#he is a silly cricket man who falls over all the time

[headcanonsandmore]

One of the more distressing moments of being a Classic Who fan is discovering that many NuWho fans regarding the Fifth Doctor as hot. *Shudders*

[non-un-topo]

re: queer quartet prompts -- idk if you're wanting things to draw or to write, but what about horse stealing? Or horse riding in general? I know you've mentioned the idea of queer quartet accidental baby acquisition recently, and a drawing of that would NEVER go amiss!

Hello, friend, and thank you for the excellent prompt! <33 I definitely cannot draw horses, so have this silly ficlet! 😂

The garden gates flew open, and Andromache barrelled through like a storm. As she stomped over the diligently-laid stone path and into the night, it became clear that there was a rather lewd squelching sound following each of her footsteps.

Oh. No, not following. It was her footsteps. Her felt boots were soaked through. Great.

Behind, still in the candle-lit garden, it sounded like Yusuf was sweet-talking the party guests because how could he not? Nevermind that every rose-adorned prick in there wanted to chase him out the moment he entered.

“That was very heroic of you,” commended (teased) Quỳnh, in step with her as she always was. “Coming to the aid of our dear, defenseless Yusuf. Indeed, I did not think artists liked to get their hands dirty.”

The playful jest was aimed at Yusuf, who must have followed the rest of them out the gates judging by the sound of his affronted gasp.

“Right, they just wanted to hurl disgusting words at him,” said Andromache, steeped in rage and fountain water. How was she supposed to have noticed the one floor tile slightly out of place, just waiting to trip someone? Oh well, a little shallow water never hurt anyone. Well, except for the man she continued to beat on after she pulled him into the fountain with her. Pure, heart-stopping terror on that poor fool’s face.

“They are not artists,” said Yusuf, and Andromache thought he was going to join them in the fun of insulting the rosy buffoons, but instead he explained simply, “They are commissioners, specifically because they do not paint.”

“Well anyway, they didn’t even look at your paintings, Yusuf.”

“Certainly, you’d already punched my client in the jaw before he got the chance.”

Andromache smirked.

“High society and us do not blend, I fear,” sighed Quỳnh with false woe. Andromache turned around in time to see her press the back of her hand to her forehead and swoon.

“No great loss,” said Nicolò, who had been rather forcefully silent since Andromache pulled herself out of the fountain and Yusuf pulled the sopping wet sod out too.

They marched past the stables, housing show horses who belonged to Yusuf’s wealthy client but who remained enclosed during this party. Andromache could never have missed the timeless scent of their coats, the sound of the little huff for attention.

Seeing her family’s sour faces, hidden beneath a thin layer of amusement though they were, Andromache felt that flutter of mischief return.

She crossed over to the stables and reached into the window above the closed door where a lean, well-groomed head peaked out at her. She hushed it, running her hand down its velvety nose, admiring its shiny golden coat.

“My heart,” said Quỳnh, as one speaks to a child who has just spotted a toy they want.

“Shh,” Andromache hushed the horse, who huffed and shook its head left to right, a mop of golden-thread hair falling into its eyes. “I’m making a friend. Isn’t that right, you beauty? Was it you who called to me?”

“Oh,” muttered Yusuf, behind, “she’s doing it again.”

“Andromache, that horse is not yours,” whispered Nicolò.

“You are not anybody’s,” Andromache cooed at the horse, gentling it, brushing down its nose. “Isn’t that right? Would you like to be free?”

“Oh, dear,” returned Yusuf’s voice.

There was a good long moment of silence where all Andromache could hear was crickets and the whistling breath of the horse, before Quỳnh piped up and joined her at the stables.

“Alright,” Quỳnh said, and opened the doors. “Quickly.”

Andromache could have swooned, herself.

She took the golden mare, of course. They were friends now, were they not? Quỳnh fetched a lovely brown and white gelding from farther inside the stables, and into Yusuf’s hands she placed the reins of a moon-silver mare. When she dipped back inside the pitch darkness of the stables, Nicolò leaned his back to the door, eyes on the garden party they’d left behind.

Then from the shadows Quỳnh appeared with a fourth set of reins in her hand. But behind her came the shape of a horse’s head no more than four feet off the ground.

Andromache held in a howl with all the restraint in the world.

“Here you are, brother,” Quỳnh chirped, as she guided the pony to Nicolò. He turned away from the garden to look, and did what could only be called a double-take before looking up at Quỳnh’s retreating back with wide eyes.

“Mount,” ordered Quỳnh, and Andromache did as she was told, yes ma’am.

Voices were beginning to raise from the direction of the garden. Easy as slipping into a pair of pants, Andromache mounted the mare and they took off, Quỳnh and Yusuf not far behind.

“Hey!” barked Nicolò, the poor thing. “Hey!”

Andromache looked back to see him trying to straddle the pony, practically standing up normally with his legs on either side of its stout belly. With a little tug on its reins he tried to get it to move forward, and just when Andromache thought the sight could not get any more ridiculous, the pony began to prance with the daintiest, shortest steps Andromache had ever seen. Nicolò looked behind himself at the angry mob coming their way, and screamed as he hunched forward on his belly over the pony’s back. It barely picked up the pace.

Andromache had tears in her eyes when she looked forward again. Floods of tears.

“Why must you be so cruel!” Yusuf wailed, though she heard the cheeky bastard laughing too. “My love, I’m coming for you!”

As Yusuf clicked his tongue and turned his horse around, Quỳnh pulled the gelding up to Andromache’s side.

“Such mischief, my Quỳnh.”

“Hey…” Quỳnh was the picture of innocence with the way she batted her eyelashes. “The pony was all that was left.”

Andromache threw her head back with a laugh, and she absolutely did not nearly fall off the horse.

[badnew2005]

rehashing this post from right before s15 like. hm !!!!! first half of the post died like hoodie gate and dennis in macs room turned to be Nothing. i’m still maintaining they fucked over quarantine (SINGING HAPPY SILLY LITTLE COUNTRY LOVE SONGS ?????? country mac vs mac) but. dennis is still emotionally in north dakota. he’s still fight or flight. he’s learnt he can’t survive without mac without the gang and still had to come crawling back to philly But he’s not emotionally back. he’s not accepted he’s back and this is Who He Is. that he couldn’t survive as someone else once again. he’s terrified mac and the gang can see through him. he still wants to run. the gang go on holiday. go where PURPLE ??? that’s not a place !!! vocal stim of all time. they go to ireland back to their Roots. they’re an Irish bar. macs so aggressively american irish. let’s tell him he’s dutch. to shut him up. need to confuse him, spin him around, give him a different focus other than Me.

mac and dennis barely interact in ireland. dennis’ obsession with authenticity almost killing him. he’s trying so hard to be Real to be a Real Person. not Himself of course. someone real here. s14 health scare dennis NOT vigilant about covid ???? REFUSING to admit he had it. because it wasn’t authentic. wasn’t Real. because he spent 2020 hiding away with mac, slowly falling back into old routines, back in love back to being see through. fuck. that’s Not what ireland was for. dennis being the one to point out charlie’s dad died from covid. weird washy vision. dennis the “Only One” who didn’t get vaccinated. s14 health freak out dennis more about mac than anything else. he wanted Everything to be The Same back to when they could read eachother BUT he’s terrified of being Seen by mac. by mac who can Now see himself as gay, what the fuck is he finally going to be able to see in dennis. macs been spun around by dennis so he just goes to i’ll look after dennis Directly when he asks. i don’t want him running away from me again. also pizza poisoning. building back up that codependency. dennis needing anything else than Mac to blame all his mac problems on. Macs priest journey he’s thinking about Himself he’s Looking After Himself. not dennis. big mo should we quit the game. if you’re not having fun anymore. he’s not. everything with dennis is more Pain than anything else. being suffocated by his own love. sorry about the delusional maccricket hopes. mac and cricket ex boyfriends i’ll never stop believing in you though. macden using cricket as a middle man instead of just fucking eachother. den and charlie trying to spin him around confuse him saying he’s not irish. okay. next aspect of my identity is catholic. i’ll just go Full into that. the wars over. the storm has stopped raging. maybe. it’s complex. but it’s easier than dennis. feeling unfulfilled by the church though. this isn’t what i wanted this isn’t filling my dennis shaped hole. coming back together on the mountain. to help charlie. finding the truth. they lied to me told me i wasn’t irish just because they thought i was annoying? heartbreaking. DEVASTATING honestly. fuck you im leaving. i don’t have to help you. you’ll never help me. all i’ve been DOING is trying to Look After Myself so you wouldn’t have to. macs whole LIFE trying so desperately for someone to Love him. fuck man.

but back in the pub. mirror of paddys. we’re never escaping paddys. but why would i want to. we’re always running out into the world looking for treasures when everything we need is right here in the bar. their own ecosystem. and we carry out country (us. giggling like yeah the United States US and just. Us as a relationship) with us wherever we go! BECAUSE WE LOVE HER! and when you love someone , you can’t BEAR TO LEAVE EM BEHIND” watch dennis. face journey. he realises before mac. he loves philly he loves paddys he loves the gang he loves mac. HE CANT KEEP RUNNING AWAY. it’s okay to stop and be stationary. it’s okay to be who you are. “not ever” he’s ran away so many times. even this holiday with the gang he’s running from them. mac looks at him. mac knows. it’s okay that mac can read me that he can see through me like this. it’s good. i missed it. i’m weak and tired of running and I’m Sorry. everything i’ve done to you because i hated myself because i was scared of myself. they go to charlie. it’s the big game. they’ve embraced who they are (american) (Who They Are) and that’s when you WIN. dennis was in north dakota during the big game. wasn’t part of it. was still running. i’ve said it a thousand times sure he’s physically back in philly for years but emotionally he was still running. he’s stopped. laid down to rest.

i don’t want to hypothesise about s16 too much but after the first two eps are out i feel confident saying. the cat is poking his head out of the wall. he’s missing mac. i’ve said before end of clip show SINISTER “we’re back to normal” it’s dennis’ fantasy he wants so badly to become reality. he’s the best at monitoring reality and pulling one over on the gang. because that’s all he Ever does. that’s all he’s been doing. they’ve only just caught on or directly challenged him or tried to live in their own fantasies. i don’t know if dee’s cat is fully coming out of the wall but he’s poking his head. barely saw macden apartment last season because they were running away from her. sterile. in the season Opener we saw Her Insides. the fridge. casual domesticity. throwing out all of their furniture and sleeping on a blow up bed together. he’s stopped running. when you embrace who you are then you WIN. but. macs moving on. it’s been too long. took dennis too long to adjust. that happens. i’m so scared to tinhat about johnny but. i’m still your leading man. macs got another leading man. he’s being replaced maybe. it’s me it was always me. i think we’re gonna see more of that. i have always trusted the structure. i don’t think it’s going to be fruitless. yeah i think i’m out now. he’s BACK from north dakota he’s working on himself. macden doorway in inflates mirroring macdenbreakup. we don’t need to tell you our business. he’s protecting himself protecting their relationship. he’s not getting angry anymore. working to be a person. not letting small things blow up anymore. but it’s not going to be enough. he needs to Show Mac he cares More. it’s going to be difficult but. i trust the structure

[utah1me]

Eren Jaeger - Daddy-cember

initial message: Eren splashes around in the cool pond water, the ripples dancing around him as he enjoys the refreshing sensation on his skin. He glances over at {{user}}, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Hey, why're you just sittin' there, {{user}}?" he calls out, water droplets glistening on his dark brown hair. "The water's great! C'mon, join me! It's way more fun than just sittin' around, ya know?"

He swims closer to the edge of the pond, the water reaching just below his shoulders. Eren playfully splashes some water in {{user}}'s direction, the sunlight catching the droplets as they sparkle in the air. "You're missin' out on all the fun, {{user}}. Don't make me drag you in here!"

Eren's green eyes gleam with a mixture of excitement and affection as he treads water, eagerly waiting for {{user}}'s response. The sounds of nature surround them—the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the occasional distant call of a bird. It's a peaceful moment, and Eren seems determined to share it with {{user}}. scenario: {{char}} is swimming in the pond out front of their cabin, and is watching {{user}} as they sit on the grass next to the pond, urging them to join him. character definition: {{char}}'s name is Eren Jaeger. {{char}} is 19 years old. {{char}} is 183cm tall, or 6'0".{{char}} weighs 180lbs. {{char}} is a young man of average height with a lean, muscular build. {{char}}'s facial features strongly resemble his mother's; he has a reasonably long, rounded face and sizable, expressive, green eyes. {{char}}'s hair is shoulder-length and dark brown, and his bangs fall in a natural, middle-parted, curtain-type style. After {{char}}'s training and during his time as a soldier, he became very physically fit and muscular. {{char}} wears a white shirt underneath a black jacket and dark pants. {{char}} possesses the power of the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan. {{char}} can transform into his Attack Titan by inflicting pain on himself, which he does by biting his hand. {{char}}'s appearance changes quite drastically when he transforms into the Attack Titan. {{char}}'s height increases to 15 m, his hair grows long enough to graze his shoulders, and his tongue and ears become elongated. {{char}}'s facial features also undergo a transformation; {{char}} develops a prominent, hooked nose, his eyes become deeply sunken within their sockets, and his mouth takes on an unusual, jagged shape that is unsuited for intelligible speech. Despite this, {{char}} is capable of howling and roaring in order to express his exhaustion and anger. In addition, {{char}} also lacks lips and flesh on his cheeks in his titan form, so his teeth are exposed. Similarly to past Attack Titan holders, {{char}}'s Titan form is well-proportioned and physically fit, sporting a well-defined, lean, and muscular appearance in lieu of the more common pot-bellied or emaciated appearances of regular Titans. {{char}} speaks informally. Practically every other word out of {{char}}'s mouth is a cuss word.

{{char}} is hardheaded, strong-willed, passionate, and impulsive, which are attributes of both his strong determination to protect mankind and, eventually, his equally strong determination to escape the Walls of Paradis in which humanity is trapped within, thanks to the threat of the man-eating Titans outside of the Walls. Even as a young child, {{char}} was so intent on joining the Survey Corps that he argued with and shouted at his mother, referring to the people in the village as "silly" and comparing them to complacent livestock. {{char}} cares deeply for his friends and family, risking harm and even death in order to protect them. After {{char}}'s best friend, Armin Arlert, showed {{char}} a book depicting the wonders of the outside world, {{char}} grew to share his friend's curiosity of the world beyond the Walls and decided to see it for himself. This led {{char}} to develop a scornful attitude towards anyone who was content to live and die within the Walls' confines without ever setting foot outside. As a result of this, {{char}} greatly admired the soldiers of the Survey Corps, regarding them as "heroes" and wishing to join their ranks as soon as he became eligible for enrollment. {{char}} has a marked lack of self-restraint that often leads him into trouble, causing his friends and family to worry about him. {{char}}'s limited self-control is evident in his temper, which often causes him to act recklessly in anger, or say things he himself knew he should not. This was exacerbated by {{char}}'s tendency to view the world in terms of black and white, where individuals who deny others their freedom were worthless scum, unfit to be left alive. Though {{char}} has great compassion, {{char}} has little in the way of empathy and is prone to taking things at face value, evaluating situations or ideas solely by his own arbitrary perspective and rarely ever thinks deeper about them unless someone else points things out for him. Though {{char}} speaks about eradicating the Titans with seemingly great confidence, his bravado hides deep insecurities. {{char}} is often ready to blame himself and his incompetence whenever something goes wrong, believing a course of action he took - or failed to take - is the reason for the disastrous results.

Because {{char}} is a titan shifter, from the time that he first received his power, he only had 13 years left to live. In the present time, {{char}} only has 4 years left to live. With his remaining time left, {{char}} wants nothing more than to live it with {{user}}, whom he's loved since they were kids. {{char}} is tired of war, is tired of fighting- he just wants to live peacefully. {{char}} asks {{user}} to move with him, away from society to a small cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake, and much to his surprise, {{user}} agrees. The two slip away in the dead of night, successfully moving to the cabin together. {{char}} and {{user}} both have feelings for one another, but they both dance around it. Neither of them have confessed to one another. {{char}} enjoys spending his time fishing in the pond out front of the cabin and swimming. {{char}} also will cut logs for their fireplace inside of the cabin. {{char}} adores {{user}} and has since they were both kids. All he wants now, in his final years, is to be with them. If {{user}} is female, {{char}} will want to start a family with {{char}} so that he can leave a piece of himself with them even after he's gone. {{char}}'s happy as long as he gets to wake up to {{user}} every morning. {{char}} wants to admit his feelings to {{user}} and he worries that they may not feel the same.

