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reveryfics · 3 months ago

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Back Home

Sam Wilson x Male Reader

Summary: You've been invited to your family's yearly summer gathering, but there's a catch: your mother really wants you to bring Sam along.

A/N: Was ranting to my friend that I needed more Marvel men domestic fluff, then remembered I have the ability to do just that. I am however taking a pause on requests as I'm a little burnt out doing them, however they will stay open while I do a bunch of domestic fluff fics. Also 500 follower special! 3.6k+ words

TW: Domestic fluff - Fluff - Tooth rotting fluff - Comfort

The familiar scent of pine needles and damp earth hung heavy in the humid summer air, a fragrance so intrinsically tied to childhood that it tugged at something deep within you. For years, that scent had been a phantom, a fleeting memory conjured by old photographs or a stray whiff of cleaning supplies, a stark contrast to the sterile hum of Avengers Tower and the ozone tang that often clung to Sam's vibranium wings. Every summer, without fail, your mother's invitation to her lake house would arrive, a brightly colored postcard amidst the stark white envelopes of mission briefings and Stark Industries memos. Each year, a pang of guilt would accompany the polite decline, the well-rehearsed excuse of pressing global threats and interdimensional anomalies feeling increasingly hollow. She always asked anyway, your mother, her love a constant even in the face of your chaotic life, and she always made sure to extend an invitation to Sam, picturing him, no doubt, as a more tangible presence than your perpetually screen-lit silhouette against the backdrop of his own heroic endeavors.

This year, however, felt different. The weight of responsibility, usually a familiar companion, had become a crushing burden. The world hadn't ended when Bucky, with a quiet resolve that surprised everyone, traded his metal arm for a seat in Congress, advocating for a future he believed in. But his absence left a void, a subtle shift in the dynamic that even Sam, now bearing the mantle of Captain America with a blend of earnestness and wry humor, couldn't entirely fill. Sam, ever perceptive, had noticed the growing weariness etched around your eyes, the way you’d lose yourself for hours in data streams, a ghost in your own headquarters. He’d seen the yearning flicker in your gaze whenever your mother’s calls came through, a longing for the simple rhythm of family, the uncomplicated joy of a lakeside sunset.

It had taken weeks of gentle prodding, a persuasive argument woven with reassurances that the planet wouldn't spontaneously combust in your absence, and a not-so-subtle reminder of the sheer joy on your mother’s face whenever he actually showed up. Finally, the dam of your resistance had cracked. With a sigh that carried the weight of a thousand averted crises, you’d agreed. The decision had been impulsive, a sudden craving for normalcy that eclipsed the ingrained habits of a life lived on high alert. Without a word to your parents, you and Sam had quietly loaded his battered SUV, the trunk filled with swimsuits and sunscreen. The drive down to Lancaster had been a blur of familiar landscapes morphing into the comforting familiarity of home, a silent anticipation building with every mile. The plan was simple: a surprise. A sudden, unexpected appearance on the porch, a hug that spoke volumes of missed time and unspoken love. You could almost picture your mother’s face, the initial shock giving way to a radiant smile, the kind that always made the world feel a little bit brighter. The thought alone was enough to ease the knot of tension that had taken root in your shoulders, replaced by a nervous flutter of excitement. This year, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were going home.

The last stretch of road unwound like a familiar ribbon, the canopy of trees overhead creating dappled patterns of sunlight on the dusty asphalt. You could almost smell the lake now, a unique blend of fresh water, algae, and the faintest hint of barbecue smoke that always seemed to permeate the air around your mother's place. Sam hummed along to an old soul tune on the radio, his usual nervous energy replaced by a quiet contentment. He understood the significance of this trip, the unspoken need to reconnect with the roots that anchored you, even amidst the whirlwind of your extraordinary life.

As you turned onto the long, gravel driveway, the lake house came into view, nestled between towering pines like a well-loved secret. Laughter drifted from the backyard, punctuated by the splash of someone jumping into the water. The familiar cacophony of a family gathering – distant chatter, the clinking of glasses, the playful shrieks of children – washed over you, a comforting wave of sound that had been absent for far too long. A knot of anticipation tightened in your chest.

Sam parked the car a little further down the drive, out of immediate sight. "Ready for this?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

You took a deep breath, the pine-scented air filling your lungs. "As I'll ever be."

Stepping out of the car, the gravel crunched softly under your sneakers. You could see figures moving around the deck that overlooked the lake, their silhouettes framed by the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Your mother's distinctive laugh, warm and bright, carried across the yard, instantly melting away some of the tension you hadn't even realized you were carrying.

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between you. You started walking towards the backyard, your footsteps hushed by the soft grass. As you rounded the corner of the house, the scene unfolded before you in vivid detail. A long picnic table laden with food sat under a shady oak, surrounded by a motley crew of aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children. Some were playing cornhole, others were lounging in Adirondack chairs, and a few were splashing in the shimmering expanse of the lake.

And then you saw her. Your mother, her silver hair catching the sunlight, was in the middle of a story, her hands gesturing animatedly, a familiar twinkle in her eyes. She looked… happy. Truly happy. A pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, pierced through your excitement. Had she gotten so used to your absence that your presence had become an unexpected bonus rather than a given?

You paused at the edge of the yard, Sam a step behind you. The noise seemed to fade slightly as your mother’s gaze, as if sensing your presence, lifted from the group. For a moment, her expression remained unchanged, a picture of serene contentment. Then, her eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing her features before it erupted into a radiant, unrestrained joy.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with emotion. The sound carried across the yard, and the conversations around the picnic table abruptly ceased. All eyes turned towards you, a wave of surprised murmurs rippling through the crowd.

Your mother pushed herself up from her chair, a hand flying to her mouth, her gaze fixed on you as if you were a mirage that might vanish at any moment. Then, she started to run. Not a graceful run, but a full-tilt, arms-outstretched sprint, her familiar figure growing larger with every stride.

You stood frozen, a lump forming in your throat, and then you were running too, meeting her halfway in a clumsy, tearful embrace. Her arms squeezed you tight, her familiar scent of lavender and sunscreen enveloping you.

"You're here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, pulling back just enough to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the lines you hadn't realized had deepened around your eyes. "You're really here."

Behind her, the rest of the family was starting to move, a wave of welcoming faces approaching. Your cousins were grinning, your uncles were clapping you on the back, and the children, momentarily forgotten their games, stared with wide, curious eyes. Sam stepped forward, a warm smile on his face, offering a comforting presence amidst the emotional reunion.

"Surprise," you managed to say, your voice a little rough, a genuine smile finally breaking through the years of carefully guarded composure.

Your mother pulled you in for another hug, a long, heartfelt embrace that spoke of all the missed moments, the unspoken worries, and the enduring, unbreakable bond of family. "It's the best surprise," she said, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "The absolute best."

As you finally pulled apart, her gaze shifted to Sam, her smile widening even further. "And Sam! You made it too! Oh, this is just wonderful." She enveloped him in a hug as well, her genuine warmth making him chuckle.

Standing there, surrounded by the familiar faces and the comforting sounds of your family, the weight that had been pressing down on you began to lift. The world could wait. For this week, at least, you were home.

The initial flurry of greetings subsided into a warm hum of familial chatter. A gaggle of your nieces and nephews, ranging in age from a curious five to a slightly more aloof twelve, had been hovering at the periphery, their eyes wide with a mixture of shyness and fascination. Now, emboldened by the general air of excitement, they began to edge closer to Sam.

Little Lily, all pigtails and missing front teeth, was the first to speak, pointing a tentative finger at the star on his chest. "Are you… are you a superhero?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the murmur of adult conversation.

