I appreciate you.
Strike a Pose
Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You get a front row seat to your roommate's latest photoshoot, which happens to feature your boyfriend.
Word Count: Over 1k
Warnings: K-I-S-S-I-N-G, college AU, nicknames, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)
A/N: A little more Titan and Starshine that no one asked for!❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Tumblr media
You were a bit surprised when your roommate, Roxy, messaged you to come to her recent photoshoot. A photography major who captured exquisite images, she was hardly ever without her camera. But she typically didn't ask you to show up for a session unless she specifically told you she planned to take photos of you. She hadn't in this case. She also ambushed you at the door of the studio and you wondered what was going on.
"Is everything okay?" you asked as she ushered you inside. 
"Just fine, but wait. Before you go any further," she replied, stopping you before you could take another step. "Did you talk to Bucky this afternoon?"
You raised an eyebrow and tried to get a read on why she was asking. You didn't go a day without talking to him and it still made you giddy that he usually reached out first. "Yeah, we're supposed to meet up in an hour. Why?"
"You know how I'm doing an athletic spread for my next project?" she asked before you nodded. "Well, one of my 'models' got sick today and I bumped into Steve and I asked if he wouldn't mind me taking some photos of him and he also suggested Bucky and-"
"They both agreed?" you guessed. It made sense that she asked. Steve and Bucky, especially with his boxing background, were both in amazing shape and certainly had the looks of models.
"They did. Steve should be here in a bit, so it's just Bucky and I for now."
You didn't feel a surge of jealousy or nervousness. There was no reason for it. "Unless you're hitting on Bucky, I don't see what the problem is," you teased. You trusted them and hoped you hadn't given either of them a reason to think you didn't.
"Hey! I take offense to that. I know he is your man and we both want you here," she huffed, making your heart flutter. Bucky Barnes was your guy. "He keeps looking at the door to make sure you're coming. He's down so bad for you."
That made your heart beat faster. He was waiting for you? "I was kidding about you hitting on him. I know you wouldn't do that," you assured her. You didn't want to hurt her feelings with a bad joke.
She flashed you a huge grin after a moment. "I know you were kidding. I was just giving you shit," she teased. Of course she was. "But speaking of your man, it is my duty as your roommate and friend to prepare you as much as I can: He's going to ruin your panties. I'm not kidding. Soaked. And it's only fair that as his girlfriend you should witness him in his glory before the film develops."
You almost sputtered as she practically dragged you further into the studio. "You act like I haven't seen Bucky... Fuck. Me."
"Right here, Starshine? I'm game if you are," Bucky winked.
Your boyfriend sat in the middle of the room surrounded by steam, looking the part of a young, modern king. It was unbelievable how he looked so commanding and he wasn't standing. Was it the sleeveless shirt that accentuated his muscular arms or the way.the light made his brown hair shine? Or was it confidence in his blue eyes as he unashamedly looked you up and down?
The whole package.
"Told you. Soaked panties," your roommate said as she checked her camera. "And for the record, I haven't seen Bucky fuck you, but if he keeps eye-fucking you like that, I just might."
"I can't help myself," Bucky said, licking his lips as he beckoned you closer with his finger. Your feet moved forward on their own accord. "She should be the one being photographed."
Your stomach did a funny flip. While you wouldn't say you lacked confidence, you wouldn't call yourself glamorous either. "I'm no model," you protested. 
"You could be," he said, taking your hand the second you were close enough. "You're so beautiful and I don't have enough pictures of you. It isn't fair. You're depriving me."
"You're ridiculous," you giggled before he pulled you into his lap. "This is an athletic photoshoot."
"Should we show her how you can put your legs behind your-"
"No!" you giggled more. 
"Okay," he chuckled, bumping his nose against yours. "But you really could be a model if you wanted to. Or maybe a ring girl."
"You'd let me walk around the ring in a bathing suit with no objection?" you asked, knowing Bucky would support you if you really wanted to. Lucky for you, he was the right kind of possessive boyfriend. He treated you with respect instead of like an object. 
"I would because I know you're leaving with me at the end of the night, Starshine," he said.
"Whatever you say, Titan."
