#william schofield imagines

[eatmacherries]

Becoming friends

[storiesforallfandoms]

Masterlist 3!

Here’s the third masterlist for all of my works! If you want to check out more of my work, here’s the links for masterlist one and masterlist two Imagines marked * are smutty imagines! Imagines marked ` are requests! Imagines marked ⭐ are personal favorites!

IMAGINES

STRANGER THINGS small ~ jim hopper` dance with me ~ eddie munson ⭐ starry night ~ steve harrington* (part five) ⭐ at the hip ~ steve harrington` ⭐ triple date ~ steve harrington (part six) ⭐ the freak ~ steve harrington (part seven) ⭐ oblivious ~ eddie munson ⭐ jason doesn’t know ~ eddie munson ⭐ this is music ~ eddie munson` ⭐

SUPERNATURAL strange human feelings ~ castiel` cleaning ~ dean winchester`

HANNIBAL into fiction` sob story ~ hannibal lecter

THE BOYS obsession ~ billy butcher* ⭐ herogasm ~ soldier boy* ⭐ alone on christmas ~ billy butcher can’t get too close ~ billy butcher ⭐ change in a heartbeat ~ billy butcher ⭐ the bad room ~ homelander ⭐

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY life father ~ diego hargreeves` rescue mission ~ klaus hargreeves’ ⭐

THE LAST OF US (HBO) friendly neighbors ~ joel miller ⭐ too sweet ~ joel miller

BARRY attraction ~ barry berkman` treat him better ~ barry berkman

AMERICAN HORROR STORY late night sins ~ xavier plympton (1984)*`

VICTORIOUS lost dog ~ tori vega` junker ~ beck oliver

HEMLOCK GROVE i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey ⭐

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES roses are red ~ damon salvatore` ⭐

OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH captive ~ blackbeard/ed teach ⭐

PEAKY BLINDERS moved on ~ thomas shelby

FUTURE MAN winner ~ josh futturman* ⭐

GAME OF THRONES littlest lion ~ oberyn martell (part one) ⭐ freedom ~ oberyn martell (part two) ⭐

THE WITCHER destiny ~ geralt of rivia

DOCTOR WHO looks of a princess ~ eleventh doctor ⭐

BRIDGERTON by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton

THE GENTLEMEN the assistant ~ raymond smith ⭐

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN spirit of nature ~ jack sparrow`

THE MAZE RUNNER i’ll keep you safe ~ newt`

MARVEL how things are now ~ marc spector and steven grant` ⭐ kneel ~ loki* the most wonderful time ~ bucky barnes fast ~ pietro maximoff ⭐

1917 early morning ~ will schofield*`

THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT happy birthday ~ javi gutierrez ⭐

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S i need someone older ~ william afton ⭐ the ice cream girl ~ mike schmidt

SALTBURN new toy ~ felix catton ⭐ partners ~ oliver quick ⭐

THE SANTA CLAUSE santa’s sister-in-law ~ bernard the elf

8 MILE one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr ⭐

THE FALL GUY the space cowboy and the pa ~ tom ryder

A QUIET PLACE i’d find you in any life ~ eric ⭐

GLADIATOR II betrothed ~ emperor geta ⭐

PETE DAVIDSON your gift` favoritism`

HARRY STYLES the perfect tree a star in the making` sleepy head`

MACHINE GUN KELLY baby mama` ⭐ my queen*` getting your attention*` all the mistakes` not what it looks like` can’t keep doing this*`

EMINEM may the best artist win*` too close for comfort` ⭐ when it’s wrong but it feels right` in the dressing room*` he’s acting different` we have to stop meeting like this` every inch*` let’s surprise the world` i’m sorry i let you down`

GOODGUYFITZ wake up call*`

CORPSE HUSBAND letting go` they forgot` ⭐

ASHTON IRWIN home life` cover me*`

CONAN GRAY pushing`

MATTHEW LILLARD accidental drunk confessions`

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE feeling good*`

ALEX TURNER more than a song*` ⭐

BO BURNHAM can’t handle this right now ⭐ look at me*`

KRISTEN STEWART special customer`

TARON EGERTON he already has my approval ⭐

ROBERT PATTINSON my favorite superhero

GERARD WAY good girl*`

GWILYM LEE history repeats itself`

RYAN GOSLING play date`

JOSEPH QUINN bad idea, right? ⭐

RANBOO fluffy haired gamer boy`

JACOB ELORDI height advantage`

MOTLEY CRUE she is mine ~ mick mars`

CHRIS EVANS not used to normal` ⭐

SWAGGERSOULS our next step`

JSCHLATT too far ⭐ the hotel room* ⭐

JOHNNY DEPP just for us`

TRAVIS BARKER the parent trap`

SHIPS

family reunion ~ hermione granger x draco malfoy`

HEADCANONS

showing pedro pascal fan edits ⭐ sitting on jschlatt’s lap ⭐

NSFW ALPHABET

rook (jp capellette)*` eddie munson* ⭐ billy butcher* ⭐

[companion-showdown]