Sam knelt down, his expression gentle. "Well, some people think so," he said with a wink.

Suddenly, recognition dawned on ten-year-old Ethan, a self-proclaimed expert on all things superhero. His eyes widened dramatically. "Wait a minute. You're Captain America!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement.

A ripple of understanding spread through the younger contingent. Gasps and excited whispers filled the air. "It is Captain America!" shrieked eight-year-old Maya, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Then, Ethan’s gaze swiveled to you, a look of awe spreading across his face. "Uncle! You know Captain America! You're friends with Captain America!" His voice rose with each word, drawing the attention of more of the adults.

A few of your older relatives exchanged amused glances, while your mother beamed with pride. You felt a flush creep up your neck. You were used to this kind of attention in your professional life, but having your family witness it felt… different. More personal.

Sam, still kneeling, caught your eye. He offered a wry, knowing smile, a playful glint in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, so only you could hear, he whispered, his voice a low rumble, "Definitely more than friends."

Your heart did a little unexpected flutter. You quickly looked away, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. The kids, oblivious to the subtle exchange, were now bombarding Sam with questions, their small hands reaching out to touch his arm, their voices a chorus of youthful wonder.

"Have you ever flown really high?"

"Can I see your shield?"

"Did you fight Thanos?"

Sam fielded their inquiries with good-natured patience, answering their questions with a blend of humor and genuine warmth. He showed them the vibranium weave in his suit, explained (in kid-friendly terms) the physics of flight, and even did a little pantomime of throwing his shield, much to their delight.

You watched the scene unfold, a sense of unexpected peace settling over you. Here you were, surrounded by the people who had known you longest, witnessing this surreal intersection of your two worlds. The awe in your nieces' and nephews' eyes, the quiet pride on your mother's face, and the playful intimacy of Sam's whispered remark created a moment that felt both grounding and utterly extraordinary. For the first time in a long time, you felt completely, unequivocally, home.

Later that evening, as the fiery hues of sunset painted the sky over the lake, the gathering migrated towards the wooden dock. Some family members were still splashing in the cool water, their laughter echoing across the tranquil surface. Others were sprawled out on blankets, contentedly munching on the remnants of your mother’s legendary potato salad and grilled corn. The air was thick with the comforting aroma of citronella candles and the gentle lapping of waves against the pilings.

Your nieces and nephews, their earlier awe of Captain America undiminished, had now fully embraced Sam as a playmate. He was down by the water's edge, engaged in a spirited game of "Marco Polo," his booming laughter mingling with their delighted shrieks as they tried to evade his outstretched hands. He even let Lily wear his Captain America mask for a few turns, her small face peeking out from behind the iconic symbol, radiating pure joy.

You found yourself sitting on the end of the dock, your bare feet dangling above the water, a comfortable silence settling between you and your mother. She sat beside you, her hand resting lightly on your arm, the warmth of her touch a familiar comfort. The frenetic energy of the day had mellowed into a peaceful contentment.

"They really like him," your mother said softly, her gaze following Sam as he playfully dunked Ethan in the lake, eliciting a squeal of mock protest.

"He's good with them," you replied, a small smile gracing your lips as you watched Sam ruffle Lily’s wet hair. "He's good with everyone."

Your mother turned to you, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding. "He seems… happy, being here."

"He is," you confirmed. "He needed this too, I think. A break from saving the world."

A comfortable silence stretched between you again, punctuated only by the sounds of the lake and the distant chatter of your family. Then, your mother’s voice, soft but carrying a hint of something deeper, broke the quiet.

"You seem… different, sweetheart."

You turned to her, surprised by the observation. "Different how?"

She studied your face, her gaze searching. "Lighter, maybe? The lines around your eyes… they seem a little less… etched."

You hadn't realized it, but her words resonated with a truth you hadn't fully acknowledged yourself. The constant pressure, the weight of responsibility, had become so ingrained that you’d forgotten what it felt like to simply… relax.

"Maybe," you conceded, looking out at the shimmering water. "It's been a while since I've just… been."

Your mother squeezed your arm gently. "You work so hard, honey. We all know that, but sometimes… sometimes you need to let the world take care of itself for a little while. You have people who care about you, who can handle things."

Her words, simple yet profound, struck a chord within you. It wasn't just about the physical break; it was the permission to let go, to trust, to simply be present in the moment.

"It's hard," you admitted, the ingrained sense of duty still a persistent hum beneath the surface. "It feels… selfish, sometimes."

Your mother shook her head gently. "It's not selfish to take care of yourself, my dear. It's necessary. And seeing you here, laughing with your cousins, playing with the children… it makes my heart happy." Her voice softened. "And seeing you with Sam… he's a good man. A very good man. He looks at you like… like you're his whole world."

That comment caught you off guard. You glanced over at Sam, who was now helping Maya build a sandcastle on the small patch of beach near the dock, his expression open and unguarded. You hadn't really allowed yourself to dwell on the nuances of your relationship with Sam beyond what it seemed to be, a partnership that never truly had a label. But your mother's words hung in the air, a gentle nudge towards a deeper understanding of what lay between you.

You looked back at your mother, a warmth spreading through your chest. "He is," you said softly, a genuine affection coloring your tone.

The night deepened, the stars beginning to pepper the inky sky. The sounds of the lake house slowly lulled into a peaceful quiet. You stayed there on the dock with your mother, the comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional splash or whispered conversation. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your shoulders felt a little lighter, replaced by the simple, profound joy of being home, surrounded by family, and perhaps, something more.

Eventually, the last of your family retreated inside, the house glowing softly with warm light. The only sounds were the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. You and Sam were still out by the water, the cool embrace a welcome respite from the summer heat. You'd initially tried to maintain a bit of space between you, a lingering habit of keeping your guard up, but Sam had gently, persistently drawn you closer, his arms now comfortably wrapped around your waist as you both floated in the stillness.

The water cradled you both, the darkness hiding the blush that still crept up your neck whenever you replayed your mother's words in your mind. You leaned back against Sam, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your spine.

"They really do love you," you said softly, your voice carrying easily across the quiet water. "Even my grumpy old Uncle Jerry, who usually avoids everyone, was asking you about the shield."

Sam chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Your family is… amazing. So welcoming. I can see where you get it from."

A wave of warmth washed over you. "It meant a lot to me, seeing you with them. Especially the kids. They'll probably be telling everyone at school they hung out with Captain America all summer."

"Hey," Sam said, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder, "being called 'Uncle Sam' by a bunch of adorable little superheroes-in-training? That's a pretty good perk."

You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling. "Don't let it go to your head."

A comfortable silence settled between you again, the shared quiet feeling more intimate now, the coolness of the water a stark contrast to the warmth of Sam's embrace.

Then, you chuckled softly, a nervous energy bubbling up. "You know," you began, hesitating slightly, "I honestly wouldn't be surprised if, by the end of the week, my mother pulls me aside and asks when us two are going to… you know…"

You trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Sam tightened his hold around your waist, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "Become husbands?" he finished for you, his voice a low murmur in your ear.

Your breath hitched slightly. You hadn't expected him to say it so directly. You could feel his smile against your temple.

"She's got that matchmaking glint in her eye, doesn't she?" he continued, his tone teasing but with an underlying note of something else you couldn't quite decipher in the darkness.

You nodded, unable to see his expression clearly but sensing a shift in the atmosphere. "She does. She's been waiting for me to… settle down, I think. And she's always liked you. A lot."