You inhaled when he gripped your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. Your cheeks were so hot you were shocked you didn't burst into flames. You could try and blame it on the steam, but it was all him. 
Your Titan.
"Wait! Hold that pose!" Roxy ordered. "Ahh! This might be my best shoot yet!"
With Bucky as her model, you knew it would be. 
You paid no attention to the camera going off as you continued to gaze at Bucky. Beneath the flirty surface was tenderness in his eyes, a private moment amongst the flashing lights. Maybe you could get Roxy to make a couple of copies of the photos. One set for you and one set for him. 
"Now KISS!"  
And there was no hesitation when Bucky surged forward, capturing your lips in a devouring kiss. You moaned softly as he moved his tongue with yours in a heated dance, having to remind yourself that the two of you weren't alone. There was no way for you not to crave him though. 
Isn't that part of what young love is all about?
Except you hadn't said that word yet. 
Soon.
Tumblr media
Oh, these two. More of them here. 💙 Love and thanks for reading! 💙
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
1K notes · View notes
rwby-encrusted-blog · 8 months ago
Text
Laios: Oh, So these "Grimm" just dissolve away? You can't eat them?
Jaune: UNfortunately no, these things aren't like any other animals on the planet. Nora claims to have took a bite of one once! She said it tasted like Charcoal mixed with blood.
Laios: Hmm. Doesn't sound appetizing. Man, I was hoping to try one of them.
Jaune: Really? Well- I guess eating other kinds of monsters makes sense. Are they any good?\
Laios: Of course - not everything is edible but if you know how to prepare it-
~~~~~
Blake: *Stare*
Izutsumi: *Stare*
~~~~~
Tai: *Avoiding the Elephant in the room* ...
Chilchuck: *Also avoiding the Elephant in the room* ...
Tai: ... You know, I've never really picked up any of the 'Finer' Skills, always been more of a Brawler than anything. I've always thought about learning how to pick locks, just in case I lock my keys in my car or something.
Chilchuck: I ... I could try and Teach you if you'd like?
~~~~~
Ozpin: It's always nice to see a young practitioner of the arts.
Marcille: hey! Just because I'm only 50 doesn't mean I'm young! I'm probably older than you!
Ozpin: Heh. I can assure you, you are not. *Sip*
Marcille: Hey, what's that?
Ozpin: Hot Chocolate. Would you like some?
Marcille: Yes Please!
~~~~~
Senshi: ... When you're plating it up, just spoon the Curry over rice, garnish with a sprig of rosemary, and it's done!
Ren: *Accepting a bowl* Hmm. I never thought of using Eggs like that ... Let alone soft-shelled eggs.
Nora: *Happily taking a bowl* It Smells Delicious! I don't know that I've ever smelled anything so ... Warm?
Senshi: Well, Dig in! Let me know how it Tastes!
*Nom* *Bite*
Ren: ...
Nora: ...
Senshi: What d'ya think? Is it Good?
Ren: *Tearing up* It's ... It's fantastic ...
Nora: *Openly weeping as she horks it down* ITSH SHO GOO!
Ren: The Creaminess, the spice, the fat from the pork ... I Can't believe it ...
Senshi: Well, that's great to hear, but I can't help but notice You're actin' like you've never had a home-cooked meal before!
Ren: The closest Nora's ever gotten was from me. The day we she was fighting for a piece of bread from the garbage. Then My village was attacked, Overrun ... AS far as we know we're the only survivors. I learned how to cook for us using what we had, but it's never ... I've never felt like I had the chance ...
Senshi: ... You were just to kids fending for yourselves?
Nora: *Gulp* I mean, not all the time! We just got sick of oatmeal and gruel and whatever canned pasta was being served and learned to make our own food!
Nora: well ... Ren learned how to cook for us. *Holding out her bowl* More please?
Senshi: Uh, Certainly! *Taking her bowl and filling it*
Senshi: *thinking about what he went through*
Senshi: Hey, you two *He stands to his full height* I Believe that no one Should go Hungry! And the fact the two of you had to go through something so horrible and then have had to scrounge to make something half decent really ticks me Off!
Senshi: I swear that whenever we meet again I'll cook you the tastiest, most nutritional meal I can whip up! You kids have more than earned it with all you've been through!