Family Feud Nominations, Who is the Best Doctor Who Family

If I've missed a character out of one of the families let me know (within reason, I imagine all these families are massive in the EU, so prioritise tv or significant characters)

Currently, the only rule is no families may inculde anyone who is even ambiguously The Doctor, it'll get super complicated super fast imo

Any characters, eg River, who can link up multiple different families to create a single massive family unit will be treated on a case by case basis. If it is possible to pick one of the smaller family units that they are a part of to include them in while not including them in any of the others (in a way everyone will agree at least makes sense) they will be included in that family only, otherwise they will not be included

Please bare in mind when you are nominating that I am hoping to keep the number of nominations under 64 to run this as a mini-tournament. This is not a hard rule so if nominations do exceed 64 its not a big deal, just something I'd like everyone to bare in mind

Nominees

Foreman-Campbell (Susan, David, Alex)

Chesterton-Wright (Ian, Barbara, implied to be married after they leave)

McCrimmon (Jamie, Heather, V.M.McCrimmon, various others)

Waterfield (Victoria, Edward (father))

Lethbridge-Stewart (Kate, The Brigadier, Doris (Brig's wife in Battlefield), Archibald Hamish (TUAT), Gordon (Kate's son in Downtime), Kadiatu, The Great Intelligence, Lucy Wilson)

Grant/Jones (Jo, Cliff, Santiago (Jo's grandson in Death of the Doctor))

Smith (Sarah-Jane, Lavinia (aunt), Brendan Richards, Luke, Sky, Mr Smith, K9 (they are her family and I will not be hearing otherwise), Barbara, Eddie (parents in Temptation of Sarah-Jane Smith))

Leela, Andred, Veega, Rayo

Adric and Varsh (brothers)

Nyssa, Tremas, and Kassia (daughter, father, step-mother)

Jovanka (Tegan, Vanessa (aunt in Logopolis), Colin (cousin in Arc of Infinity))

Turlough (Vislor, Malkon (brother in Planet of Fire))

McShane (Ace, Audrey (mother), Kathleen (grandmother), Liam (brother))

Tyler (Rose, Jackie, Pete, Tony (baby mentioned in Journey's End), no I will not be adding the metacrisis to this list)

Another Smith (Mickey, Rita (grandmother))

Slitheen

Harkness (Jack, Grey, parents, Alice Carter (daughter), Steven Carter(grandson))

Isolas (Fear Her)

Jones (Martha, Francine, Clive, Tish, Leo, Leo has a baby as well, Adeola Oshodi)

The Family of Blood

Redfern-Smith (Joan, John (various), possible dream children and grandchildren)

Shafe Kanes (from Utopia, Kristane, Beltone)

Mott-Noble-Temple (Donna, Sylvia, Wilf, Shaun, Rose)

The Adipose

Pond-Williams (Amy, Rory, River, Brian, Anthony, Amy's aunt and parents)

Owens: (Craig, Sophie, Stormageddon Dark Lord of All)

Gillyflower (Mrs Gillyflower, Ada)

Paternoster (Jenny, Vastra, Strax)

Oswald (Clara, Ellie, Dave (parents), grandmother, and I'm going to say Danny makes the cut, Orson)

Potts (Bill, Mother, Moira (foster mother))

O'Brien-Sinclair (Graham, Ryan, Grace, Aaron (Ryan's father))

Khan (Yaz, Najia (mother), Hakim (father), Sonya (sister), Umbreen (grandmother))

Lewis (Dan, Eileen (mother), Neville (father))

Swarm and Azure

Bel, Vinder and their as yet unborn child

Sunday (Ruby, Carla, Cherry, many many foster siblings)

The TARDIS and Lolita

Little House of Cwej

The House of Lungbarrow (Grandfater Paradox, Qenceus, Inocet, various cousins, Irving Braxiatel, Maggie Matsumoto, Ulysses, Penelope GAte, Anna Joyce)

The House of Dvora (Morbius, The War King, Thessalia, Romana, various others)

Langer (Clyde, Carla (mother), Paul (father))