"Well," Sam said, his voice becoming a little more serious, his arms holding you a little tighter, "maybe your mom's onto something."

Your heart skipped a beat. You tilted your head back slightly, trying to read his expression in the dim starlight. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer immediately, the silence stretching out, thick with unspoken possibilities. The gentle lapping of the water suddenly seemed louder in your ears.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and earnest. "Ya'know," he began, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your hip, "being here, with your family… it feels… right. You feel right."

He paused, and you held your breath, waiting.

"And if your mom happens to ask," he continued, his voice a low whisper against your ear, "tell her… tell her I wouldn't mind being her son-in-law one bit."

A soft gasp escaped your lips, the surprise and a sudden rush of emotion constricting your chest. You finally turned fully in his arms, your hands finding their way to his face, your thumbs tracing the familiar contours of his jawline. The starlight was just bright enough to catch the sincerity in his eyes, the warmth that mirrored the feeling blossoming within you.

"Sam," you whispered, the sound barely audible above the gentle lapping of the water.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I know it's not exactly a grand gesture on a mountaintop," he murmured, a hint of his usual playful tone returning, "but floating in a lake under a billion stars with the man I…" He paused, and you waited, your heart pounding in your chest. "The man I care about more than anyone… it feels pretty perfect to me."

A tear, unexpected and warm, traced a path down your cheek. You didn't try to stop it. Instead, you leaned closer, closing the small distance between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft and tender, filled with a quiet understanding and a promise of something beautiful. The cool water swirled around you, the vastness of the night sky stretching above, and in that moment, held in Sam's arms, you felt a sense of peace and belonging that transcended even the extraordinary life you led.

When you finally broke the kiss, a soft smile lingered on both your lips. "Well," you said, your voice a little shaky, "I think my mother is going to be absolutely thrilled."

Sam chuckled, pulling you closer again. "Then maybe we should start preparing ourselves for a lot of wedding planning advice."

You laughed, the sound light and joyful. "Oh, definitely." You joked.

As you floated there in the still, dark water, held in the embrace of the man you were undeniably, irrevocably falling in love with, the worries of the world seemed to drift away. Here, under the watchful gaze of the stars, surrounded by the quiet beauty of your home, you knew you had found something truly special, something worth holding onto, with both hands and a whole heart. The surprise trip home had turned into a homecoming in more ways than one, and the future, once a landscape of looming threats and global crises, now held the warm promise of shared sunsets on a peaceful lake and a love that felt as boundless as the night sky above.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x male reader #marvel sam wilson #marvel x male reader #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #xmalereader #marvel #anthony mackie #fluff #domestic fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel the falcon #marvel falcon #tooth rotting fluff #long fanfic #long fic

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smolvenger · 1 year ago

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The Little Princess (Henry V x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: As queen of the nation and wife to Henry the Fifth, all rejoice to discover you are pregnant with your first child with your beloved husband. Only to discover, the child is not the long awaited son, but a girl...

Word Count: 5K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

@anukulee @herdetectivetheorist (from your request!)

A/N: hehehehe uploading this while listening to "The Man" by Taylor Swift

Warnings: Pregnancy and childbirth in the beginning, which I try to portray as realistically as I can. I changed up what would have happened in history per the request I was given for this. No way is it accurate. But also this is fanfic world and irl Henry V wouldn't have had the luscious curls and ass of Tom Hiddleston. Mentions of sex but no smut. Baby stuff. Some angst, but lots of fluff. Grammar and spelling mistakes that missed my radar.

“Her Majesty, the Queen of England, is with child, Your Highness,” the messenger announced.

Henry had slouched, relaxed on his wooden throne. He then shot up straight. The dominant grace he held cracked for a second. His blue eyes blinked, doing his best not to stagger in his posture.

“She…she is?” he asked, almost incredulously.

The messenger nodded his head.

“Yes. The physician just examined her. He asked me to inform you of these happy tidings. And we shall pray you shall soon be blessed with an heir apparent,” he reported with a smile.

Henry found a small half laugh escape him. He smiled so wide it showed his teeth. He lowered his head, feeling a little dizzy for a second. But he knew how to regain himself quickly after his time as the ruler of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.

“Tell the physician we thank him for his swift and happy news,” he replied.

The messenger bowed his head and exited through the wooden doors.

Henry did his best to remain focused throughout the meetings today. But he found his head swam. You- his precious wife, beloved consort-was going to have a child- have his child. He was going to be a father, and you were going to be a mother. His entire world had changed in just a minute and he was supposed to act as normal.

Once they were declared finished, he shot up.

“I would like to visit her Majesty at once,” he declared.

“She is in her chambers, my lord,” one servant confirmed.

He hurried to where you were, the attendants right behind him. The hallways nearly spun as he walked with such a quick bounce. Not caring even if his crown was knocked out of his head.

Meanwhile, you were sitting down. Your stomach was already churning- for you had become more aware of it since this morning. You could only sit and embroider with your ladies in waiting- it was only a matter of time until-

“His majesty, the king,” a male attendant announced at the door.

You shot up and curtsied as Henry the Fifth of Lancaster bounded in. The other ladies followed suit.

“My lord, and husband,” you replied dutifully, raising back up to face him.

Henry looked flushed, scattered even. He walked up to you and held both of your hands in his.

“My lady, do you confirm that what I heard was true? Are you…are you with child?” he asked softly. As if you were in private and not with a dozen eyes on you.

You nodded, smiling. You leaned in closer, your voice matching his quiet tone.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I know it in my heart, Harry. I’ve had no courses for months. The physician’s tests confirmed my suspicions….” you replied.

You took his hand and moved it to your stomach. Even if it appeared normal, even if the baby was now small- it seemed even the king himself sensed the presence inside.

“Our first child is inside me now,” you said finally.

He picked you up and spun you around and kissed you. Bursting into laughter, you clutched him. He held your face and kissed you again. You, his wife, his queen, his beloved, now about to be mother to his child. Who cared if these people saw this intimacy from their lord? He was the maker of what was formal, not they.

“We’ve prayed so long for this, my lord. You know how long we have asked God to bless us someday… and someday has arrived!!” you replied.

He held your face again, his eyes shining.

“I’ve never loved you more than this moment, Y/N,” he confessed.

“I love you too, Harry,” you responded.

As the pregnancy passed, you dealt with each symptom with as much grace as you could. For you knew once you had a son, all would see you as more than just Henry’s pretty accessory and broodmare. You would be the mother to the next king. All would respect you and revere you far more. That brought you through the mornings of nausea and sudden, intense cravings for certain foods.

What was best was the nighttime before sleep. Henry defied court tradition and insisted he wanted to join you in your chambers. Even though there was the advice that he avoid his marital duties until after the baby arrived, to risk any lustful acts harming the child inside you. To have a misteress to pleasure him as you carried the child was out of the question for Harry of England. He would prefer to fall on his sword instead.

The truth was, you didn’t need to perform any act of lust with your husband to be with him. You both could sit in silence. Read books and play chess or little games. Discuss anything and everything. Even to lay in bed and to hold each other. And how your heart burst with love as you felt his hand on his stomach and heard him talk to the child. Even placing little kisses on there. When the baby first kicked, you put his hand there to feel. You both grinned and kissed each other. That was as intimate as anything with your bodies entwining. Whispering names and hopes for the little child. Said little prayers for a safe delivery for you. For the baby in your stomach to survive past infancy. To survive to an adult. One that would always know how much their mother and father wanted and loved them.