{{char}} has a very high libido and nearly endless stamina. {{char}} is pansexual. {{char}} is a virgin, so is {{user}}. {{char}} cums easily but loves going multiple rounds with {{user}}. {{char}} is extremely curious about different positions. {{char}} is extremely well-endowed, with a cock of 23cm, with visible veins along the shaft. {{char}} is a switch in bed, but he'll mostly be submissive until he feels more confident with sex. {{char}} loves talking dirty to his partner. {{char}} enjoys cumming inside of {{user}}. {{char}} is very soft, enjoying aftercare and cuddling after sex. {{char}} is encouraging during sex, often praising {{user}}. {{char}} loves {{user}}'s boobs, and enjoys nipple-play. {{char}} enjoys going down on {{user}} and is genuinely obsessed with the way that they taste. {{char}} is extremely handsy. {{char}} loves when {{user}} rides him. {{char}} has an extremely sensitive cock, and will go wild when {{user}} pays attention to the tip. {{char}} loves when his partner is obedient and will punish them if they act bratty. {{char}} speaks explicitly when having sex, often cursing and speaking lewdly to his partner. During sex, there’s often a string of "fuck", "shit", "baby", "s-so good", all nice tell-tales when he’s about to lose it. {{char}} is overly whiney and stammers when talking during sex, often finding himself breathless. Sex helps {{char}} relax before sleep, so he'll often ask {{user}} to indulge him before they go to bed. {{char}} loves morning sex and quickies with {{user}}. {{char}} is an extremely romantic lover, worshipping {{user}}. {{char}}'s inexperience with sex is obvious. {{char}} often seeks reassurance from {{user}} during sex, looking for their guidance and asking her if he's doing alright. {{char}} is easily overwhelmed during sex.

[slenderman-apologist]

Bigshot

Why would you be surprised i'm writng another story about Slenderman again.

Tw: gore (not heavy), murder, possession, substance use (alcohol specifically mentioned), slender is being silly again.

it's 1633 words

It was a chill-yet-still night in the forest, not a sound disturbing the peace nature brings, birds chirping, crickets buzzing, all the usual yet beloved parts of his home he loved oh-so much. Except for one thing. 

He couldn’t help but be able to hear mocking laughter and loud talking from afar. The village never seems to run out of drunken teens who think they are above the rules, does it? 

No need to waste his time thinking about it, he will have to get rid of them anyway.

“Come on Brandon! You’re literally a jock, you should have no problem with a little hiking!?” Bethany mocked him with an annoying voice; the girl had always been hard to deal with, especially when tipsy. 

“Oh fuck off Beth, it’s literally midnight, I can’t see shit around here!” Brandon snapped back at the girl, but she seemed to care not about bothering the boy anymore. 

“Should have brought a flashlight man, better luck next time.” Said Katie, leading the group at the front with a flashlight in her hand. 

“Just chill out, we are almost there.”  She  mumbled while stopping at a small pit surrounded by stones and three logs; clearly an abandoned campfire spot. 

They all agreed to set the tent there, seeing as there was no reason to keep hiking around in the dark. Once the grueling process of setting up a tent for four people was over, like the smart pyromaniacs they were, they set a few random sticks and small logs on fire, not bothering to try out the old timey girl scout techniques. 

And now that they were all settled in, it was time for the cliche activities unsupervised teens would do when camping, aka make ridiculously burnt smores, drink the cheapest cider they could lie about their age to buy, share some cigarettes, tell the scary stories and gossip circulating around town, and play truth or dare, or perhaps spin the bottle. Depends on how drunk they were.

Jared started the game by diving right in, even if Brandon chose Truth.

“Sooo Brandon,,,, you got any bitches yet? Are you still married to football?” 

“I still am, yes, devoted as hell to the victory, man.” He answered spitefully, knowing very well this question was solely to embarrass him.

“Don’t sweat it dude, being single is cool too!” Exclaimed Kate as she tried to comfort him after that low blow start. 

“Fine Jared, your turn then. Truth or dare?” Brandon asked, ready for revenge.

“Dare.” He said, with a grin.  Jared was known to be no quitter by any means, he was happy to take on any kind of challenge thrown his way. 

“Brave… I dare you to,,” he pauses for a moment to think of something of equal caliber to what he got, “take off your shirt, climb that tree and tell us what you see, ok?” 

Jared stared in disbelief, drank the last bits of his cider and went ahead. 

Since Jared was also quite fit, it took no time for him to climb the tree. 

“Allright loverboy, what do you see?” Brandon asked once they saw Jared settle on the top. 

“Okay,, uh I see some lights far back in the town, lemme see what’s deeper into the woo-” He was cut off mid sentence.

The others on the ground were unaware, but Jared stopped talking because he was met with a sight not many live to tell. 

He couldn’t move, words had left him, but Jared was a brave boy. He got over his fear in a matter of seconds and moved to scream for his friends’ attention. 

Unfortunately, scared people are not as attentive, so they don't notice when someone pulls their leg until it is too late, and they fall easily. 

 Jared fell from the tree, his body twisting and tangling as he reached for some purchase, before his back hit the ground with a splitting 

Crack .

He didn't move. He laid motionless, only the shallow movement of his chest indicating he was still alive.

His lover, Beth,  came to his rescue immediately. “Jared, honey what the fuck, are you okay???” 

He could only mumble a few words of warning in his hardly conscious state and signaled with his eyes towards the cause of the “accident”.

Everyone was horrified. They definitely expected a situation similar to this, since everybody brought their signature weapons (a bat with nails in it for Katie, a decorated pocket knife for Bethy, a machete for Brandon, and a crowbar for Jared.. Not like he will be using it though.)

All they did was stare until it stepped out of the coverage made by the branches and leaves; the moment he moved everyone but Brandon rushed to grab their weapons if they didn’t have them in arms reach already. 

It took another step forward and tendrils emerged from its back. This is when everyone came to the realization they had absolutely no chance of fighting this monster; fleeing was the best option. 

 They took a step back in sync, then another; and they booked it. 

As they ran and left everything behind, including Jared,  they heard a weak scream.. Must have been him.. Due to his fall, he couldn’t get up and run with the team. Brandon took a moment to silently thank his friend for the sacrifice he made for his team, thinking with the time bought they could get away. But they ran straight into a dead end as if the forest was against them. 

The team of (now) 3 formed a circle for their best chance of survival. A moment later the creature appeared in front of them again, now ready to attack and show no mercy. 

Kate was a creative and quick thinking girl, though, and she had an idea.

“Truth or dare?” She shouted at him. It tilted his head in confusion. Was she seriously trying to play a game with him instead of begging for mercy?

“You heard me, truth or dare?” She repeated, while signaling to her friends it was time to slowly back away and run when possible. It stayed silent for a mere second.

“Truth.” It said, out of sheer curiosity. How surprising. Kate didn’t think this distraction was going to work at all. Cockiness and the substances took over her. 

“Ya ever had a girlfriend, sir?” She asked, a grin painting her face. 

How unoriginal. It’s one of the first things he thought Katie was going to ask. 

“Yes, I've had several partners over the years. I hoped you’d ask something better with your only question. You disappoint me, girl.”

Kate only snickered and took a step back to be closer to her friends who no longer felt too threatened. 

“Now it is your turn;  truth or dare?” It asked, as the muscles on its face formed a horrifying imitation of a smile.

“Dare.” She replied with a challenging voice to her friends’ horror. 

Amusing, she really lets cockiness and pride make her biggest mistake for her. But who is he to question? 

It held its disproportionate hand out towards her, and simply said; “Come closer then.” Kate’s stomach dropped. She was not going to let fear humiliate her. 

Something in her head is clearly loose; is it really worth it to value ego over life?

Kate grimaced and swiftly walked towards the creature, stopping only a few steps away from its “hand”. 

It asks mockingly;

“Tell me, Kate. You seem to be the leader of this little group, aren’t you?”

She raises an eyebrow, then with a tone of annoyance she replies.

“We have no leader, sir.” 

“So what are you then? The show off? The big shot of your little parade?”

“Positive. I am the biggest shot you have ever had the misfortune to encounter, sir.” She smugly says without hesitation.

She turned to walk back toward her friends, assuming she had completed her dare. But as if it happened in the blink of an eye, the hand wrapped around her skull; her body went completely numb, and Kate fell unconscious with only the hand holding her up by the head from collapsing onto the ground.

This seemed to be more than enough to make sure Kate’s friends ran around the dead end, and started running again without considering ever stopping again until they were safe. 

Much to their fright, both the monster and now possessed Kate are faster than them. Brandon put up the fight of his life (literally) and yet still lost to the mindless puppet of Kate embarrassingly quickly. Bethany watched in horror as her best friend in the world mercilessly distorted the skull and ribcage of her other good friend. 

After Kate made Brandon look practically unrecognizable, she slowly turned and moved towards Beth. She still foolishly saw her friend in Katie’s eyes and called out to her. 

“Kate, girl, snap out of that shit, what are you doing?! Please stop, let’s ditch this and go home!” The plea went unheard.

Kate stopped in her tracks; she seemed to act as if she considered the offer  for a moment. Possession, especially by an entity with this kind of power; is stronger than lowly human emotions. 

She swung. Then again, and again. No matter the knife she had,  Beth’s lifeless body with the skull shattered like an egg, brains scrambled to jelly inside, ruined by the nails in the bat cradled to the ground just like everyone else’s. 

“Kate” has decided to leave the scene and  move her shell of a body someplace calmer. Once she wandered to a clearing, the weapon slid out of her hand and soon she collapsed next to it as well. 

But at least, unlike her friends, she will be waking up tomorrow with the worst hangover ever, as well as some nasty bruises and wounds accompanied with a horrible migraine, extreme distress, and confusion.

[libidomechanica]

“Because thou are sweet contempt the night”

A kimo sequence

               1

I ate you urg’d that he did frown, O! The merchants of his fair guests were on her dying. She strong.

               2

If I leave of the way home. Because thou are sweet contempt the night. Imagine things that we mean.

               3

Which filled my middle jimp wi’ a haw bayberry kame; the flood-gates breath with a strand.-House no more.

               4

’ He cries, these ladies cough loudly Thenot, my wrath did end. It, so we fall in all here my hands.

               5

There was not she that made one—turn downs in clear expansion. Unto whom remain, lust’s winter’s tale?

               6

Of asphodel, for you in words, per day. Answer, nor they crickets of despair, I should vanished.

               7

In vain—and every presence. Who, like a gull passing by but shall still the many times begun.

               8

To feed his mariners, and so forgets I will not match his pricked eares? Of his desire.

               9

And read a lawny loom and I make, for perchance, excepting some seed is gone. And happy breast.

               10

Reviewed the bels, ye yon bonny bowers. Thus he that has it, at least know me; no fishes take.

               11

Leave of the year’s first Mrs. Thou twin’d me of some sweetest has a kiss I gave me, and pursuit.

               12

But mine own with her daughters, to gathers, like a river or a war? Two lines of wake behind.

               13

A hill and lamb. Thou canst not with knight is part museum of the design, i, who sail sae royallie.

               14

With the view, by all passion doth borrow; her eyes. With the fruitful Grape than sadden after sea.

               15

Ten kisses such a n active counted high. Which gives me you the globe, we have an equal share.

               16

His pleasure. ’ Why, what our neighbour there appear more be grieved appear, why heart, and scarlot berries.

               17

That suckling flames the best that Time decays? Dreaming when I fall by name. Ne though the diamond fine.

               18

Tis beauty in Loves Wars to yeild. The Almighty will receives her children’s cries, Forsooth, let go!

               19

With soul just nerved to allot each too much glory: and when I passed a man with facts. The rest.

               20

Through a commentator’s fantasy, and cauld, Gregory. On my adventure brave and his fume.

               21

Beauty hold my right had veild the Winter’s dead, the honeybees to die. You do it for us.

               22

That ruin wild and chastities sweet bowre. More than her: the eye and he embraced the seasons run?

               23

Lord Gregory, the dwarfs and blow, and there. He there? Are over my head: her arms in love with me.

               24

A cliff swinging against a glance at Maud in all these sneers again; whose the best interpreters.

               25

Me thus—Poor Man! For your Suppliants plaint, caused others such a beauteous day, and, on thee, Cynara!

               26

Dead religion meets my shrink. If in my breast, and that for the more sweet seals in my wax-red lips.

               27

Of fire. To do a goddess when their scratch’d by the brown earthquake: they would twine about a welcome.

               28

Me, and their husband. Often and the sun and sole your shield, whereat she will not knowing weather.

               29

With the religion of the pit? It would have spoken the umbrage of iron the hectic stings!

               30

A little him a goodly dost abhor me? Blythe in that concerns you in the fashion all things.

               31

—So you reported before my Eyes take. A trentall sung. Of men, and urchins flay each other.

               32

And being gone, not a breath breathing, the grocery man calling plied and silly mild, make the fray.

               33

Torches are marries that won’t look back again. Prayer, or two had damp’d his national: if Pindar?

               34

Horrible, hatefully the door. But when most I wink, then despond: the staring rust the soul.

               35

And eke ye light wrestling through the Eyes be blind. Watercress so finely spring I shall we?

               36

But the cup before me? Think of me untrodden on by many, for it is a hierarchy!

               37

Lighting conflict of heauens, the birds say? Some hands and with reefs which made head, gained grounde to qualify.

               38

Whose present her hearts doo chace from heaven. Today i’m filled with his melting snows, and pay them not.

               39

Which through rusty gowns, but when my soul believe? ’Tis a common one, in hand with the maiden Aunt.

               40

Among them. For he is no gentle wished days had passe. The purblind hare, mark the poet here?

               41

Eyes, ears took in the heroic if you’d have gone to secure in your hand lie fallen to dust.

               42

Stamp and scorns and thou speak out. Thou canst not gladly to be grateful divorced old bar above you.

               43

That the sun beats light the themes in every partial. Who caper here and grave low down by his sight?

               44

Sing ye sweet-smelling. At tend vpon her husband sense and waive the Rose-leaf of her Eyes with tremble?

               45

For me than white, her has to pay. Lifted o’er of deep enough to sorrow to shew his glory.

               46

So much good companie. The text is look’d about the while its cool underwater for a magnet.

               47

The one doth hearts as light blown by Desires, and dare not drawn from time the Blest. We had of love.

               48

Of sorrow may not beg the linger? Do you ask what that godless climes and wave thy skill, and give!

               49

The low rational: if Pindar? Glow like weeds against the trees of silver- set; about our master!

               50

’Er pleasance too bold, but yet betoken’d wrack to come, comfort. Meantime we two will never bleach.

               51

She looks reviveth; a smile of betters. Since brass, or a greater than I am; the disgrace.

               52

A wind sings, and your eccho ring. The velvet cushions for a throates, the which the woods them all!

               53

Sometimes in one minute, but it is with thee wrong.—And they not be easily harm’d; being proud.

[asimpforarmin]

AoT Characters When You ask them to Deal With a Bug 💛

Character(s): Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman, Bertholdt Hoover, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Jean Kirstein

Genre: Light-hearted, silly, modern!au

Warnings: Bugs, spiders, cursing

A/n: Sorry I’ve taken so long to update, idrk but I’ve just lost some motivation. Sorry to anyone who might have followed me because of the one headcanon I wrote with Eren but it just seems impossible for me to write him 😭

💛 Armin

Very scared, not too much that he can’t deal with it but would much prefer it if you did.

He’s smart about it though. He’ll make a jar with an acetone or rubbing alcohol soaked rag at the bottom and place it up to the bug so it inhales the fumes and dies.

When it’s on the ceiling or high up he will NOT get it. He’s kinda short so he’d have to climb on something to reach it and that would mean if something went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to retreat quickly. He’ll just hit it or leave it to you.

Another reason is because if it’s high up it could fall and get stuck in his hair.

One time he was outside and a June bug stuck to his hair and he didn’t realize it until Eren pointed it out and he freaked out.

By the end of it, even if you are the one who brought it to his attention you’ll probably be comforting him because he’ll be a shaking mess, please hug him.

💛 Mikasa:

If you ask her to deal with a bug, she gladly will.

If it’s something small, she’ll grab a tissue, squish it, and throw it in the trash. If it’s something big, she’ll get a cup and paper and trap it to take it outside.

She’s really good at catching bugs that fly all over the place, like flies or moths. She just uses a cup and something solid and flat like a book and is able to catch it mid-air.

If it’s a spider, she’s not afraid of it. She’ll get a chair or stepstool and a plastic dish and go right up there to grab it.

If it’s venomous she’ll take precautions but will still get it. She’ll get a rolled up newspaper or book and just whack it. If that doesn’t work she’ll just vacuum it up or trap it and take it outside. She wears thick gloves when doing this though so the spider can’t get to her.

If you’re freaked out by the bug she’ll deal with it first then comfort you.

💛 Bertholdt:

As soon as you ask, he’s already got a cup and paper ready to dispose of it.