Jackson (Maria, Alan, Chrissie)

Chandra (Rani, Haresh, Gita)

The Wu Diaspora (Cindy Wu and her clones)

Munmeth and Mutmunna (Medicine Man)

Ada and Alice Obiefune

Who (Susan, Barbara, Louise)

Jones-Davies (Ianto, Rhiannon, Johnny, David, Mica)

Summerfield (Bernice, Issac, Claire, Jason Kane, Peter, Wolsey, Keith, Rebecca, Cousin Eliza, Benedict I-IV, Christine)

Miller (Lucie, Pat (aunt))

Schofield (Hex, Cassie, Hilda)

House of Witforge (Narvin, Lenaris, Helico, Narvin's father, Rexin)

Faction Paradox

Pollard (Charley, Louisa, Richard, Margaret, Edward Grove, The Sound Creature)

Mesh Cos, Lon Shel, Julian White Mammoth Tusk

Cooper-Williams (Gwen, Rhys, Anwen, Geraint, Mary (Gwen's parents))

Chenka (Liv, Tula, Kal, Garlon Rosh)

Sinclair (Helen, Albie, Trev Bailey)

Forrester

Proctor (Cleo, Jordan, parents)

Nominations will be open until Midday Friday (03/05, 12:00 BST (GMT/UTC +1)), I will try and give a more specific time then

[brokentreeonline]

We're All Going To Die from Stefan Hunt on Vimeo.

We’re All Going To Die takes on the simple task of exploring the meaning of life. Through colour, imagination, humour and fart jokes, Director Stefan Hunt asks you to look at the what ifs, the why nots and the oh wells that might flash before your eyes when paid a surprise visit by Death. With your internal monologue played by Jared Jekyll and Death played by Hugo Weaving (The Matrix, Lord of the Rings), you’re prompted to get existential whilst grinning from ear to ear during this independent short film of fantastical weirdness.

The film is an adaptation from Stefan Hunt's illustrated book 'Were All Going To Die' and part of a multimedia extravaganza of that same name that was launched in October 2017. The project uses death and art to empower its audience to fear less & live more. "Years ago I was crippled by fear. Reminding myself that I'm going to die has changed my approach to life. It's the most powerful force to live by." says Hunt, who independently funded this project alongside a successful Kickstarter campaign.

A huge thank you to everyone who has been part of the journey. Let's keep kicking fear in the balls.

For more information visit - wereallgoingto.com Official book available here - wereallgoingto.com/book

Director - Stefan Hunt Producer - Yingna Lu Director of Photography - Campbell Brown Editor - Stefan Hunt Man - Jared Jekyll Death - Hugo Weaving Production Designer -Ian Kanik Art Director - Mohini Herse Art Director - Courtney Covey Costume Designer - Christina Bouzios Costume Designer - Rosa Spring Voss Hair and Make Up - Katy Clucas Hair and Make Up - Lisa Mangion Sound Composer - Jonny Higgins Casting Director - Felicity Byrne Unit Production Manager - Maren Smith Unit Production Manager - Nicole Hofstädter 1st Assistant Director - Stuart Beedie Stunt Coordinator - Mark Duncan (TwinStar Stunts) Stunt Rigger - Neal Horton Production Assistant - Olivia Carolan Production Assistant - Yasmin Blake Production Assistant/Reader Emele Ugavule 1st Assistant Camera - Joel Eames 1st Assistant Camera - Sid Tinney 1st Assistant Camera - Tim Keith 2nd Assistant Camera - Luke Tysoe 2nd Assistant Camera - Chris Moore 2nd Assistant Camera - Rhavin Banda BTS Jack Shepherd Wardrobe Assist - Amber Theron Gaffer - Mat Wilson (Focus Film Lighting) Gaffer - Steve Schofield (Lumen Arty) Best Boy - Nathan Grant Best Boy - Richard Hawkins Best Boy - Charles Gray Key Grip - Chris Davies Sound Recordist & Boom Operator - Martin Demian Stills Photographer - Sam Shepherd Locations Services - Emelie Fagerman and Alex Intihar from Search Party Locations Online Editor / Colourist - Matt Fezz VFX Supervisor - Matt Fezz VFX Supervisor - Matt Campbell Storyboard Artist - Amber Theron Graphic Designer - Sam Shepherd Designer - Hui Ying Kao Designer - Courtney Brookes Animator - Andrew Khosravani Animator - Michael Chen Post Sound Supervisor - Jonny Higgins Voice Over Recordist - Rob Hughes Voice Over Recordist - Simon Lister VO recorded at Nylon Studios Special Thanks to; Paper Moose Crater Studios Mrs Nina Tattoli Vanessa Marian Helena Rosebery Southern Cross Cameras Australia Stef Smith Matt Pike Whitney Oliver Alexandra Kent Adam Benton Liam Riley Ant Pawley Kei Yokokawa Williams Management Andrew Wilkinson (Sydney Prop Specialists) Alt.vfx