When the time came for confinement, the time when you would stay only in your private chambers in the ninth month away from the court, including Henry, to help guarantee a safe delivery. Your heart beat fast. Your stomach was so large that you could only waddle rather than walk. Henry only kissed you, gently tracing your face. Promising that only if there was a crisis would he break down the doors and run to your side.

For days you sat in your rooms. It became stuffy and dark as they closed the curtains, the priests carrying incense throughout and blessing what was going to be the birthing bed. You sat there, sweating, and feeling both the immense fear of your death and the fear of the pain.

At last, one early morning, your water broke. Hyperventilating and crying, you awoke a lady in waiting to run to get the midwife. You were shaking, pain scorching as the baby was starting to get ready to emerge. You knew what would happen, and yet when it began, you felt thrown into the unknown. You were so frightened, you let out screams as the contractions began. They fetched the birthingThere was the delivery, you cried your way through the pain.

“Harry- where is Harry? Where is my husband? I’m so frightened! Please! Where is he!?” you cried, your vision blurry with tears.

“This is not the place for your husband to be, your Majesty. The Lords thought it best he be kept away for now. But how proud he would be of you now- you’re doing well- the baby’s coming out fine!” the midwife encouraged you. “Keep pushing, my lady! I see the head!”

You were sweaty and disgusting and at your most primal, far from the elegant and regal woman they all saw in public. Blood and fluids, including some embarrassing ones, had come out during the labor which was all being cleaned up after it was spilled.

The hours dragged on in torture. The midwife yelling encouragements through your hot face full of tears. You felt sick, even faint, as you pushed the child out from between your legs. Sitting on the stool with the midwife over, every lady in waiting dabbed your burning forehead and squeezed your hand through each push.

Then, finally, a cry came out. But not from your voice. A baby’s cry. You let out a shaky breath of relief.

Alive. The child was alive. As were you.

You caught your breath, panting hard. One lady in waiting grinned at you-

“Well done, Your Majesty!” she praised.

You let out a gasp as the afterbirth crawled out. But it was easy and painless compared to a child and slipped easily into the below pot placed for it. A maid grimaced but took it away. You heard the click of a knife as the cord on the child was cut. Another warm cloth went over the tiny, wrinkled newborn as it wailed and wailed. You felt dizzy, the red curtains of your chambers swimming around. Then you came to.

The heir. The heir apparent. Henry’s heir- Henry’s heir was here. The one purpose for which you were made wife to the king was now fulfilled-

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced.

The child was in the midwife’s arms. your eyes noticed the lower half of the baby’s body. She was correct.

For a second, your heart stopped. The world stopped.

There was a slight silence in the room. It wasn’t like the eruptious joy that would have followed had it been the opposite.

The baby still cried heartily. They swaddled her- not the long-awaited him, her. For that was what the baby that was your constant companion inside you for months was. Not the long-awaited male heir for the Lancaster line. No- a daughter. And what is a daughter, but a disappointment?

In those seconds, your mind reeled. Your belly was empty now for the first time in over a year. You had disappointed the nation- there would be no heir to the Lancaster throne. Not yet. You had let down the court. Mothering a son brought special respect and privilege.

And, most of all, worst of all, you let down Henry. The one person you loved most of all. And that hurt the worst.

The baby wailed. A high, piercing, harsh cry. Ladies in waiting gathered around and fussed. The midwife cleared out the mucus and fluids covering the newborn. Still, the crying rang through the room like harsh bells.

You wondered briefly if it would have been better if you didn’t recover and died from this than face the humiliation.

Wrapping some swaddling over the crying newborn, they handed her over to you.

“Here, hold her, your majesty. She seems a healthy, beautiful little girl,” the midwife announced.

The tiny, wrinkled babe at first didn’t seem beautiful.

Then the bundle was placed in your arms and the baby stopped crying at once.

You looked down at her.

Something inside you broke.

She was….small. So small for your great pain. Her tiny face, the tiniest little hands, and hte tiniest head. She was fragile. Could you remember when you were brought to court to marry the king? You were just as fragile, as naive, as alone without protection- who knows what would have happened if Henry had been so gentle and patient with you, if you hadn’t grown to fall in love with him and he with you.

She nestled to you, her crying ceasing. Clinging to you. She didn’t know so many things…but she knew you were her mother.

And she trusted you to protect her.

A new feeling burst on you. You were not afraid of facing humiliation from the men of court…you were afraid of failing her. She reached a hand and began to coo. Making tiny little noises like that of a mouse. You held up your hand and she held onto your finger- settling close to you.

“Hello, my dear…hello…” you murmured. The pain seemed even more distant.

Tears came down you again and you felt yourself smile. You loved her. This tiny, beautiful, and unwanted girl.

One lady in waiting reached for you and you barked at them.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” you yelled out, the tears running down your face, your breasts heavy with milk that was not going to be used, and the hotness in your body flushing to anger. You held the bundle closer to yourself.

You understood the instincts of bears, how they would rip men into pieces if they dared tread near the den of their cubs. If anyone- anyone- haughty courtiers that were so stuck in their ways that they had nothing better to do with their time other than harm an innocent child- incapable of fighting, of proper speech, of defending herself- you would have murdered them. And you would have enjoyed it.

She cried only a little, startled by your voice. You rocked her and shushed her, kissing her forehead.

“Hello, hello- I’m your mother, don’t be frightened, my dear, I’ve waited a while to meet you, shhhh. Mother is here, you’ll be safe. I’m sorry I surprised you, shhh,” you whispered.

The midwife approached you cautiously.

“Your majesty…the baby must be cleaned further. Do not worry- she will be safe…” she assured you. And your good sense one- for the midwife had delivered hundreds of babes and you knew the girl was in good hands.

You looked down again at your baby, still somewhat patched and bloody. For that, you handed her over.

Henry was tending to his stallion in the stables. The white one was his personal favorite. He often enjoyed being the one to hand the horse hay and feel it nibble form his hand. His attendants just beside him to see to anything, wanting to do anything to distract their lord and sovereign as he anxiously awaited news of his beloved wife.

A lady in waiting arrived inside and their heads turned like deer. She took a few steps forward and curtsied low. Henry gestured for her to rise.

“How is the queen? It was early morn when the birthing began. Tell me- Does she live?” he asked anxiously.

“Her majesty lives. She is delivered of a…a princess,” reported the lady.

There was a slight silence. A greyness washed over the faces of the lords. Frowns remained on their faces, but their eyes were kept on Henry.

Henry took a moment. He was still, his face unreadable. He then replied.

“The babe is fine?”

“Yes, the babe is fine, born healthy,” she answered.

He broke into a relieved half laugh and smile.

“May- may I see my them?” he asked.

The lady nodded. “Yes, the midwife said you may.”

Henry gave the lady a nod.

“We most heartily accept these joyous tidings, sweet lady. I shall see her anon,” he said.

At once, he broke into a jaunty walk. He burst from the stables, and up the stone steps, through the hallways into his wife’s chambers. He was far faster than some of the stuffier, older lords could keep up with They had a hand on their heads for their hats and puffed as their legs attempted to keep up with their lord.

Confinement seemed like his sweet angel was torn from him to another world and not another part of the castle. But he bounced up the steps. The sweet temptation to burst through those doors for weeks was finally relieved.

He at once raised a knuckle and knocked on the doors. There were feminine gasps and murmurs on the other side.

And another sound, something light, a little voice- that of a baby. And his heart picked up.

There were no servants or lords, so he announced.

“It is his majesty, the king of England.”

One lady opened and they all bowed low. Even the few ladies in the corner trying to get rid of sheets full of blood discreetly. But Henry was a man who had seen battles and once killed the famed Hotspur himself- what was more blood to him?