Nora: *Gasp* Really!
Senshi: Yes, really!
Nora: Thankyouthaknyouthankyou!
Ren: *Finishing his bowl* Thank you very much Sir! And Nora, please slow down, you'll get a stomach ache from eating so fast.
242 notes · View notes
ghost-proofbaby · 2 months ago
Note
Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.
I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne
i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.
and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.
also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.
and you know what? eddie would notice.
make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.
"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."
wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.
but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.
"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.
eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.
he launches himself at wayne.
hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.
eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.
eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.
64 notes · View notes
atleastpleasetelephone · 2 months ago
Text
Little Darling
Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept
It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?
Need to catch up? Go here.
Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.
Word count: 3.2K
TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.
Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 
“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 
She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”
He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”
She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 
“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”
She groans again. “I’ll try.”
She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 
Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn
Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 
“That’s cute.”
“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”
She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”
Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.
“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”
He grumbles again. 
“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”
“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 
She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”
His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.
My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal
She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”
“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”
She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 
He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”
“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”
He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”
“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”
“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”
Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 
He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”
***
When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 
“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 
Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 
“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 
“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”
Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”
“Please.”
He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 
“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”
Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”
Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 
“What?”
She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 
“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 
“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”
She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”
He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”
Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”
She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 
“I’m no good at this.” 
She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 
When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 
“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 
“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”
“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”
She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”
He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”
Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 
“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”
Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 
“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 
“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”
His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 
“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 
“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”
Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”
“Oh. I suppose so.”
“It’s cute though. How much you try.”
He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”
“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 
“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”
Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”
“What are ya callin’ me now?”
She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”
“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”
“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”
***
Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 
“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 
“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 
“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”
“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”
“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”
She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 
“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s’all.”
“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”
Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”
Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”
He puffs up with pride. “I am?”
“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”
He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”
Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 
***
After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 
Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.
“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 
“Hmmm? Why?” 
He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 
“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  
“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”
Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”
“Honey, you’re still sick.”
She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”
She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 
“W-watch?”
“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”
“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”
“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”
She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”
“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”
He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”
She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 
Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.
“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 
He groans. “Yes please.”
She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 
“Honey!”
She giggles. “No?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”
She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”
He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”
Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 
“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”
Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”
She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 
“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 
“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 
“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”
“Mmmm.”
They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 
“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 
He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”
***
Part 10
Taglist:
@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy
54 notes · View notes
ammyamarant · 8 days ago
Text
Kamen Rider Gavv ep 1 thoughts
Just going to watch one episode right now because I need to finish Kabuto and I need to Know what Kabuto has up its sleeve. But, the tl;dr of Gavv: Cute show, I can see how traumatized this poor kid will get by the end
Gavv ep 1
okay so I’m already reminded of W. Wonder if there will be a mentor figure that dies like Soukichi does in the first fucking five minutes of W
oh neat doors. I’ve seen Labyrinth too.
jfc how old is this kid he looks baby
yeet out of a plane and the tinkly “oh this is the world mom is from” music lmao
lbr considering the environment you just escaped from and the way you were happy to be freefalling because you were where your mom is from, I think needing some food is understating it.
"what do you have? Do you eat it?" has the same energy as my "what is gender? do you eat it?" joke
WHAT IS YOUR BODY MADE OF
Karakida I want your jacket. Give
Ah you have no communication skills. Understood
"This isn't a monster case" "So what is it?" "Woman fucking killed her own husband and shh keep your fucking voice down"
"today's harvest" and it looks like bloody organs. Hey I've seen 12 Hour Shift too.
oh you've never been allowed actual food have you
oh goddamn it I can hear Apollo aiming the dodgeball already
my dude. you got a tummy ache then gave birth to something. human women would kill for that to be their normal gestation cycle.
mm, cgi is kinda……………………
"hey now I've been fed actual food and have real energy I can make minions" yeah I mean that makes sense. People get all kinds of bodily processes back once they've been properly fed. Usually takes a while for their body to recover but hey you ain't human so I get it
this kid is so sweet and kind giving obvious main character (yeah I know it's shouma) a place to stay and some sweets to eat.
oh right the street drugs WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HENTAI ASS THING
oh it's just a mouth. Wicked teeth.