[s1ater]

we meet again. george mackay x reader

summary: in which reader has met the angel of death on many occasions, always finding some way to get away, but what about this time?

warning/s: swearing, mentions of murder and death

slater’s note: i know some of you enjoyed this concept, so i thought i’d pop another one of these out

you had shook his hand greatly, have meeting him many times before, each on different occasions of the edge, where he greeted all before their great end.

“you haven’t changed,” you mumbled, gripping his hand tightly, eyeing him up and down with the suit he had on, the same suit he wore the first time you had met him, and the second time, and the third.

“you say that every time,” he mumbled, huffing and looking away from you in what seemed to have been annoyance, but you should’ve known better, the angel of death doesn’t get annoyed.

“what’s it this time?” the two of you begin to walk, turning away from each other and allowing your shoulders to graze one another every once and awhile. “hit by a bus? food poisoning? murdered by a boyfriend?”

“funny,” his eyes grazed along the park view, paying closely attention to the people and animals that ran around in all their glory. “almost like all of those things have happened to you before.”

“well, i am the world’s biggest mystery,” you rose your hands in a proudness, “no one knows how i’ve escaped death so many times.”

“yeah, well, maybe not this time,” his voice was low, like he was trying to keep the words to himself, but failed as you rose an eyebrow, now looking to him questioningly.

“you sure, ole’ boy?”

“when am i ever?”

“the last four times.”

he shrugged, keeping silent and wondering to himself. it made you frown, now a little conscious to each step you were taking, wondering if this really was your time and you no longer could escape death.

“are we only crossing paths or are you really here to take me away this time?” your tone was flat and more serious now, no longer comfortable with the presence of someone you wish you could call a friend instead of an enemy.

“it depends,” he glanced to you, unsure of your path himself, but it felt different this time. he was sure your time had finally came to an end, but he could never be too certain due to thinking that the last couples of times he had came to encounter you.

the first time he had ever met you was at the age of five when you had walked straight out in front of a bus, unaware of all your surroundings and letting go of the safety of your mothers hand.

he had hovered over you, frowning, never finding pleasure in taking the soul of a young one. but strangely you had opened your eyes widely, like you had just been struck across the face and you had just realized.

you had survived.

the second time the two of you came across paths was the first time you had noticed him. there was something about him that made you feel safe even as an hour later you had once again almost touched deaths face with being shoved into the tracks of the subway by a stranger.

fortunately a woman quickly pulled you out, saving your life seconds before the subway could have ran you over. you were sixteen then, full of ambition and curiosity, causing you to forever wonder who the man in the black suit was on the other side of the tracks were, standing, and waiting for you to get trampled.

at eighteen you had eaten a bad piece of chicken on a birthday vacation, sending you for the bathroom of your hotel room, vomiting and vomiting until you laid weak against the cold tile bathroom floor, death soon accompanying you.

he held your hand lightly, analyzing your weak figure. your eyes barely cleared enough for you to tell who was holding your hand so comfortingly.

you were there for hours and he waited patiently, having no where to be but by your side like a companion.

eventually, the hospital was sent for and you once again slipped away from his finger tips.

finally, age twenty one you had come to realize who he was. you weren’t disturbed at all like many of the other people who had come to realize his position. rather, you found him comforting and someone there for you despite him quite literally only being there for your death.

he didn’t care for you as much as you cared about him. you found his visits exciting while he dreaded them.

but at twenty one you had almost been murdered by your very own boyfriend. he was shot dead before he could offer an explanation as to why.

you were only stabbed once, that being in the stomach. and although you seemed to be so close to your end, you pulled through, once again escaping the angel of death.

“if you’re so tired of our encounters, kill me yourself.”

“that’s not how it works.”

“i’m sure it could.”

“i’m not going to kill you.”

you pouted teasingly, “awh, boohoo.”

he rolled his eyes, “i’ll find you when it’s time.”

°•

with your heart in your throat you watched the scene unfold right in front of your eyes. so quickly and so easily, you almost thought it wasn’t real til you heard the screams that very much were, causing you to clench your jaw, wincing.

a man who’s identity that was concealed behind a black ski mask tightly gripped a young woman. it seemed that what may have been a mugging now turned into a kidnapping as he attempted to lug the girl into the back of his car.