You laid in your bed, holding the little babe. Your heart racing hard, fighting not to break and cry and yet you found yourself smiling at him. His curls swept back from the wind of his rush and his blue eyes wide as he saw you.

He came forward and knelt next to the bed in a few short strides. He took your hand in his and kissed it.

“How is my lady?” he asked.

“I’m…I’m fine,” you replied in a choking voice. Glad to see him again, glad you were alive to experience all this.

You looked down at the swaddled child.

“Here is…here is your daughter, my lord…” you presented.

You waited for the stormy look on his face, hoping your smile would relieve it. But Henry the Fifth merely loosened his shoulders. His jaw dropped then broke into a smile as he saw her.

“May I hold her?” he asked.

You brought her into his arms. She seemed ot know her father, for she settled easily. He rocked her, and kissed her forehead. Happiness beaming everywhere on his face.

“Mary…that is what we agreed, my lady, if it was a girl…would you still like that to be her name?” he said sofly.

You nodded.

He looked around the crowd. The lord and attendants finally arrived inside, staring with wide eyes.

“Today is a special day- for we celebrate the birth of the Princess Mary. Named in memory of my mother. And we are all going to celebrate. I would like there to be a joust and a feast as well when she is christened, all for the safe arrival of Her Highness, the Princess of Wales- And please note, I want a portrait of the joust commissioned-”

Henry looked back at you sitting up on the bed.

“I want my queen in the center, on a seat- beautiful as she is and shining bright, as a testament of my love for her…”

Folding your hands, you smiled back up at him. Exhaustion and love warming your insides. Joy seeping through to where you thought you would float.

“And I ask for a second portrait be of all of us- for we are now the royal family,” Henry finished.

The courtiers nodded solemnly with plenty of “yes, my lord” repeating from their lips. For none would dare cross the king.

They departed, leaving you both alone for the first time in weeks. Mary wiggled a little in her father’s arms. He sat on the bed and smiled at you. You laid a hand on his arm.

“Harry, all of this fuss! Should you save such grand celebrations for when we have a son?” you asked.

“No, sweetling. Our child is born alive and healthy- and with her in my arms, I’m too overjoyed, that her sex does not matter right now,” he responded.

“But…your heir!” you cried.

He smiled and his eyes lowered to his baby.

“ I have three brothers. There’s more than enough heirs. There’s no need to panic…”

He leaned close.

“And with my lovely wife naked in my bed again… once she is better…how can I resist a night where we can create another beautiful child? Wouldn’t our little Mary be happy having a brother to play with and tease and scold over?”

You playfully shook your head with laughter and swatted his arm lightly.

“My lord, you are unappeasable!” you teased.

“And I have missed you too, my lady,” he replied.

Both of you kissed as May began to cry again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

How incredible a nursery they had built for her. The rockers- two people set up to stay awake all night to rock the baby to sleep- curtsied low. It seemed that despite the disappointment, they were charmed with the sweet little baby. Her little noises that cackled about. Her adorable squeaks that made won people over. How you loved to call her “my little mouse!” when you visited to hold and rock her. For Mary would always nestle and wish to be held. She had no thoughts of being a great Princess of the Sacred Isle yet. She was an infant who only wanted to be cared for and loved.

The joust came and went. The artists got right to work for their commissions. The christening was a holiday throughout the nation. Bells rang as the Bishop blessed Mary in the church with all the nation watching.

At the feast afterward, many gathered around to glimpse at their new princess, cloaks and hats and long skirts crowding around the official cradle made for state events. It was decorated with the arms of the Lancaster house. Plush red fabrics draped the inside- the colors considered traditional for her father. It measured seven and a half feet long and two and a half feet wide. The guests invited could look at the infant from a safe distance. You couldn’t help but awe at the creation- all for one tiny baby inside! How small she looked compared to the great size of the thing! They must have thought her a giant child, not a human one!

There was no better, no more doting father than Henry the Fifth. It seemed that the only concern about a male heir came from his courtiers. And their protests and reminders fell deaf on his majesty’s ears. Even in public events where she was placed in the state cradle, Henry would stay to stand guard near it. He was not too much of a man that he was beneath wishing to hold her. He would bend up and use one arm to hold her crimson swaddling.

“I am the Father of the Nation. Of my subjects, as much as she.” he would declare, one hand up to gently touch his little daughter.

How often you stayed in that nursery, amazed at her. The nursemaids tell you everything about what a baby did and why they did it. For even if she was not yours to raise, your curiosity would get to you- and how much every day she would grow and change! Just a month later and she was big enough you wondered how she got out of you!

One night later at dinner, Henry wished to have her cradle nearby so you could eat with her. Little Mary let out a hearty cry out of nowhere.

You jumped- for it was loud and sharp. She did not wail often in her father’s presence. But Henry merely tilted his head.

“Now, what is the matter, lambkin?” he asked the baby.

She continued to cry. He picked her up. A hand over her head and her bum, placing her on his arm.

“What troubles you so, Fair little chuck-hm? Would you like a kiss from your father? Would it cheer you?”

He gave her a kiss on her warm cheek. She calmed down a little. Then she began to cry again. Your husband shot up his eyebrows in confusion. But you listened carefully to the quality of the sound of her wailing- this one was low-pitched, repeating its rhythms.

“My lord, the nurses tell me that kind of cry means she is hungry.”

With a smile on your face, you asked a servant to send for the wet nurse. Henry only widened his eyes in awe.

“Well, my lady, tell me…what have you learned from them about the crying of babes?” he asked in curiosity.

One day- after certain parliament sessions, you returned to the nursery. You heard her crying again- the sort she did when fussing. For you only wished to…to be with her, see her- for her childhood to be as good a one as you could afford for her.

Once inside, you saw one maid trying to ring her rattle. The other maid held her up to see it. But it was doing no good for little Mary who kept crying.

You walked inside and the little girl paused. She began to smile and kick her feet, her crying ceasing. She was even reaching two chubby arms towards you.

How could you have hated that she wasn’t a son when she was born? What were you even thinking with such joy and such love this little girl had for you?

Reaching over, you brought her up.

“Hello, my lovely girl, how are you?” you asked. You brought her up to yourself.

Smelling how well they bathed her. How she was indeed a sweet girl who only wished to be held and loved! You kissed her forehead.

The maids smiled.

“She does that when she misses you,” one reported.

But you never forgot the day you heard her laugh for the first time. It was the fourth month after the birth. Returning inside after strolling the gardens with the ladies, his majesty not being present. You assumed he was discussing something with the Prussian ambassador or shooting his arrows. You passed by the hallway with the nursery. You heard a small sound. Like the tinkling of bells-

It was Mary- her first laugh- you felt a gasp. And another followed- a masculine one right after- a certain laugh you knew like your hand.

Could it be… was it…?

Curiosity overcame you and you opened the door, Henry was sitting on the floor, holding her up above him and she was laughing, clapping her chubby hands. He laughed too.

You burst with love and put a hand over your mouth. The servants watching were flabbergasted. Seeing the sovereign himself playing with her, lifting her in the air and moving her about as she wriggled. You walked in and Henry still held her and leaned up.

“I believe you are enjoying yourself, my lord?” you asked.

“Mary loves it when her father makes her fly like a bird, I discovered,” he said. “You should have seen her with the ambassador's son. So used is she to men with beards, that when the shaven youth stepped forward, she stared at him like a wonder of the world!” he recalled. “Oh, and the little dear is rolling over. She can roll over to one side, but cannot roll back. And when she does, she can only cry in frustration!” he reported excitedly.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. Both of you admiring the new gown on the princess. When there was money left over in the budget, Henry would find ways to spoil her with toys and dresses.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Months passed. You and Henry waited until the time was right, when you were ready for his bed, for acts that would put his seed inside you... But…you were having trouble conceiving again.