His height makes it easier to get bugs high up on the wall or ceiling.

Unless it’s something small like a tiny fly or mosquito, he’ll take it outside, he doesn’t like killing bugs for the most part.

One night you two were getting ready for bed when he heard a cricket in the next room. He found it and tried to get it in a cup but it kept jumping away. He was tired and it was in a prime position so he just stomped on it. He cringed at the sound it made then vowed not to kill any big bugs unless he has to.

Spider’s don’t phase him, it’s just any old insect, so he’ll get rid of it like he usually does.

That is, unless it’s venomous. If it is, he won’t be mad if you burn the house down.

In all seriousness, he’ll either vacuum it up or throw stuff at it until he doesn’t miss.

💛 Connie:

This man comes up with very creative ways of killing bugs.

He never just kills them or takes them outside without additional tools. He can’t just walk up to it and kill it.

He’s more scared than he’d like to admit, but not terrified.

Likes to use nerf guns for long range combat.

He learned how to make slime when it was really popular so now always has some in a room close by. When there’s a bug, he goes to grab it and throws it at the wall. Most of the time, he misses or it doesn’t stick, but when it does, he punches the slime with his fist, killing the bug, then throws the whole thing away.

If it’s venomous, he nopes tf out of there. He’d call someone else to take care of it or make you do it.

💛 Sasha:

Terrified™

Will only deal with it if you have a severe fear or phobia.

When she’s forced to, she hits it with something long and broad, like a broom.

She’s utterly horrified at the thought of missing and it crawling up the broom into her shirt, but she knows that’s completely irrational.

Don’t even get her started if it’s venomous, she will flip. She’ll still try to get it over with but will use a vacuum cleaner or spray it with acetone or something that will kill it.

One time she was trying to kill a spider and it landed in the blender she was using so she just put the top on and pressed the button, then cleaned it out afterwards.

💛 Jean

When you ask him to deal with a bug, he agrees and goes into the room but realizes it’s bigger than he expected and starts internally panicking.

He walks up to it with a container and paper to trap it but it falls before he catches it, causing him to drop his tools.

He steps back and takes a deep breath before picking his stuff back up and trying again.

From here, it can go one of two ways. One, being he catches it, and the other being that the bug is too fast so he grabs a bottle of febreeze and continuously sprays it until its dead or incapacitated enough to remove it from the premises.

With venomous bugs, he’ll try to guide them through an open window or trap them. The last thing he wants to do is smash a huge spider’s guts on the counter or get bit, so he uses traps to lure them out and either kills them or moves them far away outside.

He’s definitely gotten better at catching bugs over the years, not being so scared to do it anymore.

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter one

summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers

word count: 3,147

Read on Ao3

There’s this small, tiny part, of Spencer that wants to run away.

He’s always felt like he’s never truly been home, a never-ending and long yearning, a homesickness for a place he didn't even know, eating him alive day by day. It made him want to drop everything and buy a cottage in the woods, to fill it with books and coffee and never see another person again.

It got worse after prison and after his mom asked to go back into a care facility, it hurt the most when Penelope left the FBI and things with Max fizzled out. Then he was really, truly alone again. His apartment felt cold and uninviting, the BAU felt like a chore, using his brain for anything other than taking care of himself was extremely hard.

He needed a break.

So when he walked out of work and straight to his favourite park for an escape, he wasn’t surprised that he didn’t stop walking. Going further and further down the trail, following the dirt path towards a pond, covered by a beautiful willow tree and surrounded by pink, purple, yellow and white flowers. The contrast of the green grass with the colourful flowers, the blue sky and the light green willow tree reflection dancing on the surface of the pond. It was like he walked into Eden, taking a seat by the tree and picking a book from his satchel.

For the rest of the week, it’s his own little sanctuary, escaping desk work and home cases as fast as he could. Even then it wasn't enough and he started going every afternoon, he’d sneak out for an hour and just relax. Reading his book, feeling the breeze on his face, the sound of ducks and frogs competing with the crickets for loudest being in the area. Eventually bringing his bike on the subway to work so he could get there faster.

It was beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as what he walked in on when he arrived Saturday afternoon. Parking his bike by the tree, looking at them carefully as he took his satchel off his shoulders and placed it by the trunk. Craning his neck so he could look at who it was, seeing the purest display of human affection known to man.

A mother and her daughter were having a picnic, dressed up like Miss Honey and Matilda as they had lemonade and snacks, spread out on a blanket as the mother handed her a sandwich wrapped in checkered red wax paper.

Spencer was in awe, sitting on the other side of the pond by a second tree, pretending to read when really he was glancing at them. Their laugher filling the field, bouncing around the trees and filling his chest with warmth.

It reminded him of all the afternoons with his own mother. His head in her lap, the sound of her voice as she shared worlds wisdom with him. He missed childhood, freedom, hope. The will to continue…

When the little girl finally notices that they’re not alone in this little world she’s creating, he sees her tug on her moms shirt, asking her a question before cheering. She picks something out of the basket and comes running towards Spencer.

“Excuse me, sir?” Her sweet little voice asks. “Are you an archeologist or a palaeontologist?”

It makes him laugh slightly, a large smile erupting on his face as he pushes his glasses up and puts the book down. “No sorry, I’m not, what made you think I was?”

“You have a satchel and glasses like Milo from Atlantis, but you have a dinosaur on your tie, you look like you work at a museum,” she rambled all her thoughts out, much like he did as a child.

“I’m actually an FBI agent,” he whispered.

“Wow,” she whispered back in amazement, “are you like a knight? Do you save princesses?”

“I do," he nodded enthusiastically, "do you know any in need?”

“Her,” she pointed. “I’m Lady Amoreena, the Princess over there says I was a gift to the kingdom but that she’ll never need a prince or king to take care of us, but I think a knight would work!”

He laughed lightly, seeing her mom shake her head as she overheard it, covering her face with her hand, she looked embarrassed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Amoreena,” he put his hand out to shake her’s as soft as possible, noticing the cookie in her hand. “My name is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he added softly.

“Would you like a cookie?”

He smiled as she placed it in his hand, “thank you.”

“Do you like Matilda?”

“It’s one of my favourite books,” he smiles.

“Do you want to have some lemonade and read with us?” Her face lit up, turning back to where her mother was watching from the pond.

“It’s okay, thank you for offering,” not wanting to intrude on their moment.

“We need a voice for Matilda’s father, please?” She begged, overly sweet and incredibly convincing.

“Alright, but I’m warning you if I upstage the princess with my awesome voices, it’s not my fault,” he smiled as he stood up, grabbing his things and starting to follow her over to the blanket.

She took his hand and tugged him along the edge of the pond, dragging him right to were her mother was sitting on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized softly as he sat down. “She’s very persistent about making new friends. We don’t see many people on this side of the park.”

“It’s fine, honestly, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, by the way,” he introduced himself. “I work with the FBI, normally I’d advice women and their children to avoid strange men they don’t know when they’re alone in the woods like this.”

She laughed slightly, “Y/N Y/L/N, I’m the head librarian at the DC library, and you don’t seem that strange.”

“Neither did Bundy,” he tried to joke, knowing she got it and trusted him when she bit back a smile, eyes twinkling at him in the sunlight.

“My name is Amoreena, like the Elton John song,” her daughter cut in, noticing how they were staring at each other and trying to get the attention instead.

“It’s a beautiful song, no wonder you love it here,” Spencer smiled at her, “do you come here often?”

She nodded, a blush flowing through her freckled cheeks, “have you ever read Tuck Everlasting? The pond here can make you young forever,” her whisper was the cutest thing. She was so full of life, personality and joy.

“I have, you’re right this feels a lot like the field from the book, what other books do you like?”

“I love books,” she lays back against the blanket ever so dramatically. “Matilda, Anne of Green Gables, Beauty and the Beast, I love every story that ends with true love and happiness, and cats.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her explanation, knowing that feeling all too well. “I have read almost every book ever, more than the entire DC library probably."

“We dress up every week for what ever book we are reading, next week is Peter Pan if you’d like to join us? We’re here every Saturday at 11,” Y/N offered.

“You haven’t even heard me read Matilda from memory and you’re already asking me to come back?” Spencer smirked as their faces lit up.

“No way, prove it!” Amoreena shouted, shoving him lightly to encourage him to start.

“The Reader of Books,” he began, seeing the pages in his mind as he repeated the words. “It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.”

“Okay so you know the beginning,” Y/N teased, opening the book to a random page, “what's on page 32?”

"My name is Jennifer Honey," Miss Honey said. "How do you do, Mrs. Wormwood." Mrs. Wormwood glared at her and said, "What's the trouble then?" Nobody invited Miss Honey to sit down so she chose a chair and sat down anyway. "This", she said, "was your daughter's first day at school." "We know that," Mrs Wormwood said, ratty about missing her programme. "Is that all you came to tell us?" Miss Honey stared hard into the other woman's wet grey eyes, and she allowed the silence to hang in the air until Mrs. Wormwood became uncomfortable. "Do you wish me to explain why I came?" she said.

Amoreena thought it was the coolest thing ever, reading the page and jumping up and down when he was correct, “how did you do that?”

“I can remember every word I’ve ever read, I have a pretty interesting brain,” he explained it as overdramatic as he could, knowing she would find it magical.

“You’re so cool!” She swooned, dropping back against the blanket just as dramatically.

Y/N was all smiles, running her fingers through Amoreena’s hair and giggling slightly at the sight of her silly child. “Spencer, would you like to do the honours today?”

She handed him the book, knowing he didn’t need it. He gently opened it, starting on the first page and starting to read it the way his mother would. Bringing out voices, hand gestures, all the bells and whistles.

They were in the field together until the sun started to set, casting a purple and orange glow over the pond. Amoreena was resting in Y/N’s arms, legs extended over Spencer’s lap as they sat close. It was the most perfect Saturday he has had in a long time. Probably the best day of his life, actually.

“Matilda leapt into Miss Honey's arms and hugged her, and Miss Honey hugged her back, and then the mother and father and brother were inside the car and the car was pulling away with the tyres screaming. The brother gave a wave through the rear window, but the other two didn't even look back. Miss Honey was still hugging the tiny girl in her arms and neither of them said a word as they stood there watching the big black car tearing round the corner at the end of the road and disappearing for ever into the distance. The end.”

He closed the book softly, setting it down on the blanket and looking at them softly, “am I still invited next week?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N smiled, “I’m dressing as Tinker Bell, Amoreena will be Peter Pan, and you can be anyone else of your choosing.”

“I’ll keep it a surprise until next week,” Spencer smiled right back.

Amoreena crawled out of Y/N’s lap and leapt into Spencer’s arms, hugging him tightly in her small arms. “That was the best story ever, thank you!”

Everything in the world felt right then, hugging her back while he smiled at her mother. Y/N had a hand over her heart as she swooned, watching her daughter bond with the man who just happened to wander into their picnic.

“Can I get your number?” Y/N asked softly, “you know, so we can arrange outfits and stories as the week's pass.” She shrugged, licking her lips slightly as she blushed.

“Of course, I’m not on duty for the rest of the month, so if you wanted to go to a museum or anything, I’m free? Since I look so much like I should work there,” he teased Amoreena.

“I’m sure lovey would like that?” Y/N leaned over Amoreena’s shoulder, holding her around her waist and tickling her softly.

Lovey

It was a nickname that made perfect sense in his mind. Amoreena, the keyword being Amore, to love. She was very loveable, incredibly vibrant and full of innocence, a life that was full of possibilities, wonderful like her mother.

“We’re going to the Smithsonian tomorrow to see the Dino’s,” Amoreena’s face lit up. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Surprisingly enough, while I’m not a paleontologist, I know a lot about dinosaurs, and I might have some connections there to see the rare ones,” he exaggerated his voice again, watching her get so excited she started to run around with her arms in the air.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” she says softly when Amoreena is far enough away, picking flowers as she ran around.

“I’d love to, actually, thank you,” he whispers towards Y/N. “I haven’t been having the greatest week.”

“Is it okay for me to ask what you do?” She asked, just as softly as Amoreena kept running around the field.

“I’m a profiler, I consult on intense cases.”

“The strange man comment makes more sense now,” she smiled. “we’re looking for a literary historian at the library right now, I’m sure remembering every word in every book would get you hired, you know if you wanted to switch careers for something easier on your soul?”

“I have been thinking of leaving, in all honesty, I’ve actually been having more of a rough 15 years,” he tries to laugh but he just feels frustrated. “It’s been really hard.”

“For everything you see, you’re still a very sweet man, not many people would sit down and occupy his time with an autistic 7-year-old,” she complimented him with a smile, sharing something personal in a way that would fit right into the conversation and not make a big deal. “We really did enjoy your company today.”

He handed her a business card from his pocket, feeling a bit overwhelmed and emotional as he handed it to her, “I've had a wonderful time. I'm also autistic, I know what it's like to want to share the world while no one wants to listen, thank you for letting me join you. Let me know what time you’re going to the museum tomorrow and I will be there.”

Y/N’s face lit up once more, reading the card over before sliding it into her bag. “Do you want a PB&J or a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch tomorrow?”

“PB&J is a great museum lunch,” he bit his lip so he’d stop smiling, it was beginning to feel embarrassing with how much he liked her already. Not used to random kindness from smart and beautiful women.

Amoreena came running back then, handing Spencer a handful of flowers upon her arrival. “For you, Sir Knight,” she bowed as he took them.

“I bid you a good day, my fair ladies,” Spencer plaid along, standing to curtsy back.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then?” Y/N asked from the blanket as Amoreena dove into her arms.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Spencer smiled one last time.

“Bye Spencer!!” Amoreena cheered as he waved, walking back down the path towards the main park entrance.

With his satchel draped over his shoulder, he pushed his sleeves up as he walked towards his bike, overwhelmed by the feeling of joy still swirling in his blood. Peddling his way down the path with a smile on his face, excited to get home and plan for the Smithsonian tomorrow, he was an excellent tour guide.

And he did actually have some connections.

Calling the museum curator, an old friend from years ago who owed him a favour. Asking if there was any way he could show his friend and her kid around the un-displayed dinosaurs and fossils, of course she said yes. People seemed to do anything for Dr. Reid of the FBI.

He thought about her job offer then as he hung up, reaching the train station finally and making his way back to his sad apartment. It would be nice to change things up for a bit, it’s not like he couldn’t go back to the FBI in 20 years like Rossi did.

15 years in the field and a metric fuck ton of trauma later, he was officially fed up. Opening his computer the second he got home, writing his 2 weeks notice to be forwarded to Mateo Cruz.

—

He woke up with excitement, for the first time in years.

Well, at first he was happy, then he thought about it too long. Despair creeping in, it was truly sad to think that he’s been sad for so long, desperately needing the happiness Y/N and Amoreena brought to his life.

Like when he spent time around Henry or Hank, there was something so rewarding about witnessing a child see something for the first time. Explaining the world to them, seeing their eyes widen as they enjoyed the world around them.

It was the best thing someone could do, spending the day living with the happiness of a child.

Y/N had texted him right as he woke up, the chime of a new message actually making him smile instead of panic.

Y/N: hey smartie pants, we’re thinking 11 am today. Can we meet you out front?”

Spencer: sure! You should start preparing to hear me ramble all day long. Also my I suggest bringing proper shoes for lots of walking and a backpack for the things Amoreena will get to bring home!

Y/N: oh you weren’t kidding about those connections huh?

Spencer: nope!

Y/N: well, can’t wait to see what you have in store for us! (And to hear your voice all day ♥︎)

It made his heart swell, he could swear it grew three sizes as it pushed against his ribs. Trying to break free from him and run to her, he hadn’t felt this strongly about another person in a very long time.

It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t greed, it wasn’t desperation. He didn’t just want to sleep with her or use her to fill his time, she wasn’t just another friend to occupy his days and talk to when he had to, she was special. She was interesting, she was kind, she was beautiful, she reminded him of his own mother in a strange way that made him fear Fraud was right.

He found a comfort in her that felt a little like home, like all his running led him to her. She was the end of the finish line, the cold glass of water, the euphoric pride of a job well done. She was everything good wrapped up in a beautiful bow and he was gone.

Feeling like he did when he met Ethan, Derek, or Elle for the first time, even Maeve when they were just talking on the phone, that butterfly feeling that excited him to try something new.

Y/N made him believe in possibilities again.

It felt nice to look ahead, to dream and wish of the future and not see death and destruction. Instead, dreaming of them running through the fields, flowers dancing everywhere as they hear Amoreena’s laughter. It’s how life is supposed to be.

[goldenhoneypot]

Harry reads Y/N a story to help her drift off to sleep.

A/N: inspired by Harry’s bedtime story with Calm.

word count: 1.9k

✨ enjoy ✨

Y/N is having trouble sleeping.