“hey,” your face turned red and you couldn’t help but yell as you cautiously crossed the road, slightly unsure of your actions, “get away from her!”

your words only struck panic in the man, quickening his pace as he tried to induce her, but she continued to pull and kick away from him, finding hope that she would get away from this situation.

you joined arms with her as you tried to pull her away from him and soon you did, somehow allowing yourself to be taken ahold of by the man in the ski mask and taking her place as she ran despite your yelp.

you were caught off guard, being shoved into the back of his car, and then suddenly feeling a blunt force knocked against your head. your body went limp and you felt your vision slowly black out, but not before you caught the sight of the angel standing within the shadows, seeing through to your capture.

°•

black.

you vision was black and spotty till light suddenly flooded your vision and pain consumed your body like a flash of lightening. you didn't come to realization of what had happened until you saw him.

he sat across from you in a chair with his hands clasped, examining your face intently, waiting. you knew what for. and you truly believed it would happen just from the position you were in; a rope bound to your ankles and wrists, your body lying against the carpeted floor of what seemed to be a bedroom.

"help me."

"you know i can't help you," his face was blank but you could see a dash of sympathy that dotted his eyes as he slightly tilted his head to look at you better. "it's your time, but you need to breathe while you still can."

you coughed, feeling your voice at a strain, "no it's not." you rolled your head, observing your surroundings the best you could with your vision that was still slightly clouded. "it's not my time, i'm not going to die like this."

he watched you struggle as you maneuvered your body so you could attempt to stand or kneel or anything that wasn't laying. he almost found you pathetic—the way you got yourself into this mess. you were so much smarter than that and with all the misfortune you had been through, he would have hoped you'd be just a little more careful.

"he'll be back soon," the angel mumbled, still watching you go. "if you don't want to die, you'll have to be more sensible."

"don't tell me how to be sensible," you attempted to crawl toward the nightstand, hoping to break the rope with something in the drawer. “you might as well not speak if you aren’t going to help me.”

and then he was gone. vanished. disappeared. out of sight. he no longer sat in that chair.

you sighed, but continued worming your toward the drawer with persistence. you almost made it to the drawer to if it weren’t for a large grip pulling you back to the ground roughly. no mercy was shown as the man flipped you over to your back, fuming.

“bitch think you can get away,” he's straddling you now and oddly begins to untie you even as you struggle beneath him, just waiting to hit him and run. "you think you're so fucking tough, let's see how you deal with this."

once your arms are untied he moves fast to your feet but not before raising a gun, daring you to try anything. you stay back despite your skin crawling, begging you to run or move or do something that wasn't just sitting there.

the aching feeling finally got to you and you slung your foot on the side of his head the moment you felt the ropes loosen around your ankle. you got up fast only to trip again and he was quick to gab your leg, still clasping the side of his head in pain on the ground. you shook your leg vigorously, kicking him in the head multiple times as hard as you could till he let go. you got up fast and ran out the door.

"you fucking bitch!" he was already up barely giving you time to navigate your escape. "i'm going to kill you!"

you pushed into a room, locking the door, and finally catching your breath. you felt you couldn't process it—whatever this was. it didn't feel real and you almost questioned if this was a dream until the violent stomps of the man came rushing down the hall, causing the floor beneath you to vibrate.

"oh fuck," your hand shook as you lightly clamped it against your mouth, now searching for a light switch as your other hand swiped against the wall aggressively. "fuck."

you wished you didn't find that light switch. it would have been better to be left in the dark. but light still flooded in and with that the bloody body with an unintelligible face was sunken in within the bathtub. you let out a horrified scream, quickly covering your mouth in fear.

your whole body shook now and you wanted to cry. the reality of death became more clear and you wished the angel would have been here to comfort you.

"oh god-"

"i know you're in there!" the door begun to shake as the man on the other side pushed against it, wriggling the locked door handle. you became overwhelmed as you looked around the room, trying to avoid the body in search of some object to use as a weapon. you came to the conclusion that if you were going to leave alive, you'd have to hurt this man.

"open this door!"

you begun to shuffle around in the drawers quickly the moment he began to slam his body against the door. grief took over your body to the point the only feeling flowing through your body was an uncomfortable tingling, making you not want to move if it weren't for the fear of your life.

you almost gave up just as the door did and after that, your sight went black.

°•

you woke up to your head pounding and your arm screaming in agony. you forgot where you were. you couldn't think straight and your sight was barely clear as the only thing that you could clearly see was blood.