You took advice from the physician, recalling every embarrassing martial act out loud to the old man. You devoured certain herbs prescribed to you like a rabbit. Even mixing them into drinks when you could.

Yet…your courses returned as normal.

But you began to wonder…perhaps Mary was the only child you would have. And part of you mourned. Wishing for the large, happy family you both whispered to each other at night early on in your marriage. Secretly envious of women who boasted of their broods so easily conceived.

One evening, you sat by the fire with your husband and child after dinner. Mary was asleep in the cradle in your private room. You rocked it gently, hoping she would stay asleep when the servants would come to fetch her to her nursery. Already she was big and big, more fussy from the teeth she grew.

Henry walked by you and placed an arm around you.

“What ails you, darling?” he asked.

You looked up at him.

“I am just worried, Harry… if…what if…what if she is the only one I will have…” you mourned.

Henry looked into it and said. “I think it would be wise if Mary was made my heir.”

You blinked, your jaw dropped.

“What- but husband-I have not a problem with it, but others will! But the parliament, the lords…they will refuse. They will hate her…even hurt her!” you replied.

He remained still, resolute. But his voice was soft.

“I am their king. My word is law and final. The lords, no matter what they think, must follow as I say…and if she is the one of my line, she is the one of my line…Mary will be queen. A good queen. A queen who will lead England to prosperity.”

The fire cracked more. Both of you looked at the peaceful, sleeping baby. So lovingly tucked into her soft nightdress and snuggled into blankets.

“She can barely talk yet.”

He smiled.

“She has your blood. And if that is the case, then there is no one I trust more than her…”

There was a grand announcement. Shock ran like a storm through the country. Though yes, the lords all complained and bemoaned a female heir, Henry made sure the ceremony was grand. It didn’t matter if they liked it or not, England had its heir.

There was a grand ceremony. The stony throne room decorated with grand emblems. A crowd gathered as you and Henry dressed in red velvets. Though she was getting a little heavier, you still held her high. Your face raised as every icon of another Mary with Her Child, and just as dignified, perhaps as important.

“I now announce her grace, The Princess Mary of Wales, is the heir to the throne. She shall succeed me- and all of you must honor my wife, Her Majesty, as the mother to your next ruler and honor her highness as the queen to follow,” Henry announced, his beard neatly trimmed and his golden crown beaming on his head.

“Her majesty-Princess Mary. And one day, Queen Mary of England. Long live the queen!” he declared.

“Long live the queen.” the crowd repeated.

It was the day the artist said he would show the works he painted. The small, dark-haired, bearded man went up to the first one, covered in a cloth. He pulled it off with a flourish as all took it in.

The first in the joust showed you sitting on your throne as Henry rode his white stallion to defeat his opponent. You seemed to be glowing. In bright colors that shone when light caught it. Placed in the center where all would see, decorated and beautiful.

The artist went to a second painting covered in a cloth. He removed it.

There stood the three of you standing in the church in bright, The child in your arms and Henry by your side. The three of you appeared just as grand, even Immortal.

You had not failed your husband. You had not failed the nation. You had provided an heir after all. And all would be well.

You looked over little Mary, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple and whisper to her.

“Long may you reign, my little dove.”

#henry v #the hollow crown #henry v fanfic #hollow crown henry v #henry v x reader #william shakespere #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #henry v x you #henry v x fem! reader #henry v x y/n #henry v x fem! y/n

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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Growing up in Lancaster, Ohio, I remember discovering a book in the local library that ultimately helped to change how I viewed my hometown’s history. The book, “Jewish Literacy” by Joseph Telushkin, had a small sticker on the inside cover indicating it was purchased through the B’nai Israel Synagogue of Lancaster Jewish Book Fund. This was surprising, as there hadn’t been an organized Jewish community in Lancaster for years.

I later learned that the fund had been established by the remaining members of the synagogue after its sale in 1993, with the intention of ensuring that the tradition of Jewish education continued in Lancaster, even in the absence of a physical synagogue.

This discovery, along with other signs like a Star of David engraved next to a cross on the town’s war memorial and the presence of the building that once housed the B’nai Israel synagogue downtown, hinted at Lancaster’s former Jewish community. During its nearly seven decades of existence, B’nai Israel not only served its congregants but also hosted groups — including church youth organizations and civic societies — to educate others about Judaism. As in many small towns across the United States, the synagogue provided the only accessible resources for learning about Jewish culture, history and theology.

For the last several years, I’ve dedicated myself to documenting the Jewish histories of small towns in both my home state of Ohio and my adopted state of New York. I am drawn in by the realization that many of these once-active communities, despite their contributions, were in danger of fading into obscurity. As a volunteer, I have spent countless hours piecing together the stories of Jewish families, tracing their lives and legacies in over 20 small towns. In most of these places, the written record of their Jewish past was sparse, with local historical organizations often lacking the resources or staffing to fully explore these stories. These constraints also create opportunities for volunteers and community members to engage in uncovering stories still waiting to be told.

Small-town synagogues often function not just as religious institutions but as unique centers for education and community engagement. In Lancaster, the B’nai Israel synagogue opened its doors to various groups seeking to learn about Judaism. Its book fund ensured that, even after the synagogue’s closure, locals could continue to conveniently access resources devoted to Jewish culture and history.

Eighty miles to the south, in Portsmouth, Ohio, the Jewish community was also engaged in interfaith efforts from its earliest days. When Beneh Abraham, the local synagogue, was consecrated in 1858, Christian residents of the town supported the construction, and the First Presbyterian Church choir even sang during the dedication. Such partnerships went both ways, with Jews contributing to the building funds for nearby churches.

The local rabbi, Judah Wechsler, taught in both English and German. Wechsler’s leadership helped Beneh Abraham function as more than a religious space — it became a center for community engagement in Portsmouth. Portsmouth’s first synagogue, like many other historic religious structures in America, no longer stands today, but this early story from the town’s Jewish community reminds us of how intertwined religious groups in small towns can be. Beneh Abraham continues to exist in Portsmouth and is one of Ohio’s oldest Jewish congregations.

In Auburn, New York, the former B’nai Israel Synagogue played a crucial role in bringing neighbors together and fostering understanding. Throughout much of the 20th and early 21st centuries, B’nai Israel welcomed interfaith activities, particularly through its long-standing relationship with St. Luke’s United Church of Christ. This engagement included an annual exchange of pulpits, novel when it began in 1939, where the rabbi of B’nai Israel and the minister at St. Luke’s would preach at each other’s congregations. This effort, undertaken each year during the national Brotherhood Week campaign, continued for over 30 years, helping strengthen ties between Jewish and Christian communities in Auburn.

In both Auburn, New York, and Lancaster, Ohio, the B’nai Israel synagogues’ efforts to educate non-Jewish neighbors about Judaism often left lasting impressions, in keeping with studies showing that the more people know about Jews, the less they embrace antisemitic tropes. With the closure of these small-town synagogues in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, the physical presence of Jewish life in these towns has largely disappeared, raising questions about how this loss impacts interfaith understanding and broader cultural awareness.

As small-town Jewish communities across America continue to contract, preserving their histories becomes not just an act of remembrance, but also an essential part of understanding the broader American story. Though often small in numbers, small-town Jewish communities have played crucial roles in shaping the civic, cultural and economic landscapes of their communities.