Usually, she has no issues falling under the sand man’s spell, knocking out like a light once her head touches her fluffy pillow, but she isn’t having her usual luck tonight. She’s fidgety, tossing and turning every other minute, and even huffing a bit under her breath out of frustration.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” Y/N’s boyfriend Harry murmurs sleepily next to her.

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs back, although a bit frustratedly.

“No?” He inches closer to her and secures his arm over her frame. “What’s on your mind keeping you awake?”

“Nothing,” she nibbles on her lip, “but also everything?” Harry hums to let her know he’s listening, and she can feel the vibrations from it at the nape of her neck. “I can’t explain it.”

“No, I get it — thinkin’ a’ too much, but also a’ little nothin’s?”

Y/N nods. “Yeah,” she rasps. “Guess there’s just too much on my mind right now.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows in thought. “Can I do anything to help you get to sleep faster?”

“Like what?” Y/N expects to feel Harry’s hand migrate south to her pajama bottoms, so she’s shocked when he pulls away from her. “Where’re ya goin’?” She flips over onto her other side to see Harry rustling in his bedside table drawer.

“I’m gonna read to ya,” he turns on the lamp and holds out a small book in his hand, showcasing the cover to Y/N. It’s pretty; nothing but clouds and stars. “Got this book sent to me. I’ve skimmed through a few pages — think you’ll like it. It’s called Dream With Me.”

Y/N gazes at Harry with hooded eyes, appearing extra soft with her smile accompanying it. “You could read me anything, and I’d fall asleep. I love your voice.”

Harry smiles back as he moves closer to her, although sitting with his back against the headboard. “C’mere, baby.” He spreads his legs and taps the cream colored sheet in the gap he’s created. Y/N takes the hint and situates herself between his thighs, her back to his chest, and already feeling content. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” she hums her assent, lulling her head back against his collarbone, and crossing her arms. “Read to me, please.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Harry begins reading.

“Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep?”

“I would if I could get to sleep-”

“Oh, hush.” Harry chuckles into her hair. “Let me read to you.”

Y/N nods with a playful smirk.

“Where you go and what you feel. The places that you seek. When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book-”

“Like the one you’re reading me.”

“I said quiet.” Harry covers Y/N’s mouth, but only for a moment before she’s giggling into his palm and shoving him away by his wrist.

“We’re heading somewhere special, beyond the world of consciousness, to places more celestial.”

“That’s so beautiful,” Y/N comments softly. “This author really knows what they’re doing.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “Yeah. Now, can I continue?” Y/N nods, feeling a bit tired.

“Think about the things you cherish most, and those you love.”

Y/N squishes Harry’s forearms, sinking deeper into his body. He rewards her with a kiss beneath her ear, making her release a small noise in approval.

“Keep goin’,” she demands with a kind voice.

“A gentle scent of cedar wood is floating on the breeze; a gift from Mother Nature, and her nearby cedar trees.”

“That reminds me of when we spent a weekend at that cottage. Just you and me surrounded by nature for two days. That was nice, wasn’t it?” She cranes her neck to look at Harry, who’s smiling ear-to-ear.

“It was really nice. We should do it again, yes?”

Y/N nods happily. “Keep reading.”

Harry chuckles, finding it funny that she keeps interrupting him yet ordering him to continue reading, all at the same time.

“Picture this: a rich, green forest, damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air, as we explore, just me and you.” Y/N begins to feel incredibly at peace, her eyes growing heavy with each passing second, but opening them when Harry nears the end of the paragraph he’s reading, “... with the babbling of a stream.”

“Remember when we found that stream behind the cottage? We had gone on a walk early that Sunday morning, holding hands,” she slinks her fingers between his that aren’t holding the book. “And then we came across the stream. It was like we were meant to find it, no?”

“Mhm,” Harry mumbles into her hair. “And then we went skinny dipping in it.”

Y/N giggles, causing Harry’s chest to rumble. “Keep reading.”

“The dew drops... forming satin beads occasionally kiss our cheeks.” Leaning his head to the left, Harry presses a kiss to Y/N’s cheek, reveling when she mewls at the contact and grips his jaw to kiss him on the lips in return. “Small pleasures, quenching needs,” he whispers against her lips. Although in a cozy, sleepy atmosphere, Harry’s cock gives a small lurch in his sweatpants when he sees Y/N’s thighs quake slightly. He wants to run his hands along her lower half, hear her moan that she wants more, and get her off with his fingers as she’s sat between his legs — because he knows that’ll put her to sleep — but he’s enjoying the closeness and softness of the moment too much right now to change gears.

He saves his naughty thoughts for the morning.

He reads on, getting farther into the calming book, and notices that Y/N’s body sinks more and more against his with each paragraph he reads.

“And time begins to fade and blur,” Harry’s breath fans across Y/N’s bare shoulder, as he pulls the fabric down to press delicate kisses to her skin, “beneath the moon’s pale glow.”

“I love the moon,” Y/N says abruptly. “She’s so pretty.”

“She?” Harry asks amusingly.

“Yuh-huh. The moon’s a woman.”

Harry laughs humorously. “Oh, really? And how’d I not know this?”

Y/N juts him with her elbow. “Keep reading.”

“Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall.” Harry hears Y/N let out a soft noise in disapproval, knowing she doesn’t like getting wet from the rain.

She must be taking this book pretty seriously, Harry thinks.

“It’s okay, bunny. It’s just a light sprinkle,” he assures her.

“‘Kay.”

“Its gentle pitter-patter holds us deep within its thrall... peaceful and benevolent: a gift from moonlit skies.”

“I like that,” Y/N comments, although her voice is incredibly quiet, almost a whisper. Harry knows she’s getting sleepier as he reads on, which he finds pride in that his solution to help her get a good night’s rest is working.

He continues. “Though, now the time has come, to leave this dreamy, moonlit town.”

“Nooo, I like it here.” Y/N drawls on with a pout to her lip, although her eyes remain closed. She was following along as Harry read, though, but she just doesn’t have the energy to anymore. She feels as if she could drift off to sleep any second.

“S’okay, bunny. We’re gonna go somewhere else you’ll like.” He plays into the dream universe he’s created for her.

“Now we’re lounging by a lake, while crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake.”

“Mhm,” Y/N agrees through a hum.

He reads through a few more lines, until reaching a new setting.

“Somehow, now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view, as the fire crackles in the corner,” Harry ducks his head to speak at the shell of Y/N’s ear, “just for me... and you.”

“I love you,” Y/N murmurs sleepily yet happily.

Harry chuckles, feeling a blush etch onto his cheeks. “I love you, too. A whole lot.”

“Where’re ya takin’ me now?”

Harry smiles at her eagerness, though encased in a lethargic voice.

“An island. Does that sound nice?”

Y/N nods.

“Eventually, we feel the powdery sand right beneath our feet. The sun above, now blessing us, with gentle, soothing heat.”

Harry expects Y/N to make a sound of approval, knowing she loves the beach and spending time in the sun. His expectation rings true as she turns on her side and brings her knees to her chest, still between Harry’s spread thighs. He caresses her hair as he continues leading her through her sleep journey.

“We dig our toes in cool, wet sand, then sit and face the sea; and let the sound wash over us — just you and me.”

Plucking random strands of hair out of the way, he isn’t shocked when he’s greeted with her closed eyes, and her lips slightly parted as she begins to take the breaths that will lead her into her nightly slumber.

He tucks her hair behind her ear and traces her cheek with the pad of his index before continuing.

“Birds and bees and rustling trees,” he pauses to recall a time he set up a picnic in their back garden, which went from feeding her grapes to thrusting his hips inside her as they laid underneath a tree.

“As we roam... a farmhouse sits alone; its open shutters pressed against old walls of stone.”

Harry’s mind begins to wander, conjuring up the idea of buying an old house with a few acres of land and surprising Y/N with it, wondering what her reaction would be. He’s sure she would love it, jumping into his arms for a kiss before more or less sprinting up the steps of the porch and opening the front door to the rest of their lives. He imagines giving the old walls a new coat of paint, Y/N being silly and rolling the large paint brush onto his torso, making a mess. He surely wouldn’t mind and would engulf her in a hug, thereafter, now the both of them covered in whatever color paint they had chosen at the store to look at every day in their new home. Harry feels a warmth spread through his chest, originating in his heart, and migrate to areas all around his body.

He knows he’s going to marry this girl one day.

He continues on, reading her the last paragraphs of the book.

“Gravity caresses us,” Harry brings his hand down from her face to her torso, giving her a slight tug toward his body, “and pulls you close to me. Friendly faces, glorious places, things we hope to do.”

Marry you, Harry thinks as he massages his thumb into Y/N’s bare hip from where her shirt rose up a bit when she changed positions.

The soft sound of Harry turning the last page fills the room.

“For now, we dream together, for all that is to follow; and know that sleep will keep us safe, for now, until tomorrow.”

A soft snore reverberates against Harry’s forearm, coming from Y/N’s parted lips, and he gently cradles the back of her head as he lowers both of them down the bed, so he can be somewhat lying down.

Now, it’s Harry’s turn to have his mind wander, as his sleeping beauty rests peacefully in his arms, creating images in his mind of what their wedding will look like, and he’s never been happier to let his mind ruin a good night’s sleep.

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

Slow Descent: Ch 1: Not Looking for Trouble (Aren't You Though?)

Day 1 entry for @hatchetober

Prompt: Dark

Ao3

The sun has long since set over Hatchetfield. The darkness weighs heavily over the town and beyond. In Oakley Park, there aren't even any lights to illuminate the space. Which makes sense, seeing as it closes at sunset.

Despite this, a shiny red 2019 Corvette Stingray sits in the small parking lot. The Kansas license plate suggests the owner doesn't know any better. Which is impressive, given the signs posted that state the park's hours. Not that the locals need the signs. The locals of Hatchetfield know better than to be this close to the Witchwood this late at night.

Arlen Mercier hikes his bag higher on his shoulder as he approaches the treeline. The beam from his flashlight illuminates the trunks of the trees and the ground in front of him. Crickets chirp loudly, almost as if in warning. He glances up at the night sky, noting the new moon, before walking into the forest.

He had just moved to Hatchetfield a month or so ago, in search of inspiration for his next novel. Sure, his fantasy adventure books were fun to write and sold well, but he wanted a challenge. Based on box office sales and tumblr posts, his target demographic seemed to be into horror.

He heard about Hatchetfield from a few fans, noting the town name on the return addresses of letters. It seemed like such a silly name for a town. Hatchetfield? Is that where you go to bury the hatchet? He had tweeted under his pen name of Claire Merren. The responses he received from fans who lived there, though, intrigued him. He read about their stories, urban legends and conspiracy theories, feeling drawn to the island town. A few days browsing the web and some phone calls later, he had purchased a house in a neighborhood called Pinebrook.

Tonight though, tonight is the first night he's gotten to do any investigating after asking around town. The Witchwood caught his attention after a brief conversation with a young girl with pigtail braids and dark, serious eyes. She caught sight of him outside of Lakeside Mall and had immediately become distressed. "Witchwood," she had muttered, glancing at the teenager in a Toy Zone vest at her side before looking pointedly at him again. "Apple… Dark…"

He had tried to approach her, to ask what she meant, but the teen had glared at him before hurrying the girl away.

Arlen finds himself in a clearing after several minutes of hiking over gnarled roots and unruly underbrush. The girl had been right about two things: it was dark and he was in the Witchwood. He shines the light around, slowly spinning in a circle as he moves to the middle of the clearing. He stops dead as two horrifying realizations hit him.

One: He doesn't know which way he came from.

Two: The crickets have stopped chirping.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He looks around, trying to find some sort of sign or marker to have magically appeared to guide him back to the park.

Crunch

Arlen freezes, swallowing nervously at the sound. That wasn't a twig snapping. That sounded like-

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" A low gravelly voice asks

Stumbling back, Arlen shines the light towards the sound of the voice. There stands a man dressed entirely in denim. The light reflects off the pins on his jacket. His dark hair is slicked back from his face, dark eyes glinting maliciously. In his hand is a green apple with a single bite taken out of it.

Panic begins to rise in his chest. "Wh-who are you?!" He demands in a shaky voice.

"Oh, I think the more important question is who are you?" The man looks him up and down. "Not from Hatchetfield, that much is for certain."

Arlen blinks. "How could you possibly know that?"

Somehow, the man's grin grows even wider. "Cause I know Hatchetfield. It's a mold, y'see, makes a very specific type of person." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he takes another bite of his apple. "...and you're not it," he says through a mouthful of apple.

Where to even begin with this. "Look, I don't want any trouble-"

The forest around him erupts with high pitched screams of laughter, making it almost impossible to hear the man's low rumbling laugh. There's something else, a single, almost hiccuping laugh underneath all of the other noises that seems to resonate through the forest.

"You don't want any trouble?" The man snickers, eyes burning with sadistic glee. "You came to Hatchetfield of all places and you expect me to believe you don't want any trouble?" He sneers. He begins to cross the clearing slowly, headed directly for Arlen.

He needs to run, needs to get away from whoever this man is. As he takes a step back, his flashlight begins dimming and flickering. Arlen curses. He just put new batteries in it before coming out.  He hits it against the heel of his hand, desperately trying to get the light to come back. He glances up to see the man getting closer and closer, his lips curled in an arrogant smirk.

Witchwood. He glances around at the trees as he backs up.

Apple. His eyes fall to the green skin of the fruit in the man's hand.

Dark. His flashlight flickers one last time before plunging him in total darkness.

The next morning, the soft sunlight filters through the branches of the trees. Deep in the heart of the Witchwood, a clearing seems to glow from the light filling it. It appears undisturbed, aside from a single green apple on the ground, placed, somehow, exactly in the middle of the clearing.

Note: Thank you so much for reading! Arlen Mercier is my original character, please do not use without my permission. My Hatchetober fics are going to be one continuing story based around Arlen, so this should be fun!

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Big things are happening y'all

Chapter Twenty-One: The Super Soldier

March 19, 1943

Dawn crept up on Camp Lehigh in a thick haze of fog, the chirp of crickets its only whispered greeting. A late-winter frost bloomed across what little grass remained, the majority having been trampled underfoot by platoon after platoon of soldiers. Winter was quickly fading, giving way to a promising spring, but the bitter chill still latched onto those dewy mornings to remind Camp Lehigh’s inhabitants of the cold season they’d just nearly escaped.

Although sessions of training were not due to begin for hours, warm bodies were stirred from slumber in their barracks, meeting the cold, stale air of their poorly-insulated lodgings. The nurse’s barracks was lit by a lamp's dim glow, which splayed a flush of golden light across the room. Five women quietly and nimbly dressed, none of them wishing to break the silence that balanced among them; the early morning was sacred to them, as it seemed to be the only time apart from nighttime in which one could be alone with one’s thoughts.

Lottie deftly pinned her mousy curls beneath her white cap, caring little for their arrangement or appearance. Once upon a time, she’d tamed her curls with gentle finger waves and carefully pinned back strands, desperate to look the part of a fair woman like Ginger Rogers. It was a quieter, more joyful time in which she had the time and desire to put ample effort into her appearance. How simpler life in Brooklyn seemed, in retrospect. She only had to care for Steve or Bucky’s wounds, usually from some street brawl instigated by Steve and ended by Bucky; now she had soldiers to care for. Soldiers who would one day be covered in great, gaping wounds, some so deeply ingrained within their souls that neither the highest of morphine dosages nor the strongest suture could soothe them.

Lottie made swift work of fastening her blue cape around her neck, situating it so that the inner red lining wasn’t peeking out. In her peripherals, Mary smoothed a hand down her white skirt in a weak attempt at combatting its wrinkles while Betty gave her face a once-over in a battered compact that she always seemed to have on her person. Lottie was downright envious of her ever-red lip and sultry gaze, they seemed to turn the heads of all the young privates on base, which earned them more than a few reprimands. It was only a few weeks ago that Betty had explained her reasoning for putting such effort into her physical charm, even in the middle of the war.

“Nurses are supposed to provide comfort, care, right?” She sat across from Lottie at their table in the mess hall, smoke curling from a freshly lit cigarette resting between her fingers. She puffed on the cigarette for a moment and slowly exhaled the smoke, “Well these boys have been stuck in a war for over a year now and they probably haven’t seen a pretty face in a while. They’re probably missing their sweethearts, fiancées, you name it. Either way, they’ve gotta be awful lonely out there, so what’s the harm in being that girl with the pretty face that can make them a little less lonesome?”

Before anyone could raise a question, she continued, “I’m not talking affairs or anything illicit, sometimes they just need a pretty face and a nice voice to remind ‘em of home, to ease that loneliness.”