"hopefully, this taught you something," his tall figure hovered over you, examining your face, almost as if making sure life still bloomed in your eyes.

you didn't say a word, you almost didn't recognize him and you swore you were hallucinating. but laying in blood, you watched him go, and you knew this wasn't your time and the body he came to collect, wasn't yours.

navigation.

@transias @cc13723things @skateb0red @black-rose-29

[ditch-witches]

𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚌𝚜

[trying something a little different, let me know what you all think :)]

♥ the two of you probably met in college through mutual friends at a party

♥ you had randomly asked him to hold your drink after one of your shoes broke and hurried off to the bathroom

♥ when you came back, it was like he had forgotten he was holding it as he started talking to your friend and looked at you weirdly when you asked for it back

♥ flash forward and he’s going through an “i will learn how to play guitar, even if it kills me” phase

♥ but he doesn’t start with the basics (of course). he goes right for learning the chords to a weird Scandinavian song he heard when he stumbled onto a foreign radio station

♥ or at least, that’s what he told you he was learning

♥ turns out he was trying to perfect learning a song he knew you loved

♥ man is a Grade. A. simp

♥ every morning he wakes you up with a steaming cup of tea in bed

♥ some days you show up to work to see a luscious bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk from him

♥ he leaves notes in unexpected places for you to find when he goes off to shoot

♥ after you move in together, you’d get home from work and he’s ready to shower you in love and affection (and tell you everything he learned from a documentary he watched for fifteen minutes during the day)

♥ the two of you love cooking together

♥ mainly weird recipes the two of you found online

♥ everything comes out terrible in the end though because George always has to “spice it up”

♥ usually you give up anyway, happy to order pizza because who cares

♥ as far as your friends knew, you were both great cooks

♥ George took the ideology behind “what’s mine is yours” very seriously, and applied it to most aspects of your already shared life

♥ whether it be car keys or clothes, it was shared

♥ George’s favorite thing to share happened to be personal space

♥ in the car, George’s hand was either tangled with yours or settled on your knee; maybe resting on the back of your seat---it really didn’t matter as long as he was in arms length of you

♥ when you usually went about your chores around the house, George would follow you around to help you or just “keep you company”

♥ it probably was because of how much you worked during the week

♥ he loves wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair after a long day

♥ between pressing soft kisses to your shoulders, he’d hum in response to you talking about your day

♥ George was always on one side of the bed when you went to sleep, yet you’d wake up twisted around him in his embrace or on the opposite side without any recollection as to how you’d gotten there

♥ while you felt unkempt and sweaty, he was still dozing off blissfully, completely unbothered

[royalbluehues]

Healing

Title: Healing

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  PTSD. Nothing graphic, though. 

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Request:  Thanks! May I request a story where Schofield is another man after the war and reader wants her hubby back? He has nightmares, he never wants to go out, he barely talks to the reader. She understands that he will never be the same man after what he went through, but she wants at least a bit of her husband back. She doesn't know what to do to help him, but she will fight for their marriage.

Author’s Note: The story treks off the path of the request just a tad. I always end up making my stories fluffy without intending to. (Image found on Pinterest)

You had known it the minute he stepped off the train’s platform.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had a far away look to them. When he had brought you close to embrace you tightly, he had nuzzled his face within the crook of your neck and stayed there. 

His body was taught and stiff. 

Deep down within you, a small feeling poked at you, Something’s wrong. 

But you pushed that thought to the side, rather selfishly relishing the fact you finally, after nearly three years apart from him, you finally had your husband in your arms once more. 

And God willing he will stay there, you prayed silently. 

You raised one of your hands to tangle his locks around your fingers, squeezing your eyes tightly, “William,” you breathed out, savoring the way his name tasted on your tongue, then peppering whatever visible part of his face that was not tucked away into your neck.

Your heart was blooming with a mixture of gratitude, relief, happiness, and bereavement to the time that was pitilessly ripped from you and your daughters. 

He was filthy, despite his obvious attempts at a decorum of cleanliness. But his hair was matted, his uniform tattered, ripped, and stained with dark splotches in several places. 

You sided with your better judgment and not allow your mind to wander to what those splotches were. 

He finally lifted his head from his embrace, moving to lean back and look at you. His lips pulled upward into a lopsided smile. 

But you see it there: his large eyes betray his effort of solidity. Quickly as it comes, it goes. And before your mind could analyze it, he pulls you into a kiss. 