Shouma is such a sweetheart
Also ye, I can see why Shouma is enchanted by sweets if his mom never let him have any of the family drugs.
excuse me I need to figure out a way to get into this world and beat down this addict before he hurts this kid
Shouma I would like a full rundown of what you can do because was that super speed and running perpendicular on a vertical surface? My dude? Answers?
Mm, sick monster design
Yeah, the monster and the kid both being like "hey what the fuck" to Shouma is fucking hilarious.
oh fucking ow
your mom turned into a bloody organ thing. Are we sure this isn't just a horror movie?
I feel like these minion things showing up saying "eat gummy!" shouldn't feel as threatening as they do.
OH GOD THE CRYING EYES. I'M HOWLING
"oh with the other one" lmao
I wonder what this show is like on edibles because the bright colours are fun and I had a blast watching Ex-Aid baked. Tho I'd consider that a little too on the nose considering the street drug metaphor of those dark candies
little dudes go somewhere safe that isn't under the fighting feet!
oh interesting so if he gets a lot of battle damage he can repair it by using another minion. Very neat. Wish more "battle damage" was repairable that easily. Looking at you, 3rd Birthday.
oh calling both of them monsters and Shouma just taking it is heartbreaking.
I'm definitely feeling the difference between Takaiwa and whoever the suit actor for Gavv is, but it's more "huh, that's a different way of doing the stunts" than anything bad. I do miss Takaiwa but that's mostly because he's a fucking legend. This guy's doing great, tho.
did… they repurpose the build driver for this?
takaiwa usually stood upright, even for meek characters like Ryotaro, while it seems like this guy's default stance is hunched over. iiiiiiiiiiiiiinteresting. Says a lot about Shouma in this form
okay I was about to say this Rider Kick is lame, but nah, it's pretty good.
Shouma you are sunshine and joy wrapped in ptsd. That's not even a joke I know you're fucking riddled with ptsd from just your memories of your mother alone
Shouma you are not Eiji stop being a hobo
Cute show.
33 notes · View notes
your-unfriendlyghost · 5 months ago
Note
I have two things to ask:
1.-Can we be friends?
2.-Do you have any Outsiders headcanons (or any that you haven't submitted yet)?
I mean sure?? Idk who you are since you’re on anon, so not REALLY, but I’m always down to talk!
2. Yeah lol- tons. Too many. Here’s a few (okay like 25 oops) off the top of my head lol, some serious/angsty and some lighthearted/kinda stupid without any real order. (Lotta ‘em are about Steve tbh -there’s so little to him in canon that I have the freedom to hc pretty much whatever I want)
Steve Randle’s nearsighted and has no idea, which is why he’s literally always squinting. (I’ve had that one for like months but only recently mentioned it on here lol.) Steve thinks his vision is completely normal
Dally and Sylvia genuinely cared for each other, but they were both so horrible at having healthy emotions that they just made each other worse. In a bad way, not a fun way.
When Steve gets kicked out, sometimes he hangs with Johnny in the lot. They don’t really talk about anything important like their shared experiences of having lousy parents. Instead they talk about cars, girls, music, school…lighthearted stuff. Sometimes Johnny will find Steve crying, which he never mentions- he’ll just sit down as per usual, which Steve appreciates. Steve almost never finds Johnny crying though. Johnny doesn’t cry much.
Okay tangent- I love how Steve and Johnny are low-key foils. Like Steve always seems tough but then cries when pushed to his limit, while Johnny always seems skittish until he’s under a bunch of pressure- in which case he suddenly is confident. (Not necessarily thriving obviously, but confident yk? Like grinning while saving those kids in the fire.) I know SE Hinton probably didn’t intend that at all, but it’s just such an interesting detail to me. One of these days I’ll put it into words better
Johnny’s jeans-jacket is a hand-me-down from either Steve or Two-Bit. (I can’t decide which lol) (obviously Dally would make sense too, but honestly I think it’d add more depth to flesh out Johnny’s relationships with the other members of the gang)
After the events of the book, Two-Bit starts hanging around the Curtis’s place even more. At first the gang assumes he’s trying to lighten the mood. It’s only after he gets sent to the cooler for a month due to drunk driving that they realize he was actually hanging around so much because he was trying to keep his kid sister from seeing him so drunk…
Two-Bit likes to joke that he keeps failing junior year so that him and his sister can graduate together. Which is a very bad idea since his sister is a year younger than Ponyboy.