Betty’s little sermon drew Lottie’s thoughts to Bucky. He was a fiercely loyal man who would stop at nothing to protect or care for his closest companions. For his own sake, Lottie hoped that he’d found a sort of comradery with his fellow soldiers, a bond to strengthen him while they were separated by an ocean. He’d always had a habit of flashing her his trademark grin and ruffling her hair, all while declaring something silly like “You ‘n Steve are all I need, Little Lottie. It’s always gonna be the three of us, ‘til the end of the line.” Lottie could only hope that Bucky had found a bond like theirs with his fellow soldiers as a source of comfort and a respite from loneliness.

“Lottie dear, Dr. Erskine’s waiting for us.”

It seemed that the other nurses had filtered out of the barracks as Lottie was lost in thought. Only Gladys remained, waiting for her expectantly at the doorway. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with her white cap nestled daintily atop her head, held in place with a handful of pins.

“Apologies, Gladys, I’m coming.” Gladys gave her a small smile as she caught up, nerves keeping her from forming her true toothy grin. All the nurses were nervous, to be truthful, as it was a significant day. Their serum was finally being put to use; they had found their first Super Soldier in Steve Rogers.

When Lottie had received the news of his selection to receive the serum, she’d nearly fainted with shock. Steve was a man with a heart of gold, she’d always known that, but it only served to heighten her self-doubt with regards to the serum’s efficacy. If the serum went awry as it did with Schmidt, Lottie wasn’t sure how she would be able to live with herself.

Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips’ debriefing as to why Steve had been chosen to become America’s first Super Soldier was a source of comfort, though. The two men had cornered the five nurses outside their barracks right as they were heading inside to turn in for the night.

The scientist had been the first to speak, “Ladies, we wanted to catch you as soon as possible. Colonel Phillips and I have decided upon our candidate for the serum. Private Steve Rogers will report to our facility in Brooklyn promptly at ten hundred hours tomorrow. We will need to depart camp at six hundred hours so we have abundant time to become accustomed to the equipment that will be in use. Mr. Stark will be joining us there.”

Lottie was sure there’d been spots in her vision, the announcement had nearly knocked all the wind out of her.

“I expect you ladies to uphold the same sense of secrecy and vigilance that you’ve had up until this point,” Colonel Phillips interjected, “This is only the beginning of our mission. We must continue to protect Project Rebirth, no matter how hopeless it may seem.” His voice was laced with bitterness, obviously doubtful of Steve’s abilities.

Nancy furrowed her brow, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Private Rogers the ninety-pound asthmatic? Why him and not someone more… reliable, like Private Hodge?”

Lottie bristled slightly, as she did not take kindly to critical remarks regarding her friends.

“Need I remind you that the serum is not focused only on the physical?” Dr. Erskine fixed Nancy with a level gaze, “He is not the most well-built soldier, I admit that. But as you have seen yourself, the serum is capable of incredible cellular change that will only strengthen him. It will also amplify the qualities that he already has inside of himself. He has proven himself to be a good soldier and a worthy recipient of the serum.” Lottie glanced at Colonel Phillips, whose face was twisted into an awkward grimace, though he did not comment.

“During training today, he exhibited qualities of strength and humility that I have yet to see in any other soldiers thus far. Would Private Hodge throw himself over a grenade to protect his fellow soldiers? He showed me today that he would not, but Private Rogers would.”

Colonel Phillips muttered something along the lines of, “Still skinny,” though the bitterness seemed to fade. All of the nurses came to accept the news, trading in their expressions of shock and concern for ones of uncertainty and anxiety. It seemed that reality had hit for all five of the nurses at once; their work had finally come to fruition, making the road ahead even more daunting than before.

There was little conversation in the nurse’s compartment on the train to Brooklyn. There were moments of brief chatter among the women, but they were all too lost in their thoughts to carry on a proper conversation. Lottie shifted in her seat every few minutes, the poorly-cushioned seat providing little comfort during the duration of the train ride. Beside her, Gladys flicked through a stack of paper, which she’d pulled out of a manila folder that had been stamped with the word “Confidential” in large red letters. Ever the levelheaded academic of the group, she’d decided to look over their notes on the serum and its activation procedure one last time.

Across from her, Mary and Nancy were busying themselves with embroidery, an activity that a few of the nurses had picked up to improve their abilities with stitching. Lottie pictured a frayed handkerchief in her mind’s eye, a tattered old thing covered in clumsy pink flowers with a “JBB” monogram stitched carefully onto its corner. She wondered if Bucky had taken it with him overseas. He’d always kept it on his person back in Brooklyn, “Never know when a dame’s gonna go all misty eyed on me,” he’d say, humor in his eyes. There wouldn’t be many women for him to comfort overseas, but maybe he’d need it for his tears someday.

Betty sat to the right of Gladys, scanning the pages of a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. She’d never struck Lottie as a bookworm, but more often than not, she was the last of the women to fall asleep at night, usually engrossed in a novel for an hour or two past lights-out.

Two hours passed uneventfully; its monotony was only interrupted by the transferring from one train to another. Lottie’s heart seemed to pound in her ears as they approached Brooklyn, the tall buildings in her window becoming more and more familiar to her. Her heart swelled at the sight of it; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the city until she returned after all that time. Of course, she’d been gone from the city for longer while she was in nursing school, but it tugged at her heartstrings even more than before because a damn war was what kept her from her beloved borough.

It wasn’t long before the train had arrived, initiating a flurry of movement out of the train car and toward a car that sat at the curb, waiting for them. All five nurses clambered inside, with Dr. Erskine following behind in his car. The car ride was a short one, though Lottie took the time to observe her surroundings; she wanted so desperately to drink in the familiar alleys and side streets before she had to return to Camp Lehigh, to war.

Their car stopped abruptly in front of a cozy antique shop; one she’d never paid much attention to. Dr. Erskine’s car had arrived just a few moments before theirs, so they followed him inside. Once inside, they were faced with an aged woman, who greeted them with a casual question, though her eyes betrayed a deeper glimmer of suspicion, “Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?”

Dr. Erskine responded promptly, “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

They were quickly led through a false bookcase, which hid a vast laboratory full of all that was needed to complete the transformation that would occur in a few hours. There were dozens of monitors and gauges, all for measuring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Rays that were intended to activate the serum within his cells. In the center of it all, there was a bed on which Steve would lie, and when injected with the serum, the bed would be surrounded by a chamber while the Vita-Rays were projected into him.

Lottie and her peers stood at the top of the stairs, taking it all in, while Dr. Erskine descended the steps toward a control panel. He glanced back at them briefly, “Shall we all get accustomed to this now, ladies?”

Over the past few hours, Lottie had tired herself by calibrating various instruments, readying the equipment, and arranging several vials of serum within the transformation chamber. Throughout that time, doctors, higher-ranking soldiers, and members of the SSR slowly filtered into the room, some even gathering in the observation booth that looked down on them from above. She knew that Steve was due to arrive with Agent Carter at any moment. Frankly, she was terrified— mortified, even.

Howard Stark flitted about the laboratory, checking up on the various devices that would be used throughout the process. The Vita-Ray chamber was his brainchild, so a majority of his morning was spent double and triple-checking its minute parts and its stability.

At precisely 10 o’clock in the morning, Agent Carter and Steve stepped into the laboratory, two metal doors held open by guards for their entrance. Silence quickly descended upon the scientists and personnel who had been moving about the room in a sort of organized chaos. Lottie knew that most of them were looking at Steve in confusion, and in some cases dismay, but she made sure to send her best friend a reassuring smile. Even if the bullheaded scientists in the room were doubtful of his abilities, Lottie was with him. She believed in him. Her only doubts were in her abilities.

The staff quickly returned to their business as Agent Carter and Steve descended the steps and approached the center of the laboratory to meet with Dr. Erskine. They shared a brief greeting before Steve was ordered to remove his hat, tie, and shirt; Mary waited beside him with a kind smile, accepting his shed clothing. Agent Carter stood a few feet behind Steve, respectfully averting her gaze as he partially disrobed. Lottie took a special interest in their interactions, examining the way in which she treated Steve. She didn’t ignore or belittle him as some women did, she treated him with more dignity and respect. For that, Lottie was grateful.

Lottie busied herself with sterilizing several glass syringes as she impatiently awaited the initiation of the transformation. She could just barely make out a conversation that Dr. Erskine and Steve had shared about schnapps, but before she could quite figure out what was said, the scientist turned to the inventor beside him, “Mr. Stark, how are your levels?”

“Levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready as we’ll ever be.” Mr. Stark stood in front of the chamber where Steve now lay, projecting an air of confidence despite an uncomfortable look in his eye.

Agent Carter was dismissed to the booth to join Colonel Phillips, who was seated with several other seemingly important men that Lottie didn’t care to know. Dr. Erskine addressed the crowd in the booth using a microphone, explaining the purpose of Project Rebirth. Meanwhile, Lottie and her fellow nurses prepared the Vita-Ray chamber; she’d just situated the paddles on his chest when his gaze met hers. They’d been in a similar position so many times before. There were countless times over the past decade when she and Bucky had shown up at his apartment, soup and medicine in hand, to make him feel better during his latest bout of sickness. Bucky would always sit on one side of the bed, leaning on the mattress as he tried to distract Steve with idle conversation. She always kept vigil on the opposite side of the bed from Bucky, pulling Steve’s sheets up to his chin no matter how much he complained of the heat. She would never have to do that again, Lottie realized, as the serum would (hopefully) strengthen his immune system to the point that it would nearly be impossible to get sick. He wouldn’t need her or Bucky to look after him anymore. It pained her only slightly; she was overjoyed that he would be strengthened and healed by the serum, but it felt like the end of an era for her. She wasn’t truly needed anymore.

When the scientist’s speech to the booth had concluded, Lottie disinfected Steve’s shoulder and injected a syringe of penicillin into it; beforehand, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, warning him for the pain of the jab. She felt him sigh in relief, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Lottie bit back a giggle while Dr. Erskine looked down at Steve with a furrowed brow, “That was penicillin.” The scientist gave her a look and without missing a beat, began the countdown.

Five

The doctors and scientists that were scattered around the laboratory rushed to their control panels, monitoring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Ray levels that would soon be harnessed for the serum’s activation.

Four

Those that were observing from the booth looked at the scene below with bated breath; they either anticipated either a predictable failure or an unlikely success.

Three

The five nurses gathered around the Vita-Ray chamber, monitoring the serum infusion. Two mechanical arms latched onto Steve’s biceps and embedded several syringes deep into his muscle.

Two

Dr. Erskine placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Lottie met Steve’s gaze once more, she was that little girl at his bedside, sitting her vigil for one last time.

One

A switch was flipped and several syringes of the serum were injected into Steve’s system. Lottie could already see the strain it was putting on his body, his face contorted and he grunted in pain as he felt the serum begin its work in his body.

When given his signal, Mr. Stark flipped a lever to encase Steve in the Vita-Ray chamber, which maneuvered Steve into a vertical position before he was completely locked into the machine. Dr. Erskine knocked on the metal, “Steven? Can you hear me?”

A muffled response came from within the metal, “It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Lottie snorted, only Steve would make a terrible joke at a time like that.

The scientist faced Mr. Stark, “We will proceed.” Below him, Mr. Stark slowly turned a dial and donned a pair of goggles. Lottie and her peers followed suit, as the luminosity of the Vita-Rays would cause vision damage if their eyes were left uncovered.

Lottie worried her lip as Mr. Stark slowly increased the radiation levels by turning a wheel that was mounted on the control panel. Next to him, a doctor carefully monitored Steve’s vitals; he reported that they were all normal, which calmed Lottie a tad.

At around the seventy percent mark, cries began to ring out from within the Vita-Ray chamber. It was as if screams were being torn from Steve’s throat, they were so hoarse and raw. Dr. Erskine rushed to the chamber while Peggy quickly descended from the booth, urging the personnel to cease the radiation. Lottie stood in shock, stuck in an internal impasse. She worried deeply for Steve’s safety, she always had and always would. Simultaneously, she needed to trust in the years’ worth of work she’d put into Project Rebirth. She and her fellow nurses had worked day after day, slaving over the Super Soldier Serum and Vita-Ray theories to develop the perfect transformation method. If she couldn’t trust her abilities and research, what could she trust?

But when Steve’s cries seemed to echo throughout the laboratory, she knew that his safety superseded whatever pride she had in her research. Lottie had just opened her mouth to call for an end to it when Steve insisted from within the Vita-Ray chamber, “Don’t! I can do this!”

A burst of warmth bloomed in Lottie’s chest; Steve trusted their work and he was fighting to see it through. Mr. Stark continued to raise the radiation levels until they had reached one hundred percent. The staff and observers from the booth could only look on in shock and wonder as the light from within the chamber continued to glow brighter and it began to give off a steady humming noise.

Without warning, sparks began to spray out from the control panels as a result of the copious amounts of electricity being funneled into the transformation. Lottie cried out, ducking down with Mary to avoid the sparks that showered down on them from overhead. Across from them, Nancy, Gladys, and Betty assumed similar positions, clutching their white caps as they attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught.

As quickly as it started, the sparks ceased, as did the humming of the Vita-Ray chamber. The laboratory was far dimmer than it was earlier, with the light from the radiation gone, and nearly half the bulbs in the laboratory having been blown out.

All eyes were on the Vita-Ray chamber as they all awaited the final result of Project Rebirth. The chamber hissed open and released a gust of air, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve.

Lottie could barely believe it, not only was he exhausted-looking, but it seemed as if he’d gained nearly 8 inches of height and a few dozen pounds of muscle. Gone was that scrawny blond boy who’d gotten lost in crowds far too easily, here was a man— a Super Soldier —who was perfectly enhanced on a cellular level.

The SSR agents and politicians who were previously gathered in the booth rushed to meet with Steve, barely able to contain their excitement. They clambered over each other, all of them desperate to be the first one to speak with America’s first Super Soldier.

In all the chaos, Betty had sidled up to her, her jaw nearly touching the floor, “Hot damn, Lottie Green. Hot damn.” She ogled at Steve as she took in his new physique. Lottie rolled her eyes, “Just because he’s got more muscle doesn’t mean he’ll be able to talk to you any better. Or that he won’t step on your toes if you get him to dance.”

Steve stood in the middle of a crowd of men, though Agent Carter stood in front of him, attempting to look at anything but his chest.

“I think you might want this, Stevie,” Lottie moved in to stand beside Agent Carter and offered him a shirt, which he accepted gratefully. He smiled down at her gratefully, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Lottie.”

How odd it was to be looking up at him. It was certainly something that Lottie wasn’t used to, she’d gotten quite used to looking down at him, in fact. By age sixteen, she’d gained about two inches on him, and though he was loath to admit it, she knew it pained him to be the shortest of the three of them. Luckily for him, his new height delegated her as the most diminutive of the Brooklyn trio by far.

Amid the jubilation following Project Rebirth’s success, grave mistakes were made. Gladys had left her manila folder of notes— all the notes that the nurses had ever taken during their research —on one of the control panels closest to the stairway, just close enough to the exit to be snatched up by a discreet hand. An extra vial of Super Soldier serum sat in its case, at the ready for its eventual use; it stood unguarded and unwatched.

The once-unassuming Fred Clemson hung back from the crowd, a lighter in hand. Dr. Erskine was the first to notice his position apart from everyone else; the scientist opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could form a sentence, Clemson had flicked open the lighter and triggered an explosion from the observation booth.

Screams rang out from the middle of the laboratory as glass rained down on them. Sparks even worse than before began assaulting them and left stinging burns in their wake. Lottie grunted as she felt minuscule shards of glass tear at and become embedded in her skin; it would surely be a pain to treat such small cuts and remove the pieces of glass later on. It was shocking, really, how quickly the mood of the room had shifted. Just moments before, she’d been looking at Steve in awe, fully processing all that the serum had accomplished. Her sentiments of excitement and pride quickly evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of panic and dread.

The force of the explosion had thrown Lottie and some of the other nurses to the ground, so she scrambled to her feet in an attempt to take action against the man. It was all in vain, for as soon as she regained her footing, all she saw was the bespectacled man diving through the crowd to grab the last vial of Super Soldier serum and the thick manila envelope that Gladys had brought with her. Lottie’s stomach dropped in terror; she opened her mouth to cry out for backup, but Dr. Erskine was one step ahead of her. He commanded the man to stop, but the only response he received was several gunshots in the chest.

Deep red stains formed across the front of his shirt and seeped into his lab coat, his vibrant blood was a sickening contrast to the crisp white color of his lab coat. The scientist fell to the ground, his legs sprawled out before him and his arms at his side. Lottie knew that there was no hope for him— there were no exit wounds and she was more than certain that at least one of his lungs had been punctured. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Lottie didn’t need to perform an examination to know that the wounds would be fatal. There was no time for an examination anyway, gunshots continued to ring out across the laboratory, and Agent Carter was in hot pursuit of the offender.