His lips feel soft, despite the skin being cracked. The calloused fingers grasping either side of your face are cold to the touch, his grip tight yet tender. You melt effortlessly into him, feeling the tension you’ve held in your shoulders, amounting since the moment he received his notice of deployment, give ease. 

When he releases you, you notice the tears that have swarmed in not only your eyes but in his as well. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Once again, you’re flooded with a thousand emotions. Those three words have left you winded. They’re drowning you, pulling you so far beneath its current you’re left with the largest knot in your throat, threatening to release the moment you open your mouth to reply to him. 

It’s his words that have compacted so many meanings unspoken. 

Your tongue has turned leaden, your mouth is clenched shut, and the knot in your throat is only forming and growing every second that is passed. 

All you can do is stare up at him pathetically, eyes wide and brimming with tears that wait to fall.  

I love you. I’m so sorry. I want you. I feared for you. I feared for myself. I’ve missed you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Your heart feels full and empty all at once, and you tremble as his hands softly stroke away the wisps of hair that have fallen from your coiffed hair. 

When you open your mouth to breath, to finally repay the sentiment, your lungs betray you as they rack in a sob. 

He pulls you back into an embrace, only this time it’s you that is being hid away from the onlooking world, gasping for breath as your tears wet the lapels of his uniform. 

You feel him press his lips to the crown of your head.

“I know,” He tells you thickly.

---

It’s early morning as Will sits by the window of this home. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than thrashing about in your shared bed, he figured it wise to detach himself lest he wake you for the third consecutive night that week. 

The heat emitting from the teacup clasped in his hands scalded his skin, but he chose to ignore it. The burning grounded him. Reminded him of where he was and where he wasn’t. 

He tiredly exhales a deep sigh, leaning his head against the crown molding of the window. He feels almost guilty for not staying in bed, remembering the constant visualizations of a warm bed- of your body warmly pressed into his side, the welcoming sound of a pair of bare feet that patter softly against the floor- all of which he painted to keep him sane in the trenches. 

But now that he had it after wanting it for so long, he always returned back to France, even when he tried to suppress it. 

It would be small things that would set off the memories: The sound of the leaves billowing from the wind, the clanging of a fork against a tin can, the smell of upturned soil, just to name a few. 

It was silly, he thought more often than not, of how different he was now. 

Though he was still William Schofeild, he really wasn’t. It was a notion he had to accept the first week he returned home to you and the girls. 

But he tried, by God, did he try. 

Whenever it would be set for judgement day to come, William Schofeild knew that he would be judged for what he did not do and what he did. But one thing that would serve him with certainty, was that he tried. 

He tries to uphold the station that he situated before he left. The role of a good father and a good husband. Not showing the cracks that were undoubtedly unfixable. Attempting to get back into the swing of things. 

Though he knew that his false bravado hardly went unnoticed by you. He would feel your suspecting gaze when he was teetering on reliving events as he stared off blankly into the space ahead of him, when he would leave his food untouched or his tea forgotten. He knew you had a hunch of what was happening when his daughters sat on his lap as they begged him to tell stories. 

“Girls,” you would scold them, emerging from the kitchen as you wiped your hands on your apron, “you know better than to be asking your father such things he wishes not to discuss.”

He would give a tight smile in response, “Nothing to worry about, Darling,” he’d say as he pressed a kiss on either girl’s head, “Perhaps I’ll do you one better, girls: I’ll read you a story with princesses and about great castles. Far better than hearing about daddy’s stories. I’ve no fairies or knights in mine.”

They would beam up at him, slipping off his lap as they ran back to their nursery to play with their dolls. 

He knew you knew when he would simply pick his book up once more, staring at the page he attempted to read for the nearly two hours- how you would hover by the entryway of the kitchen and observe him before disappearing to finish up the roast. 

He knew you knew because as he sat there, sitting and observing the outside world through the window, the heat prickling his skin, he could feel your presence in the room. 

He watched as a bird flew by, situating itself on the small tree only feet away from the gate.

You moved quietly, settling into the parlor chair by his.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he tells you quietly as he turns to face you. You have a shawl over your shoulders, and sleep still evident in your eyes, and one hand atop your rounded belly.

You don’t meet his eyes, rather fixing your gaze on the same bird fluttering about. 

“You didn’t wake me.” You reply just as quietly, pulling the shawl tighter around you with your left hand, “The baby was kicking again.”

Will gives you a small smile, eyes glancing down at your bump,  “A rowdy one, he’ll be.”

He outstretches his arm to pass you his tea, and you accept, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip to fight away the chill lingering in the early morning. 