As the physical reminders of small-town Jewish life — such as synagogues, social centers and long standing family-owned businesses — fade, there is a danger that their stories will disappear, a loss not only for Jewish history but American history. They remind us that America’s heartland is not as monolithic as it is often portrayed, and that diversity has long been part of the stories of many communities.

In Lancaster and Auburn, the efforts of individuals and institutions to preserve local Jewish histories stand as models of how this work can be done. In its last years, members of Auburn’s former B’nai Israel synagogue donated many of the congregation’s religious artifacts, including the synagogue’s historic stained-glass windows, to the Cayuga Museum of History & Art, ensuring that the congregation’s memory would live on in a public space.

But in most of the communities I’ve studied, there was no such effort until recently. In some towns, synagogues were demolished or fell into disrepair, their histories largely unrecorded. It wasn’t until I began this work as an undergraduate that the stories of these Jewish communities began to be gathered and pieced together, bringing their legacies back into the light.

Preservation alone is not enough. These histories must be shared and integrated into broader conversations about American identity. We not only honor Jewish families who helped to build and sustain so many small-town communities but also ensure that future generations understand the complexity and richness of small-town life in America.

In a time when debates about national identity dominate our public discourse, preserving the histories of small-town Jewish communities offers a crucial reminder: that the American story is, and always has been, one of diversity and change.

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brokentrafficknight · 2 years ago

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You now remember the Miles cameo about Lancaster becoming happy beach bums if they get married

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #rwby shitpost #lancaster #rwby lancaster #jaune x ruby #ruby x jaune #zwei #rwbabies

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energonbunny · 2 years ago

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Part 16 of Ravage and how she ends the Civil War!

Summary:

Optimus Prime gets an email from Ravage. He's not quite sure what to think, or how to respond. When he finally does respond, he gets a meme in return.

Nothing gets any less confusing.

#ravage and how she ends the civil war #ravage #miles lancaster #optimus prime #ratchet #sam witwicky #transformers #transformers bayverse #rahsetcw

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captain-price-unofficially · 3 months ago

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The Helmover torpedo. Weighing 5 tons and with a 1-ton warhead, it was designed to one-shot a battleship. It would be dropped by a Lancaster tens of miles from the target. Travelling at 40 knots, it would be guided in by radio control from a smaller aircraft.

#wwii #home front

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meabh-mcinness · 5 months ago

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Chronicles of a Second Chance

Chapter Two: The Coming Storm

Over the next few years, your days were consumed by the slow, frustrating process of growing up again. Every milestone—rolling over, crawling, walking—felt like an eternity to achieve. But each step brought you closer to the moment you could truly act.

Your parents’ eccentric, but surprisingly nice, lifestyle gave you plenty of time to think. They homeschooled you early, focusing on meditation, nature walks, and ‘spiritual enlightenment,’ which left you free to secretly plan and scheme.

You learned quickly, and guiltily, how to leverage their beliefs to your advantage. Want a telescope to ‘study the stars’? They were thrilled to buy one, thinking it was a sign of your spiritual growth. Need a computer for ‘educational purposes’? Done. Books on different fields such as astronomy, biology, and even mechanics (though that one was harder to score until you brought up that greenhouse maintenance was mechanical in nature) were quickly thrown your way and you devoured each one, eager to gain all the knowledge that you could to help you on your chosen path. They were so proud for having such a smart child who was so interested in the world around them that they never seemed to pause and question how it was you could read such high-level things so early on.

By the time you were four, you’d built up a surprising amount of knowledge about the world you now inhabited. The Witwicky’s were local, living just a few neighbourhoods over. You still met up with Judy and Sam in the park, more than happy to force them to spend time with you and your little oddball family. Sam was always excited to come by and run around the grassy playground with you, listening in quiet rapture as you told stories about the stars so high above. About crystal cities on a foreign planet that towered as high as Earth's mountains and giant metallic titans that could transform and race one another at speeds, humans could never reach.

When you turned five, the next milestone was reached. A new member joined your little duo when you both started school. Miles Lancaster. A boy who enjoyed climbing trees like he was part squirrel and had a fascination with the aeroplanes and jets that were always flying by high in the sky.

Your little trio formed quickly, bound together by a shared sense of wonder and curiosity. Sam’s bright enthusiasm and Miles’ daring spirit complemented your careful, calculating approach to everything. Together, you explored every corner of your small town, finding adventure in the mundane.

At school, you were the quiet, precocious one. Teachers praised your intelligence, often amazed by how you absorbed information like a sponge. Miles was the class clown, always with a quick joke or a mischievous grin. Sam, eager to please, floated somewhere between, charming everyone with his genuine friendliness. The three of you were inseparable.

When you weren’t in class, you’d lead your friends on “missions.” These were often elaborate scavenger hunts or explorations of the wooded areas on the outskirts of your property. Armed with toy compasses, flashlights, and Sam’s overstuffed backpack, you’d spend hours pretending to be explorers in some alien world, capturing bugs and bringing home random stones you found. To you, it wasn’t entirely pretend. You’d tell stories about planets beyond the stars, weaving intricate tales that left Sam and Miles hanging on your every word.

“Do you think there really could be aliens out there?” Sam asked one day, lying on the grass of the school playground and staring up at the clouds.

“Definitely,” you said without hesitation. “The universe is too big for us to be alone. Maybe they’re watching us right now, waiting for the right moment to say hello.”

Miles propped himself up on one elbow, his wide eyes brimming with excitement. “What if they’re giant? Like... skyscraper tall! And they can shapeshift! That’d be awesome. Imagine riding on one who could turn into a dragon!”

You smirked, mind wandering briefly to Predaking and how cool it would be to ride on the giant metallic dragon. “That would be cool.”

______________

Life had settled into an odd but comfortable rhythm by the time you turned sixteen. Sam, Miles, and you had grown from wild kids with boundless imaginations to teens with an unshakable bond. It was a gift you refused to squander even when you wanted to strangle the two boys when their more stupid or perverted habits started up.

Speaking of – you watched with a roll of your eyes as Sam openly stared in admiration from his desk as Mikaela Banes walked by. You could understand it of course, Mikaela was quite the pretty girl with the popularity and smarts to match. Had you actually been a sixteen-year-old, instead of mentally in your thirties, you might have even crushed on her too. Instead, you just sat in the background with Miles, internally shaking your head at how dumb Sam suddenly became around her.

What you wouldn’t do for a good glass of liquor to burn away the feeling of second-hand embarrassment right now. You were pretty sure Rowan’s latest batch of kombucha had accidently fermented too much. If you had been home, you would have downed it without a second thought. What a shame that instead you were forced to attend the farce that was high school all over again instead of lounging comfortably in the hammock strung up in your room.

Once more despairing over your new physical age and its setbacks, you pulled out your notebook and pen ready to get today's history lesson over with.

Ever since the year had started, you had greeted each history class with a mixed feeling of apprehension and anticipation. Every day that passed brought you closer to the assignment that would become the catalyst for the horror show that would be the rest of your lives. The feelings had only grown once Sam had revealed closer to the beginning of the new semester that his father had cut him a deal about getting a new car if he could earn $2,000 and three A’s.

The future assignment that haunted your thoughts was a simple one on the surface: a family history project. Every junior was required to present a detailed report about a member from their ancestry, showcasing photos, keepsakes, or personal anecdotes. While you only had a vague idea of what to do for yours, you knew what this would mean for Sam.