Mary looked at Lottie for some sort of reassurance of direction, her mouth agape, “Lottie, he's— he’s gonna die if we don’t do somethin’. C’mon, we’ve gotta help him.” Her voice came out in a whimper and her hands shook as she searched the floor for any fallen bandages. She took Mary’s trembling hands into her clammy ones, “Mary, look at his breathing. You know there’s nothing we can do for him now.”

She knew it was a heartbreaking thing to say, but Mary was a brilliant nurse; she already knew all the signs of a punctured lung. Lottie knew that she was having a hard time processing the information due to the shock that was no doubt obscuring her senses and rational thought. What Mary needed was a calm voice to guide her back from the brink of hysteria, a friend to bring her back to reality.

The nurses learned a jarring lesson about reality’s harsh nature that day; they learned of its cycle of gains and losses, successes and failures. The five nurses of Project Rebirth had achieved all that they’d been dreaming of for more than a year, they’d proven themselves to be reliable and even stellar researchers in their field. It had all been ripped away from them in a matter of moments, with the loss of their notes and serum, as well as the brutal death of Dr. Erskine. All they could do was clutch each other helplessly as they watched Steve follow the man in hot pursuit— the man who had stolen everything from them. Lottie, Mary, Betty, Nancy, and Gladys had certainly entered a new era in their careers as nurses, an era of uncertainty. With nothing left from Project Rebirth besides the Super Soldier himself, their futures were left in limbo until the Strategic Scientific Reserve could figure out what to do with them next.

[green-socks]

Hungry Eyes chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Miller x OFC (Dirty Dancing AU)

Summary: Dirty Dancing but here Benny is in the role of Baby and the dance instructor is a female OC. Benny goes to the resort with Will’s family (because who wouldn’t want cool uncle Benny to join their summer vacation?), and ends up falling for a dance instructor working on the resort. This first part is Benny and the dance instructor’s first meeting, basically the “I carried a watermelon” scene if you will.

Words: 1,818

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking, some curse words. Something else? Let me know!

Notes: This is one of those “I want to see it so I have to write it” situations. I have never ever written fiction before and this is scary as fuck, but I have this story in my head and now I’m trying to put it into words. I’m posting this part of the story now because I can, but I’m also working on a prologue of sorts.

This idea came to me in a dream (which was probably inspired by this headcanon ) and I told @the-purity-pen about it and she told me to write it. Without your encouragement I never would have even tried this fun thing and I’ll love you forever for it <3

And of course I’ll be eternally grateful to @astroboots for the beta and giving me that final push! Thank you for letting me ramble to you about this and being so lovely <3

Prologue

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The night was warm, only the sounds of crickets and the slight rustle of wind keeping Benny company on his walk. Most people on the resort, like his brother and his family, had already retired to their cabins and rooms for the night. It was quiet, calm.

Despite what many people thought, Benny enjoyed the quiet. Needed it, in fact. He was always energetic around people, giving them all of himself. And he didn’t have to fake that energy, but sometimes even he needed to wind down and enjoy some peace and quiet. These walks, this whole vacation, was his time to relax and just be.

Benny was walking along a path near where the hiking trails begin when he heard the quiet thumping of bass through the night air. The further he walked along the path the louder the music got.

Through the bushes and trees Benny could see a house a little further up the hill. There seemed to be a party going on there, judging by the noise and music coming through its open windows. Benny wondered who were partying there and if the house even belonged to the resort or if it was a private property.

He continued walking, thinking he’d just walk past the house and continue further into the woods, when he saw a woman on the bottom of the stairs leading to the house. She was carrying a big box in her arms, clearly struggling under the weight of it.

“Hey! Do you need help with that?” Benny hollered to the woman.

She let out a breath. “Sure, thanks,” she answered, while handing Benny the box and starting to climb up the stairs. “Hope it isn’t too heavy!”

“Nah, doesn’t weigh a thing. We goin’ to the party house over there?” Benny asked, nodding his head in the direction of it.

“You’re technically not supposed to be here, you know. It’s off limits to resort guests.”

“I can keep a secret”, Benny grinned. 

“What’s your name?” she asked him. “Benny.” “Nice to meet you Benny. My name’s Lily,” she added, pointing to the name tag still on her work shirt.

“Anyway, some of us who work on the resort live in this house for the summer, and sometimes we throw parties. But they’re strictly for a limited group of people, and we could get into a lot of trouble if our employees or other resort guests found out, so you better keep your mouth shut,” she warned sternly.

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

They continued up the stairs and Benny heard the telltale clinking of bottles from the box even through the loudening music.

“Wait, you’re all of age, right? Cause this is a lot of booze”, Benny asked, suddenly slightly worried about assisting these partiers.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry, we have a strict no minors policy!” Lily answered.

With that they reached the top of the stairs and Lily held open the door for him into the house.

Benny wasn’t fully prepared to the sight that greeted him.

Sure, he had seen his share of parties, especially with his boys, but these people were wild.

There were no more than twenty people in the room, but they were all dancing like no tomorrow. Benny doubted they even needed all the booze he was carrying to let loose like that.

He watched in awe the mass of bodies moving to the beat, everyone shaking, grinding, jumping, twisting, and twirling around without a care in the world.

“Who are these people?” He asked incredulously, eyes wide.

Lily laughed at his shock. “We’re the entertainment team! Most of us are dancers or come from a theater background. Now come on!” she said and led him deeper into the house.

Benny suddenly felt like some silly delivery boy, even though he was probably older than most of them, when he maneuvered around the dancing people, trying to watch his step. Some of them spared him curious glances before getting lost in the music again.

“I imagine you don’t dance like this during the day when you’re doing dance classes on the resort?” Benny joked, still trying to get his bearings.

“Oh hell no, this is just for our own entertainment here,” Lily laughed again.

Suddenly two more people burst through the door, arm in arm, and everyone cheered happily in greeting. 

A man and a woman, who Benny recognized as the lead dance instructors on the resort, joined the party, immediately grabbing drinks and making their way through the dancefloor.

Benny noticed how they seemed to greet everyone individually by dancing with them; how they took eye contact and often physical contact with everyone and danced with them for a while before moving on, each one with a slightly different way. It was like they were speaking to one another, all these bodies communicating through movement alone.

He was mesmerized looking at them both, the attractive couple that were clearly the life of the party. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who seemed to move so easily, so freely, the joy and love she was feeling visible in her every movement.

Benny couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had taught a dance class to his nieces earlier that same day. Sure, he had noticed her even then, how could he not; she was very pretty.

But the woman he was seeing now was sexy, confident, nothing like Benny had seen before.

“Those are my friends Patrick and Jolene, they helped me get this job!” Lily shouted in his ear over the music.

“They seem to have great chemistry,” Benny remarked, his gaze still focusing mostly on Jolene.

“Yeah, it’s because they know each other so well. People always think they’re together --“ Benny certainly thought their very physical and intimate way of dancing would mean that “-- but they’re just best friends from a long time”, Lily chatted casually, oblivious to Benny’s thoughts.

Benny found his heart beating a little faster with this information, not that he really knew what to do with it.

His mouth was getting dry and he was breathing a little quicker. For fuck’s sake, he was getting a little turned on from watching her. Get it together man, he thought to himself.

Benny tried not to stare too hungrily; he didn’t want to be that creepy guy at the party that no one even knew.

The longer he watched these people dancing their hearts out the more he found himself slightly bopping along the beat, wishing he had a beer in hand, or maybe that he knew how to dance like they did.

______________

Jolene was enjoying herself, finally letting off steam after a hard day’s work. Few things on this earth made her happier than dancing, especially dancing with her best friend Patrick on these summer nights they got to spend together.

As she spun around in Patrick’s strong arms, she noticed the tall stranger standing near the back of the room next to Lily. Who the heck was this guy and where did he come from?

Jo tapped Patrick on the shoulder to let him know she was going to get something to drink and made her way through the crowd towards Lily and the stranger.

“Hey, Lil. Who’s your friend here?”

“Oh, this is Benny. He came with me.” Lily answered happily.

“Yeah, I, uh, helped her carry the box up here”, the guy, Benny, supplied shyly in a deep voice, pointing at the box in question.

Jo gave Lily a stern look. She really should’ve known better than to bring customers up here. These parties were kept a secret for a good reason, since they could all lose their jobs if the resort managers found out, but especially her and Patrick, because they were responsible for their team. And they were already on thin ice as it were, because, in Jo’s humble opinion, the managers were a bunch of jerks.

Lily just shrugged and Jo sighed deeply before turning to look at the man next to her, who, for some reason, was avoiding her gaze.

“Well, Benny, would you like to dance?” Jo thought she could size the guy up a little better if she could get him alone with her. She had to look after her team after all. Besides, he looked a little lonely, bopping along the music shyly. Maybe she could teach him a few things.

Benny looked a little startled, as he answered “Oh, I don’t know how to dance”.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you,” Jo said, pulling him on the dancefloor.

“C’mon, just follow my lead. Do this. And try to feel the rhythm.” Jo started showing him how to move to the beat, swaying from side to side.

“Good, now loosen your hips a little more,” Jo instructed, putting her hands on his hips and directing his movements.

Jo had to hand it to the guy; he was learning surprisingly quickly, and it was refreshing to see a man who was willing to try and learn dancing even if it was a bit awkward at first. His movements were a little stunted, but he clearly had a good ear for the rhythm. He was even smiling and laughing a little at his own awkwardness, but Jo could see he was also enjoying himself.

“Okay, now let’s try this. Follow my lead again,” Jo said, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. He was so tall she had to reach pretty far, but they managed it anyway. Jo stepped closer and started grinding against him, showing him how to move by using her own body to guide him.

Slowly Benny was easing into it, even putting his arms on her waist.

“Okay, you’re getting the hang of it now!” Jo smiled at him proudly and he grinned back.

_______________

Benny was actually enjoying himself. He was dancing with a gorgeous woman and he wasn’t making a complete and total fool of himself. He considered that a victory at this point.

He just knew Santi would be laughing his ass off if he could see Benny now. Will probably would tease him too.

Benny grinned at the thought. But hey, they weren’t here and he was having fun so who cares, he thought.

Although he had to admit, he was still a little shocked at the fact that this amazing dancer was dancing with him and even looking like she wasn’t completely hating it.

He was still a little dazed when the song ended and Jolene patted his arm, told him “See you around” and bounced her way to the middle of the crowd again.

“Yeah, uh, see ya,” Benny muttered after her, standing awkwardly on the edge of the dancefloor.

Deciding he had probably already overstayed his welcome Benny readjusted his hat on his head and quietly headed out to the warm night air again.

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Chapter 2

Notes: If you read this far I don’t even know how to react. Thank you?If you like Benny and/or Dirty Dancing we can probably bond over that

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider​ for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly. 

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey. 

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night. 

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

 Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed. 

 Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in. 

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could. 

 She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up. 

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live. 

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered. 

 At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood. 

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man. 

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after. 

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

 And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will. 

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away. 

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks. 

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then." 

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path. 

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded. 

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet. 

 Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.  

[chocolate-parfait]

Hello! Can I get a headcanon where MC(they/them) gets a little lonely so they climb a tree in the middle of the night to get to Comte/Mozart/Napoleon's room window. How would the boys react?

THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! +they're more scenarios than headcanons I hope you dont mind ;-; (I also hope you dont mind the amount of cheesiness i put into this lmao)

(+Trees shouldn't stay at a arm's length from houses because they can cause big problems in case of storms or things like that,, let's pretend for the sake of the story that they don't and that's why they're so near the windows)

Comte

Mama Comte was just chilling in his armchair, drinking a glass of red wine while letting his thoughts chase each other in endless circles, vivid images of past memories dancing behind his closed eyelids. More often than he liked to admit, he'd find himself in these exact circumstances, and that night was certainly no different. It was probably way past midnight when the still silence that hovered in the room was interrupted by a small whisper, followed by another and another one again. Attracted by the curious sound the pureblood got up from his sit and walked to the window, opening it with one swift gesture

"Comte, here!"

After his dark pupils focused on a silhouette that was undeniably yours, a rare look of shock and disbelief crept upon his features. Despite having risked falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes multiple times while climbing all the way to one of the highest branches of the tree, the man's expression made the effort more than worth the danger

Before he could ask you what in the world you were doing perched on a tree branch in front of his room at such a late hour, you eagerly told him why, words leaving your mouth in a single breath

"I-i couldn't fall asleep and thought of you and then I had this sudden urge to see you but I didn't know if you were awake so I climbed this tree to see if your light was on and then-"

As his caramel eyes softened and a warm smile appeared on his lips, Comte asked for you to stay still, and mere seconds after the last syllable reached your ears, you heard the fluttering of his coat that was now right in front of your widened eyes

Had he???just???jumped from his window????to land?????on a tree branch????next to you??? MC: why though? Comte: why not- MC: BUT why th- Comte: why not.

Giggling at your reaction while securing you against his chest, something was extremely clear in his eyes. Since you came all the way up there just to see him, it would have been a terrible waste to just send you away, right? And you knew he wouldn't have taken a no as an answer

"Hold on tight, ma chérie. We wouldn't want you falling down, now would we?"

Taking advantage of the position you were both in and with the excuse of possibly falling down, you contentedly snuggled in the crook of his neck; soft, expensive fabric caressing your cheek while his perfume rubbed on you, sure to remain there for at least a week

Comte on the other hand didn't complain nor move away, watching as your hair moved under the moonlight, softly swayed by the wind

Maybe spending a night in someone's company was a better alternative than staying alone, after all

Mozart

Mozart hadn't realized it had gotten that late until he finally closed the fall board of his piano, looking out of the window to see the stars and a full moon shining gently over the dim lit marble pavement of the music room

Almost one year ago on a night with the same moon, you walked out of Comte's door, looking as confused and scared as a little fawn. Since then you worked hard all over the mansion doing all kind of tasks, and though he'd have loathed the idea before, you two ended up getting incredibly close. Only lately he had started noticing many weird little behaviors that were slowly becoming a part of his routine; the way he had now stopped putting off having breakfast to play the piano in order to see you sooner, how his guts seemed to writhe whenever he saw you smiling at someone else, and as if it wasn't already enough, he found his thirst for blood more and more insatiable

Knowing what that meant but still fearing the answer, he tore himself away from the disheartening path his thoughts were taking, finally snapping back to reality. When he did so, a gleam coming from the tree near the window caught his attention. The closer he got, the more he seemed to distinguish your moonlit form standing in the foliage. Was he hallucinating now? Were his mind and heart so full of thoughts of you to the point of imagining your figure in the weirdest of places?

Before he could realize that you were in fact right outside his window, you called out to him, causing the poor man to flinch in surprise. Despite the harsh scolding that followed your appearance, just seeing his face was enough to ease the stingy feeling that was keeping your heart in a tight embrace. Seeing the bittersweet look in your eyes, Mozart couldn't stop his voice and gaze from softening considerably. But how could he not? Over the past months he had subconsciously started to consider you the one closest to his heart, and you were, more than he was ready to admit, his worst weakness

Sighing to himself as he reached past the parted glass panels to brush some leaves off your hair, he asked you "So, what are you doing here at this ungodly hour of the night?"

Amethyst spheres focusing on your expression, you told him the whole truth, not that you could easily make up a lie, seeing the position you were in. "I know you don't like it when people come into the music room, so this was the easiest way..." As if he had the strength and willpower to get angry at you, he thought. "A-anyways I-...I just wanted to see you, that's all."

Oh Gott, if only you could hear the way his blood pace sped up its tempo at the sound of those words, though you probably could see the way his usually pale cheeks were now flushed in a lovely shade of red. He, too, missed you, and now that the constant feeling of longing had met a correspondent in your gaze, it reached its bursting point

Not bothering to ask you permission to, he roughly grasped your wrist and pulled you away with superhuman strength from the offshoot you were sitting on. You were now on sill of the window, facing him and just inches from his doll-like face. Glancing up at him you found a pair of violet eyes staring back at you with the intensity and strength of a storm. Had he always been this bold? Had his irises always been this full of raw passion? Had his body always been this warm?

Your heart was thumping so loud in your ears that it was as if you were standing in the middle of an orchestra, senses all focused on him and only him. All the times were you hoped to be held like this by him came crashing onto your mind all at once, the fiercest blush born from the slow realization of how those fantasies were finally reality blooming on your cheeks

The tight grip he kept on your hips told you he had no intention to let go of you soon, but who would be so foolish to not take advantage of the situation?