Sodapop often feels like he’s only good for looking pretty and not all that useful or interesting otherwise. He likes himself, but when he stops to think about it too much, he starts to wonder if he really has anything going for him at all
My H/C for Steve’s home life is that his Mom is sick w/ like cancer or something. Before she got sick, Steve’s life was pretty alright for an eastsider- he and his dad fought, but they always made up for the most part. They weren’t perfect, but they loved each other. But after she got sick, she wasn’t there to mediate between Steve and his Dad anymore, and the fighting got worse and worse. And then Steve’s dad started drinking more and it was pretty downhill from there. Steve’s Dad still loves him, but sometimes Steve wishes that he didn’t. If he didn’t, then he could hate him. But his dad does love him, so he can’t get himself to.
Steve and Dally taught Johnny to drive when they were all like fourteen-fifteen-ish. Johnny is a very reckless driver. He loves speeding.
Johnny also loves fast roller coasters and stuff.
Dally doesn't ‘cuz he’s low-key scared of heights- he likes riding broncos and rodeos, but put him at the top of a roller coaster and he’s convinced that it’s gonna break and he’s gonna die. He pretends he doesn’t mind. The only people who know he’s scared of them are Johnny, and before she died, Mrs. Curtis.
Steve has a napoleon complex. Johnny, who is shorter than him by a few inches, likes to bully him for it sometimes
Ponyboy and Cherry don’t interact much in the school year after the book, but in the summer after, they start to hang out. Eventually they become pretty close. They fangirl over Paul Newman together
Ponyboy still doesn’t let Cherry read his theme though until years later
Marcia and Two-Bit re-meet a few months after the book. (Two-Bit is really scared that she’s embarrassed to be dating him, and Marcia is really scared that he’s embarrassed to be dating her. Neither of them are embarrassed. They both adore each other.)
Two-Bit likes to watch Marcia barrel racing. One time while he’s there, he runs into Ponyboy watching Cherry barrel race and immediately tells everyone much to Pony’s chagrin
Evie knows a little bit about cars, and she sometimes helps out at the DX during summers. Steve is so whipped for her lol (and Soda too Steve has two hands)
Evie and Sylvia are besties, but Steve and Sylvia hate each other. They act civil in front of Evie, but as soon as her back is turned they’re growling at each other like dogs. (Well Steve is. Sylvia just acts condescending as hell. Sometimes it goes over his head, so Steve knows she’s insulting him but isn’t sure what the insult is/means. Which makes Steve kinda want to kill her.)
Steve and Soda are low-key co-dependent. (Steve more so- Soda has his family at least, while to Steve, Soda and Evie are his whole world pretty much) It’s probably not super healthy, and both of them are vaguely aware of that, but are trying not to think about it too hard rn
Ponyboy’s friend group in high school consists of Curly Shepard, Mark Jennings, Scout Jenkins (from the tv show), and eventually, in her senior year, Cherry Valance. (There’s others too but those are the main ones.)
Pony dates Cathy Carlson for a while too, idk if they’re good for each other or not- I kinda like the idea of them being a sweet couple tbh, but no one else on here seems to care about them so I haven’t really explored the idea much lol
In a Dally lives au, Mark Jennings and Dally end up spending a bit of time together through Pony, and at some point they realize that they’re half-brothers lol. Mark is a deeply obnoxious little brother to have, and he drives Dally nuts on purpose. Weirdly I think Dally’s a relatively good influence on him, as much as someone like Dally can be. And Dally does care for Mark, though not as much as he cares for Johnny- Mark is, in his head, not exactly his responsibility.
Well I have (so many) more, but I think that’s enough for now lol. Point is, even though I haven’t drawn in a minute, I love these characters and their romanticized version of 1960s Tulsa so much and I think about them way too often lol
(dw once i get more into the swing of school I’ll be doin more art!)
74 notes · View notes