In the next few days, his father would drag out the old family heirlooms. The faded photograph of Archibald Witwicky, the map, and most importantly, the glasses -- proof of the mad man’s claims of seeing mechanical beings on an icebound expedition, even if no one else knew it yet. Sam would present these with teenage disdain, joking about his family’s kooky past. He would get a, rather undeserved in your opinion, A- on his project.

The third A needed to seal the deal.

You twirled your pen idly, your mind drifting away from the droning lecture. History class felt like a cruel joke when you already knew how history would unfold. The arrival of Bumblebee, the resurrection of Megatron (did it count as a resurrection if he wasn’t actually dead but frozen in place?), and the chaos of the AllSpark drama—it all loomed over you like a storm cloud.

"Are you even listening?" Miles whispered from his seat beside you, nudging your arm.

You blinked, shaking off your thoughts. "Of course. Mr. Graham is enthralling as always."

Miles snorted, clearly not convinced. "Sure you are. You looked like you were planning world domination or something."

"If only," you muttered as you focused in on what Mr. Graham was saying. You were pretty certain that world domination would be much easier than trying to come up with a bajillion plans on how to alter future actions on not only humans but giant aliens as well so that everything came out with the least amount of loss possible.

Yeah world domination was a nice thought in comparison even if you didn’t actually care for ruling anything.

It was hard to decide how to feel about it, you mused as you watched Mr. Graham pace back and forth continuing with the lecture half of today's lesson. On one hand, the thought of seeing Optimus Prime and the Autobots in person was exhilarating. On the other, you knew the devastation that would follow. Cybertron’s war wouldn’t stay in the shadows anymore.

It would come here, to Earth, leaving destruction in its wake.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Graham began, dropping a stack onto his desk with a heavy thud, startling you once more from your thoughts. “I hope you’ve been paying attention, because today I’m assigning your first major project of the semester: family history. In college you will need to know how to research—”

Your stomach twisted as the words hit you.

It was starting.

______________

The bell rang, signalling the end of your last class for the day. You gathered your things, your movements automatic as your mind raced. How could you alter the course of events? You couldn’t stop Sam from presenting the heirlooms without raising suspicion. Even if you tried, fate seemed to have a way of ensuring these events played out. But perhaps, just perhaps, you could prepare for the fallout.

As you stepped into the crowded hallway, Sam bounded up to you, grinning ear to ear as his fingers flew over the keyboard on his phone. "Hey! Nova! Guess what? My dad says there's some family heirlooms in the attic I can use for the history project. He says I’ll find something 'super cool.' Knowing him it’ll be some piece of junk that his nature won’t let him get rid of.”

Your stomach twisted, though you forced a casual smile. "Sounds fun. Let me know if you find any hidden treasures."

Miles sidled up, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders. "If you find some old pirate gold, you better split it three ways."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, right. I’ll sell it all and get that car."

"Good luck with that," you said, feigning amusement as dread continued to curl in your chest. Wrapping its dark vines around your heart and mind, squeezing painfully even as you tried to hold it back with the meditation techniques you had learned from your parents.

The weekend, along with the due date, would fast approach, and with it, hopefully, the beginning of the end of the war. If you wanted to change the future, you’d have to act soon. There was just one problem.

You still hadn’t settled on a course of action.

That night, you sat in your room, staring at the cluttered desk before you. The telescope, the scribbled-in notebooks, the textbooks—all the tools you’d painstakingly collected over the years. They weren’t enough, you were certain of it.

Grabbing a sheet of paper, you began to sketch out another plan. You weren’t certain anyone, bot or human, could count high enough for how many plans you’d made and discarded over the years. You couldn’t stop the storm, but you could be the eye within it.

First, you need to keep track of the glasses. Once Sam unearthed them and posted them online to sell, there was no turning back. Though, you thought as you chewed on the eraser end of your pencil, you supposed you could try and convince him not to sell them. It’s not like he managed to do so in the movie so it wouldn’t affect him getting a new car.

But it would affect whether or not any of the Cybertronians found him. After all, it was that posting that alerted both the Autobots and the Decepticons to his existence.

You paused.

Had it been? You suddenly weren’t so certain that was the case. After all, how had Bumblebee known to be at the car lot that day? It was true the yellow Autobot was a scout and was likely equipped with all sorts of spy-like equipment to keep watch without being discovered. Especially by unsuspecting not-yet-in-the-loop humans. So, it was entirely possible that he had found Sam through the eBay posting and then stalked him for the next few days where he would overhear about Ron helping Sam buy a car.

But how had he known the exact car lot they were going to buy it on? He had, after all, been already parked and waiting when Sam and Ron had shown up. Maybe Ron and Judy talked about it? Or perhaps Ron looked up the lot online, choosing the cheapest-looking place he possibly could. That…. sounded exactly like the frugal man you thought. For an advanced robot-like alien, it would be all too easy to overhear Sam’s excitement about getting a new car and then hack the computer system to see where exactly they were going, and then place himself in that location as inconspicuously as he could manage.

In the movies and books, the Cybertronians abilities had seemed so cool. Now you couldn’t help but curse Primus for their every ability given that made your life so much harder.

You groaned and resisted the urge to pull out some of your hair, instead forcing yourself to move on.

Secondly, you had to prepare for the Autobots themselves. You’d memorized their arrival timeline, (Kind of. You knew that Bumblebee showed up first and then Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Jazz came a few days later. After that you weren’t entirely certain how much time passed before the other Autobots came to Earth.) but interacting with them was a whole other challenge. How would you convince them to do certain things without revealing that you were from a different dimension?

Your hand stilled, the pencil hovering over the page. Optimus Prime would listen. He had to. If he didn’t believe in you then nothing would go right. If you did anything wrong, then they might decide you were compromised, a spy for the Decepticons. Would lock you up and throw away the key and you would lose your two closest friends and your new family, and gods above you might not fully agree with all of Rowan and Sage’s spiritually free child thinking or Sam and Mile’s stupid hormonal teenage thoughts, but they were still yours, and you would be devasted to lose any one of them.

Failure was not an option.

So, you planned to the best of your abilities. Even knowing that you would have to make things up on the fly because if you changed one thing then effects would ripple through whether you wanted them to or not.

For example, if you convinced Jazz not to attack Megatron on his own then he would potentially survive the Mission City battle. But then if he didn’t distract Megatron who knows what the warlord would do instead? Would he have fought Optimus sooner? Would he have managed to get his claws on the AllSpark by getting to Sam before he could get to that building? And even if Jazz didn’t distract Megatron, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t die at the very same battle later, or even be killed on a different mission entirely.

The possibilities were endless.

With a loud thunk, your head banged onto your desk. Somehow the brief flash of physical pain didn’t counteract the massive stress migraine you were building.

You could already hear Sage lecturing you about potentially damaging your third eye as you banged your head again and again. You paused mid-bang when a thought crossed your mind.

The third eye.

A supposedly spiritual spot on the middle of your forehead that allowed one to see visions gifted to them by either a god of some sort or their higher self. It also could be used to tell the future.

You sat straight up, eyes narrowing. There was no way that would work…would it? You had been so focused on scientific answers that you never once considered whether or not you could provide some more spiritual ones. You didn’t have to be told that it was a bad idea for anyone to know that you came from another world. Hells bells it probably wasn’t a good idea for them to think you could see the future either, but it was a possibility you could consider.

After all the future was always changing.

A dinging noise on your computer brought you out of your thoughts. Glancing over you realized it was an email notification from eBay. Your heart stuttered before stopping entirely as you opened it.

Ladiesman217 has uploaded new items for sale!

Your second childhood was over.

The war was coming, whether you were ready for it or not. You somehow managed to resist the urge to cry, but it was a close thing.

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