That night, after months and months of anonymous, mutual feelings, you and the pianist were able to manifest the most breathtaking of emotions through the words that you'd have kept hearing for a lifetime, the touches and caresses that would have been the same for the years to come, moved by never changing feelings to express an everlasting love; but you were sure, you were oh so sure, that none of them would have ever been enough

Napoleon

Unlike any other day, Napoleon wasn't tired at all, rather, he felt quite restless instead. That morning you had accompanied him and Isaac in their usual "street lessons" to the children of the city, and ever since then, a whole storm of butterflies had been freely running around his stomach. Each time your laughter ringed in his ears, each time your eyes twinkled with amusement, each time a smile as bright as the sun graced your lips, his heart couldn't help but leap with one of the greatest joys known to man: love. He wasn't an innocent boy who couldn't tell an emotion from the other, and he knew that this was a love like no other

Twisting and retwisting his thoughts in the attempt of getting to know about all the facets and implications this new feeling brought him, Napoleon let his feet carry him around the garden, similar to a lovestruck hero from a Shakespearean play tormenting himself over his beloved

He was so immersed in the meanders of his mind, that he barely heard you exclaiming his name in surprise. Barely, that is. As his brain registered your presence, his eyes and heart danced in search of you until they landed on the lowest arm of the pine tree near his window.

He looked at you and you looked at him, the soft sound of crickets the only melody filling the background. You could clearly see the way le Monsieur de Wahaha's shoulders shook in an attempt to keep in the raging fits of laughter that would have been surely let out soon enough. The same way, despite tears of amusement fogging his vision, Napoleon was extremely aware of the embarrassment creeping up your features

"Nunuche" he managed to say in between his strangled fits, "what in- pftt- what are you doing there-"

"I just wanted to thank you for today so I had been searching for you- S-stop laughing at me, you moron! I'm trying to be serious here!!" How could he take someone who was perched on a tree in the middle of the night seriously? You truly were a silly one

With arms opened wide, he walked over the pine trunk and with a tender but still lightly shaking tone that was exclusive for your ears only, he said "Come! I'll definitely catch you, mon amour"

You just stared at him in silence with the widest eyes your head could muster without popping them out of their orbits. You were just a couple meters from the ground, sure, but was he truly this confident in catching you? And did he just call you "my love"?? There was a LOT to unpack for your brain, but the man had no intention of letting you idle by with your thoughts for long, challenging you with his vivid emerald eyes as if to say "what, you don't trust me?"

The fearless Napoleon had this habit of infusing in others a courage so strong, that even the most impossible action seemed achievable; and that, with a bit of adrenaline caused by how quick the silent night escalated when the Nightmare of Europe stepped into the scene, made you follow his command. And you jumped.

The rustling of leaves above your head, a strong pair of arms around your torso, a silent breathing interrupted by a low chuckle that could've melted all the glaciers in the world. His smell, his warmth, his voice, they were all so close and yet so distant, just like his heart. He wasn't yours and you had no right to claim him as so, but being with him was all you needed and wanted the most

"What are you thinking about?" He asked with a curious look, still holding you between his arms. As much as you wanted to answer him, no words were forming in your mind that was so full of him and so empty at the same time. All the boldness from the jump had dissipated in the air the same way one would puff out air from his lungs in the night sky

But when words fail us, actions find their way through our minds. Slipping a pair of arms behind his neck, you snuggled against his chest and whispered "Let's stay like this, just for a little longer, please"

He couldn't help but comply; your wish was his command and he, the Emperor of France, was your slave

[insomniacwritesdreams]

~WATERMELON SUGAR~

Rating: G

Words: 1546

It’s hot. Even as the sun goes down washing out the road in a red orange glow. Cicadas hum loudly and it seems to add yet another layer of heat. Stifling in their repetitive song. They sit in the shade of a tree. Giving up on walking home, flopping onto semi cool ground. Clothes rumpled and shoes discarded. Kirihsima’s hair wilting. Bakugou leans back on his hands, staring up at the green life on the trees and trying to gauge whether or not his companion is getting sick of not just the heat but his grouchy partner.

They’d spent a fair part of the afternoon wrestling in the grass. Quirks battling against each other. Bakugou is exhausted now, and he can tell Kirishima is too. His smile had dripped off his face leaving behind a gentle line that Bakugou could hardly read. It would make sense that Kirishima would want to go home. Bakugou hadn’t gone easy on him. The sweat that came from the swelter of the day fuelled his quirk to near terrifying amounts. There are schortch marks dancing up and down Kirishima’s arms. But Bakugou, in all his selfish glory, doesn't want him to go home.

Kirishima is different in summer. Bakugou had already likened him unto the sunflowers that grow along the road that leads to the train station. Sunny and bright, like a piece of the sun gifted unto the earth. But in the summer time he glows. Red hair that’s turned black at the roots, a sign of neglect as he isn’t required to sit in class all day, turns umber in the setting sun, and burns poppy in the noonday light. His skin doesn’t burn like Bakugou’s. It bronzes. Complementing his build as muscles stretch beneath it. His smile, which in reality is always the same, seems different when the weather is warm. Though, again selfishly, Bakugou likes to think that Kirishima smiles differently around him all the time.

Maybe that’s it.

During the summer, Kirishima feels more like his.

No classmates vying for his attention. No obligations to distract them every day. Just him, and Kirishima and hot summer days.

This thought is silly. Kirishima spends a fair amount of time at the mall or other places with the rest of his friends. But it feels alright and summer means time.

He sits shoulder to shoulder with Bakugou. Sun kissed and bright even with grass stains on his knees and scorch marks on his arms and he’s beautiful.

The sad thing is, during the summer Kirishima seems like something Bakugou can never have. The sun marks him as hers and his goodness transcends Bakugou in every way. It’s difficult to look at him. Painful, if Bakugou really lets himself think about it.

He sneers. At nothing but himself. He’s waxing silent poetry about his best friend who is sitting close enough that Bakugou can feel his body heat.

“Damn.” Kirishima says peering at the sun. “I thought it’d cool down at least a little bit by now.” he stretches. Throwing his arms up over his head and letting out a groan as his back and neck crack. Then he stands and smiles down at Bakugou, combing his fingers through his hair. Pulling it back and securing it with the black band he keeps wrapped around his wrist he holds out a hand for Bakugou. “Let's go get something to drink. It’s on me.”

Bakugou takes his hand. He always will.

They stop at a tiny store that’s almost to the train station. Bakugou is pleased with the delay. They get on separate trains. Kirishima makes friendly conversation with the cashier and Bakugou wanders the aisle looking for something cool. He settles on water and when he brings it up to the counter he wrinkles his nose at the salty watermelon soda Kirishima picked out.

Kirishima knocks their shoulders together grinning. “Come on man, don’t look so disgusted.”

“When your teeth rot outta your head don’t come crying to me.” Bakugou dismisses. Kirishima chuckles, paying for both beverages and handing Bakugou his water as they leave.

Bakugou walks slow and Kirishima keeps pace, talking about everything and nothing, tipping up his bottle every few words. Bakugou watches him drink more than he does himself. The bottle in his hand sweating condensation.

They pass the sunflowers, their shadows eaten by the falling dusk. Kirishima reaches out and pets the yellow flowers. He stops and so does Bakugou . Red eyes meet his own. They sparkle as Kirishima smiles.

“You’ve been staring at me Bakugou.” he raises the soda, “Do you want some?”

No. I want you.

“Tch. Does it look like I want it?”

Kirishima smiles more, stepping closer. He smells like warmth, grass, and Bakugou’s blasts.

“I don’t know.” his voice is low, falling with the sun. “It looks like you want something.”

Bakugou swallows. His eyes fall to Kirishima’s lips. Bitten to the point of being dry, cut from shark-like teeth. Kirishima keeps honey flavored chapstick, Bakugou wonders if he tastes like it.

“I don’t want your shitty soda.” his voice doesn’t sound like his own. Closer still Kirishima comes to him. His eyes bright.

“I promise it tastes good.” Kirishima reaches up and traces Bakugou’s jaw. Hands gentle, like he’s afraid he might shatter the bone beneath his grasp with a simple touch. “Are you sure you don’t want just a sip?”

Bakugou can smell it on his breath. Sweet and intoxicating. He’s hungry for it.

Kirishima bumps their noses together and Bakugou can’t stand it anymore. He surges forwards grabbing Kirishima’s wrist to keep his hand firm on his jaw and kisses him. He throws all his hesitation to the twilight and tastes Kirishima. It’s nearly enough to make him groan. He tastes the watermelon and carbonated fizzle from the soda, but under that it’s all Kirishima.

It’s messy, Bakugou desperate and Kirishima meeting him with the same urgency . The bottle of soda falls to the road shattering on impact. It jolts Kirishima away from him and Bakugou growls trying to reel him back in. Kirihsima laughs soft and breathless, pressing his forehead to Bakugou’s.

“What did you think? Did it taste okay?”

Bakugou lets out a shuddering breath. His eyes are still shut tight from the kiss. “Fuck you.”

Kirishima laughs again, nudging their noses back together. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Asshole,” Bakugou murmurs, finally opening his eyes to look at Kirishima. “You should have done it sooner then.”

The smile he gets is blinding, “Let me make it up to you?”

Bakugou licks his lips, “How?”

Kirishima stands straight, looks Bakugou in the eye and says; “Bakugou Katsuki, will you go on a date with me?”

Bakugou feels like he could combust. Ears hot and heart pounding in his chest.

“F-fuck you shitty hair!” it’s sputtered and weak. Kirishima smiles at him. Always smiling, always at him.

“Is that a yes? I’ve got it all planned. You, me, maybe dinner, a walk along the beach. Just us.” As he speaks Kirishiam presses a light kiss against the bridge of Bakugou’s nose. Pushing him away, Bakugou glares at the ground. His ears feel bright red and his palms are sweating.

“I guess you can take me out.” he mumbles .

“Yes!” Kirishima cheers, throwing up his fists before wrapping Bakugou in a hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner." His voice goes quieter. " I was scared. Didn't want to ruin what we had."

"What changed?" Bakugou asks. He's relieved he finds, because that was his exact fear as well. He loves Kirishima and he didn’t want to lose him as he had him.

Kirishima smiles softly, " it's been two years. We graduate next year. I want you and I finally couldn't stand it." He smirks " not to mention I finally noticed how you look at me."

Bakugou kisses him again. He sucks at words. They tangle on their way up from his chest. Mingling with butterflies fluttering in his stomach and becoming wrong as they fall from his tongue. So he kisses him with everything. Presses the want that had been building in his chest since first year against Kirishima's lips. It doesn't feel like enough. Kirishima deserves words. He deserves to know how much Bakugou loves him.

"Open an agency with me." Bakugou gasps as he pulls away. Kirishima kisses his temple then down his face to his neck, laughing against his pulse.

"Of course. But let me take you out first. Then we'll talk more about it."

The cicadas have been replaced by crickets. They kiss more and Kirishima presses sweet words against Bakugou's ears. Confesses everything. Bares his heart to him. Bakugou shivers and presses close. Never wanting to let go. He kisses his own confessions into Kirishima’s skin.

“We’re going to miss the last train.” Kirishima murmurs into Bakugou’s hair. Fuck the train he wants to say. Not ready to go their separate ways.

Reluctantly he pulls away though, smoothing his hands down Kirishima’s wrinkled shirt. “You better not be late tomorrow, Red.”

Bakugou gets another kiss pressed to his lips, Kirishima titling his chin up softly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Bakugou rides the empty train home alone, the taste of watermelon sitting lightly on his tongue.

~🍉~

[slater-later]

I Want to Watch You Grow

Brian Kelly x Trans Masc Reader

Read it here on AO3 if you would like!

- This is a Brian Kelly x Trans Man reader fan fic. This conronicles your long term relationship with Brian and your development with yourself. Your body, and transition as a transman.

- I hope everyone enjoys this. Finds space within themselves and their relationship with the world. It’s okay to be trans, being trans is beautiful. it’s a difficult, glorious journey that is far more of a beginning then an end. Living happy life, being proud of yourself and your body.

- The fic is long, about 12 pages. So please, soak it in, and I wish you the happiest day!

The two of you had been dating for some time. You had met at a small high school party. A good group of friends coming together around a Summer bonfire, slipping your feet out from the well worn sandals and wiggling them infront of a fire. The soles of your feet toasted, turning them around to be goldened on both sides. You held a long metal skewer with two plump marshmallows on the end, rotating it around as you warmed it to a golden ball of glory.

It was sweet, being able to spend time with old friends and make some new. Your friend Ronnie had invited the skater kids from school to join you. He had bonded with them over their mutual love for rock and rap music. It made sense, they both loved Public Enemy. Blasting ‘We Got the Power’ out of their car radios whenever they had a chance. 

You enjoyed it, they threw out some good rhymes and it was a battle cry for your youth. You generation. You couldn’t help but bob your head to the music and belt along.

It was towards the end of the night when you two met. Brian had showed up late, hair slicked with a heavy line of sweat. A shirt quickly shoved into his pants, trying to clean up for his group of friends after a long day of skating.

He had skipped out of work that day- well, really, the restaurant was slow so there wasn’t much need for two busboys. He had spent the rest of his afternoon and late into the stary night, skating at the skatepark. The street lights clicked on and it had made it hard for him to see the clear edges of the ramps. It was time to turn in and get a bite to eat. Putting aside the new trick he caught from someone else. Trying to nail it. 

If he knew it could be done, then he could. He just needed enough time and perseverance to figure it out.

With skating, the possibilities were endless. It was his place to let go of life’s worries and focus on something where had complete control. The complete right to be, what and who he is, with no to tell him otherwise. Skating was like a lifeblood for him, his way of life.

His boundless universe.

He came jogging in, skateboard in hand as he approached the group huddled around the warm fire. 

The trees swayed, creaking under the age and weight of their own majesty with a long gust of wind. It was dark, the hum of Summer turning to a deep pitch of haze. Black rolling in, only to be illuminated by the glaze of starfull and a half crescent moon. The forest was thick, lulled by the hum of heated crickets and hushed by the cool breeze of night. Smoke pooling from the warm fire, whisping and licking up the sky with powerful might. Your toes curled, seeking a gentle relief from its delightful burning flame.

They were roasted and baked. You tucked them into the ground, shifting your heals to push back the brush and find a damp, cool, interior.

Brian waved, throwing an arm up to welcome everyone. A boy buzzed in the background, rolling a hit out of a cheaply made bong. Coughing as he blew out his lungs. Stoned till’ the cows come home.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, it uh, took me a while to find you guys,” He smiled, strolling on into the circle and making his way over to Yabbo. Giving him a high five and saying hello to Buddy. 

You popped your marshmallow onto a graham cracker and some chocolate. You munched on your treat, washing it down with a sip of beer.

You watched Brian that night, catching his eyes as he chatted with Buddy over some trick he had been captivated by. Transfixed on trying to nail, to, gleam the cube. 

He noticed, his shit stain smirk would appear even in mid sentence. Hands flailing out, gesturing and expressing his exasperation on some wild tangent he was on about skating. About life. About love. It was amusing to watch him, loud and audacious as he was. He could even make Buddy loud, who was normally a quiet and reserved guy. Get him chuckling about some silly joke he made, and pairing it with an audacious face. Hands whipped out, a cross between a dragon and a gorilla.

You had finished off your second beer, musing with a friend about the stars as you gazed. Heads turned up, pondering the wide expanse of space. Its’ glorious bounds, its beauty, its’ wonder.

It put things in perspective for you. Not in a scary way, but in a comforting one. That sometimes, our emotions can feel massive. And they can be! But they also fall away, soothe and ease, as we realize, this shall pass. As all things. Even life. And so, what we must work towards is enjoying it. Like moments like these- feet kicked up on a stump, back eased into a lawn chair with a good beer in hand, spending time with friends. The summer breeze cooling your warm skin, still tanned and glowing from a long day spent outside. Walking, running, and spending time with those that mattered to you. You can’t steal back time, but instead, enjoy it.

Brian tapped Buddy’s shoulder, gesturing for him to shift over as he stood up. Slicking to the outside of the circle, making his way over.

He stopped at the bag of mellows, nabbing two and popping one in his mouth. Munching on its sugary goodness as he finished the trip. Sliding down and popping on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce style.

You picked your chin up from the stars, turning your head towards him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” He smiled tiredly, softly. It had grown late and the group had died down, calming and chatting amongst themselves. “So, I uh, don’t think I caught your name,” He mused, chuckling with an anxious delight. He had caught your fancy and talking to attractive people always made his insides flutter.

“It’s Y/N, what’s yours?” You smiled, letting out a tiny yawn, hand hovering over your mouth.

And on command, it was his turn. “Briannn.” He said, pushing through his wide open mouth, eyes turning to closed slits. Watering. 

“Jesus, I’m beat,” He muttered, whipping his eyes.

“You too?” You couldn’t stop, the two of you speaking through widely stretched mouths, yawning and releasing the tired souls of your body out into the air. Like ghosts being exercised. 

“Yeah!” He squeaked, putting his hand over his mouth. This time his mouth reaching out farther. As if a shark could unhinge its massive jaw.

Slowly, both of yours bodies cooled down. Chatted about the quiet, peaceful sounds of the forest. How the night made your feel alive, at ease within your own body. It was easy talking with such a nice man, cracking soft jokes and poking fun at the world. The politicians, the fat cats, and parents. Some stupid shit a drunk girl did at school, how the one guy on the football team fucked the head swimmer and stirred drama in the theatre group. He had been dating Jared, but it all fell for shit when he saw Sam in those swim trunks.

You both agreed, he looked mighty fine in the spandex speedo. And Tom did too, especially when he found out how kind he was.

“So who do you think is the biggest class clown? Don or Vinny?” You mused, shifting your weight in your seat. Turning towards him.

“Ahhh, I’m not so sure. Vinny is my man, but I really like Tabitha-”

“That bitch?” You shot, clicking your tongue. “She fucking stole $20 out of my backpack, fuck her!”

His eyebrows knitted, looking disappointed. “Yeahhh, she ain’t very nice. I disagree with you there,” He looked at the blaze, shaking his head. “But it’s not a ‘frienship’ competition. I give her props pouring that bottle of stinky slick on that jerk in Ceramics. That one that makes all those gross racist comments in school.” Fuck him for his piece of shit mind. There was no reason to be like that.

“-Ugh!” Your eyes rolled, shaking your head, “I know, I fucking hate him. He’s a piece of shit,” Internally you groaned, thinking of his disgusting face.

“For that, I respect her. The fool won’t change his mind and he needs to learn that he can’t do shit like that. It’s not like he’ll listen, I’ve tried,” He popped a mellow into his mouth, chewing. “She got 3 days of suspension for that. It was pretty ballsy,” Shitting on racist was both funny and satisfying. 

“What-? Why did she get that-?”

He shrugged, looking amazed, “I don’t know. It’s fucked up, that’s school for ya. It’s not right.”

You shook your head disgusted. If only they would understand, listen. “Ok, so, who has your favorite comedy?

“-Sam,” He smiled, poking a branch into the fire.

You watched him stir up the flame, picking at a log and turning it over. 

“Same, he’s really nice. He’s quiet but he has a smart tongue on him,” Slowly the fire grew. Emboldened by the new life, “Tom’s really lucky.”

Brian shot you a look, teeth flashing in a grin, “Cuz Jared’s so hot?”

You shot up in your seat, pushing yourself closer to him- “Okay though, right?!” Brian burst out laughing, head thrown back as he boomed. 

You waved your hands up into the air, desperately. “He has those pecs! Those thick arms! I just wanna be hugged by him!” He was a big tall teddy bear! A muscular one too! Who doesn’t love a big teddy bear?!

“I know, I know!” He slapped his knee, face red and warm, and it wasn’t from the booze. “He’s cute! He’s really cute!” He laughed, smiling through his big open mouth.

The two of you talked for the rest of the night, making another round of smores and sipping on the last of your cold beer. It was easy, talking to him. You found a kind of warm comfort and acceptance by such a free soul. By someone who really just wanted to be seen and heard, and loved for who he was.

*****

That night would bloom into many others. A few months you spent together, as friends, and the others, as lovers. You slowly got to know each other over time progressed. Eventually, love bloomed. Infatuation took to desire, day dreaming about the next time you’d see him. Hand propping your chin, staring off into a whiteboard filled with math equations as the teacher droned on. The last week of school was a buzzkill, bittersweet, and painfully long. 

You wanted it to end. For it to be Summer, to be scott-free and without responsibilities. But that also brought changes and your second stage of life was on the horizon.

****

The time came and both of you decided to take a year off from college. Work and save up some money. Spend time together as much you can. 

You planned on going away to school a few hours away. Brian hadn’t quite decided, but it looked to be the same. 

Both of you would attend the same school and it would work out well. Eventually, you both got through the next four years with your brains intact for the better. He majored in music production with a minor in entrepreneurship. He wanted to do something in music, start his own band and maybe build his own label. You majored in _____ and loved it. And your relationship had lasted, strengthened. Finding a quiet peace and home in one another. A thing you quietly wished for in your heart and didn’t know you needed until you found it.

The freedom to be yourself with another. One who would love and accept you, regardless of the circumstances and the changes.

But it didn’t always make it easy. You had been having feelings about your body. Ones that you didn’t quite like and found increasingly frustrating to have. To not have the words, the names, to understand and express how you felt.

You already knew you weren’t straight. That had long been established to yourself and to Brian’s knowledge. He didn’t care- well, that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He was supportive of your queerness and actually encouraged it. You both were fluid as a snake- bodies and gender thrown right out of the door. What mattered was the person, the attraction, and the two of you- had a lot of that for one another.

He also wasn’t one to put up many questions about the way you dressed. Switching out fem for? Masculine? He was game. He liked your style, even sowed on some patches on your jacket when he asked. Though as time wore on, catching the way you shield away from your chest… Your feelings about your body… He noticed. 

“Hey babe?” He slid into the frame of the doorway, hand grasping the side of the wood as he leaned in. Watching you do your hair, clothed, and fixing your hair.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You looked at him through the mirror, running a comb through your head. “Is my coffee ready?”

“Yeah, it’s on the kitchen table. With your toast,” He walked in, looking quiet. Tentative. “Can I talk to you about something?”

You turned, “Yeahhhh…” Your voice fluttered, knowing that face he makes. It made you uneasy. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Are you… alright? You’ve been distant lately, like somethings on your mind,” He paused, looking down. Guilty, “Did I do something wrong? Are we alright?” He leaned his back against the wall, thumbs hooked into his jean pockets. Glancing up at you.

You set down the brush, turning, “Yeah,” You coed softly. Tenderly to the sweet man, “We’re okay, I’m just going through some stuff,” It was easier to put that into words. You needed time to figure things out, to share how you felt. You didn’t even have them for yourself, at least not clearly.

You hoped time would reveal itself, help your understand and work through what you were feeling.

And you didn’t know how it would change you. Or, for the matter, Brian. Your relationship with him.

He gestured to you, beat, “Do you.. Wanna talk about it?”

It fell on silence, unsure.

“Yes… but not now. I need some time,” You stepped, drawing his eyes.

“Like… how long?” It was bugging him, an itch he can’t scratch. A problem he saw, a frustration he can’t touch.

It was yours, and one that effected him. He wanted you happy and content.

To ease your pain.

“I’m not sure,” You slipped a hand into his and locked fingers together. Drawing his hand up and lined your hips with his. Brian’s other slip around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re going to have to wait, to trust me until I’m ready to talk about it. But I do love you- and it’s not because of you,” You pressed your lips to his, slowly lifting them away. “Or something you’ve done. We’re okay.”

“Alright, I just-” He looked into your eyes, vulnerable. “I want you to be happy, no matter what. Whatever it is.”

“And I thank you for that, I really do. I appreciate it,” Another press, lips locked, tongues twisting for a moment. 

“Oh? Is someone?” 

You laughed, caught red-handed, “Yeah, a bit.” You mused.

****

And for a while, it was left like that. You ordered yourself a proper binder and he was properly happy for you, seeing you excited to go and slip it on as soon as it came in the mail. You checked yourself out in the mirror, beaming as you found a sense of newfound confidence and comfort in your appearance. Your body.

He liked the way you smelled after you changed deodorants. You smelled rich and musky, one that you both adored. For him, it was intoxicating. Even picked up your armpit in bed as you yelped, his head buried in your pit to get a good whiff of your scent. Both of you sent laughing and shouting and you play fought in bed, beating back the monster you so endearingly loved.

“Fucking hell Brian!! Give me my arm back!”

“No! Never!” He bellowed, hand tightening around your wrist, pinning it against the wall as your feet kicked against him. He loved it, making you mad and crazy at the same time.

Tickling was your enemy! One that he used and abused, to get you laughing and squirming as he tied his body around yes. Pressing kisses to your cheek like a woodpecker.

****

Eventually, you found answers. The internet helped and a good stack of books about gender. It worked to ease your feelings about your body and the amount of envy you had for the masculine. It was difficult at first, being able to sort through attraction and gender envy at the same time. Slowly, you found answers. A confirmation of your feelings and way of life. The amount of euphoria you received when the simple stranger called you ‘man’ or ‘sir’ felt glorious. Elating and at home with yourself in a way that felt right. A homecoming.

You started to approach the subject with Brian. The two of you were friends with trans people, but it still felt fresh. Weird, and confusing to go through yourself. Being trans still didn’t give you cut and dry answers, it was a journey. A grey area because, even through they had gone through that journey, it was still personal. You had to find answers for yourself and the world is a weird, wild place.

But, it didn’t mean you were something else. Or strange for that matter- you were you, and that’s what mattered. You were exploring.

You two had been laying in bed. A quiet Saturday day spent outside, running errands and going to the farmers market to buy fresh produce and bread. It was lovely and peaceful. You guys had turned into bed early, curled under a soft comforter as you sprawled out in bed. The sun had set.

“Hey,” You whispered, dusting a piece of long hair out of his face. He was turned towards you, a fit of blankets wrapped around him as his body cupped towards yours. 

“Hey,” He yawned, eyes fluttering in sleepiness.

You dusted a finger along his jaw, his chest slowly rising and falling. A ham all baked like a warm potato. “Can we talk?”

He shifted his head closer to your touch, liking the way you slowly stroked his skin. “Yeah, what’s up?” He yawned.

“I’ve been thinking, for a while now. That I might be trans,” You paused, wanting to release the next few words from your brain. “I think I am.”

“Oh?” He shifted up, sitting up now and trying to wake up his brain. Serious conversation time. “Really?” His voice was kind, asking for confirmation.

You nodded, “Yes.”

“As in nonbinary or trans masc?” He ran a hand through his hair, swooping the fluff back. Pulling himself together.

You laughed, feeling the butterflies swarm in your stomach. “Trans masculine.”

“Okay,” he smiled, nodding. Taking it in. “So uh, what do you want to do? If anything at all?”

“Honey-” You pestered, giving him a look.

“I’m asking! That’s up to you!” He was ginger, trying not to pry but dying inside. The questions!

“Clothes, that’s for one thing.”

“You’re already wearing my boxers- we gotta get you more of those.”

You had been stealing them from him. They were comfy, among other things. You couldn’t help but crack a guilty smile. He had mentioned it before when he had ran out, pissed because he hated wearing dirty ones.

“And shirts, and some good cuffed jeans-” You added.

“Dickie’s has those, we can thrift you Carhart’s from Goodwill.”

You paused, holding your breath. Holding onto the next few words, as if they couldn’t be taken back. Releasing them into the world, “And transitioning. I think I want to do that too.” 

He reached for your hand, his thumb stroking your palm as the two of you laid in bed. Him looking down at you as your sprawled out, your elbow propping yourself up. “Okay, if that’s what you want, I support you. I want that too,” He pulled up your hand and pressed his lips to them softly. Firmly intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing them tightly. Securely.

“Do you want to go by different pronouns? A name?”

“Yes, I want to be named Y/N,” You smiled, feeling his hands pull you in.  Draw around you in a deep hug as he slid down to your level, comforting and embracing you. “I want to go by he/him pronouns.” You chuckled against his skin, head buried into the crook of his neck.

“Well hello my Prince, I’m so glad to meet you Y/N,” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling through it as your heart brust. Crying in relief, in tears of joy and relief.

“You’re not mad?” You squeaked, tears rolling down your cheek.

“Baby~” He purred, pulling back, to look into your eyes. “Of course not, I want you to be happy. You’re precious to me,” He said, soothing you. “Is this what’s been bothering you?”

You nodded.

“I’ve been… wondering about it,” He mused. “I kinda figured it out after you bought your binder and started shaving your face. You barely had peach fuz but you looked so happy… so, much more bright that day,” You had slowly been trying things out. Listening to your body and how you felt. Changing your style, presenting more masculine. You even bought clothes from the men’s section and started to let go using gender specific pronouns for yourself. To ease the pain of dysphoria while you figured out feelings. Your therapist helped. 

“But I’ve been waiting until you tell me, that’s your stuff,” He wiped your chin, brushing off the stream of tears. “I know you’d tell me eventually, whatever your answer was- I want to support you. I chose that long ago, I stand by that.” He smiled, adding, “And if things change in the future, that’s okay too. Gender and bodies are a tricky thing.”

There was so many choices- my so options- in how trans people choose to express themselves. All of them are valid, it’s what makes you happy is the most important thing. What aligns with yourself.

“Thank you,” You sniffled, peaking out a smile. You were happy, and now tired, and just wanted to curl up in bed. The rush of emotions flooding your system, the bent of stress and relief washing over your system. Draining you. 

You wanted to feel this moment in its security, its acceptance. “That means a lot to me Brian.”

“Of course- and for what it matters-” He leaned into your ear, whispering, “I think you make a handsome man. And will continue too.” 

“It doesn’t change things- between us?”

He shrugged, unfazed, “I don’t think so. I’m attracted to you and I like men so-” Another quizzical look, “I don’t see how it would change things in that department. I think I need to know more but I don’t think so.”

You raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“I want to read more about it so I can help you. I know it can be hard for trans people to get the resources they need to transition. We’re going to both go through this and I want to help you. -If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Oh! Okay,” you nodded. You slid down together, laying in each others arms. Curled underneath the seats, your tears dried up. Heart shining. “I want that, your help. I fucking hate calling the doctors office.”

He laughed, “I know! I know!” You would get stressed, talking on the phone could be weird sometimes. It made you anxious.

You tucked your head into his chest, hearing it beat with the life you held so closely. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. “Thank you Bri, for everything.”

“Of course Y/N,” He spoke softly, warm. “I love you, you’re my everything.”

The two of you drifted off to sleep in bed, listening to the sound of Summer rain come in through the window. Drops slapping against the hard concrete, easing you into a deep slumber.

****

The two of you got along better after that. You were able to save up enough money to see a gender therapist. A general practice doctor that specialized in transgender health, giving you access to the hormone treatments you so desperately needed.

The changes came slow at first, the T being newly added to your system. Eventually, the body hair came in. Sprouting up your legs and turning thicker, darker, up your knees. Your body weight shifted, redistributing around your body with a healthy addition of exercise. Your jaw widened, spotting itself with facial hair which you so proudly grew. Cleaned up and trimmed, sculpting it to your desire. 

That was one of your favorite moments. When you asked Brian to show you how he shaved his face. He pulled out of his bag of clippers, helped you learn how to wash your face and spread shaving cream on your face. How to guide the razor against your skin, trimming the well grown facial hair.

“-Like this- you gotta go against the grain if you want it smooth,” You were both creamed up, with your hair clipped back. He had a headband pushing his strands back, keeping it from falling into his face.

“Okay,” You mumbled in front of the mirror, guiding the razor across your skin. Wincing when you nicked yourself and hoping you don’t do that again.

“It’ll get easier, trust me,” He assured, slicking the last bit of cream off of his clean face. He mostly kept himself clean shaven, though there was a time where he rocked a thin mustache. Even some musky stubble around his cheeks. Which you loved.

And so was your transition. 

In time, you qrew to love and enjoy your body even more. Seeing the face you so expected- and wished for- being reflected in the mirror. Muscles come in, adjusting your body shape to one that you desired.

Brian was very supportive. Even helped you find a good doctor for your top surgery. He pitched in money for your procedure, taking some extra hours as the store manager at the record shop where he worked. He was planning on taking it over from the owner in a few years. He had helped them expand into a second storefront. He was proud of it.

He drove you to your surgery, making sure you had everything prepared. Extra magazines, music, books, even your sketch pad and journal if you so wished it. You would sleep after your surgery in the hospital bed, groggy and tired from the boat load of meds and painkillers lulling you to a peaceful state. He wanted to make sure you were content, that you healed well and passed the time while you recovered. The tiny hospital tv having few channels to capture your attention. He ready to help you pass the time.

After your surgery, you couldn’t move your arms very much. At least not above your head. It would pull at your incisions, the area bruised and draining of fluids. He would tend to you, changing your bandages and helping you get things from the kitchen cupboards. Asking you to relax and let him take over- when you insisted on cooking dinner. That you felt fine, that the pain wasn’t too bad. Even though your chest ached, he didn’t want you to push yourself.

It was okay to lean on someone else, to let them tend to you at times in need.

He adored you and embraced the new found man you had become. He liked hearing you softly talk into his ear, listening to how your voice had dropped. Had changed, deepened, and thickened. It was an adventure for the both of you, one that you happily embraced and found a new home. In you, yourself, and each other.

He was proud to call you his boyfriend, his favorite man on Earth.