You hand it back to him, and the two of you so, passing the tea cup back and forth for the next minutes in comfortable silence. 

Finally, you speak. 

“William, I’m worried for you.”

It hangs in the air, and causes Will to shift uncomfortably in his chair as his right pointer finger plays with the handle of the tea cup. 

You fill the silence once more, turning to him now. “There’s something that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a frown. Instead of replying he gulps down the remainder of the tea and sets it atop the window sill. 

“I know you do not wish to speak on it. And I apologize for bringing it up so early in the morning, but I’d rather it not be in front of the girls,” you spoke slowly, your right hand still grazing your stomach as a nervous habit. 

Will sighs deeply once more. This conversation was bound to be brought up eventually. 

He hangs his head, crossing his arms, trying to think of the correct words to say. 

“I can hardly imagine what you saw or what you went through, and I’m grateful for the ignorance that permits me to do so. But seeing you in these states,” you trail off, feeling the familiar knot take place within your throat, “it pains me because I do not know how to help you.”

You take in a shuddering breath, biting your tongue as you cast your gaze on the floor. “I wished so many times to take you away from there. To bring you back home where nothing could harm you. I would have given anything to ensure you were safe.”

William shakes his head, lifts it and turns to look at you. “You already help me. Just by being here, by my side.”

You wipe away at a tear that had escaped, knowing fully it was a pretty fib to make you feel better. “Don’t lie to me, William. I see it in your eyes.”

He gives you a small smile again that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Of course you do. I suppose that’s the price of marrying an observant woman.”

“And as an observant wife, it’s my duty to point upon when I think something’s wrong,” you murmur quickly, quietly. You're terrified to find him angered, so you shift your gaze to avoid his eyes. “I made a vow to you four years ago: to be by your side for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer,” you pause before finally mustering up the courage to face your husband, “and in sickness and in health.”

William’s gaze is on the teacup that he set aside, his large eyes saddened and reserved. He frowns, slowly rises from his chair, kneels before you and claps your hand in his. He moves to press his lips on the knuckle of your thumb, “I’m sorry I do not speak to you about it. About what happened.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, voice cracking. 

“I haven’t been fair to you,” He admits to you, “and I’m deeply sorry for that.”

You shake your head, a bit exasperated at how you jumbled your own words, in turn making him feel he was at fault, “No, my Darling. No, please do not take it that way. What I meant is that though it’s not my place to pry personal information you do not wish to tell, it is my place to point something that I see taking a toll on you.” You lift his hand so you can kiss them, “I-I just want you to feel better.” You sigh, “I’m rambling again. I’m afraid I can’t speak properly this morning.”

“I know what you are attempting to get across.” he mumbles to you, bowing his head to rest it upon your bump. “But I should make more of an effort to…” He furrows his brows, carefully selecting the correct word, “be open. But it’s difficult. How can I ask you to help me when I do not even know how to help myself?”

His words break your heart. 

You frown, letting go of his hand to stroke his head. “We will figure it out, and I will be there every step of the way with you, no matter what.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

You stiffen. This time it’s his words that hang in the air. As he utters them, a cloud seems to block the early sunlight emitting through your window, casting a blueish-gray hue in your small home. 

“William never utter such mindless things again,” You scold him sharply. “I will never tire of you.” You allow your form to relax once more as your face softens, lightening your tone, “Is not carrying your child enough evidence?”

You hear him exhale a breathy chuckle and then feel him place a kiss on your womb. 

After a while, with you stroking his hair and him kneeling before you, you speak softly once more reassuring, “I love you. For the man that you were and for the man that you’ve become. I will be here for you. And though your healing may take time, it’s a step in the right direction. Never doubt that.”

The sun’s rays make an appearance once more, flooding the small room in a golden, promising light. 

.

.

.

Masterlist

[now-im-a-belieber]

from the ground up

A vague 1917 drabble! It's quite tragic and angsty. But... happy ending-ish? Inspired by that one scene, you'll know the one. 

══════════════════

Today you found out what the worst things are. 

Not only to lose something beloved. But to be stripped of such love that your hope for ever finding any again is crushed just a surely. 

To sit in darkness that is such, that a flame from a candle you find only reminds you of the light you have all too suddenly become devoid of.

It gave you no comfort. It only helps you see what's right in front of you. The tatters of the place you'd once strived to keep clean. The ashes of the structure that shielded you from all sorts of bad weather, covering blankets that would not keep you as warm as you needed to be any longer. But they were all you had. Dust covered blankets, a dull candle and overturned memories you'd never get the proper chance to sift through if you cared more about making it out of this place alive.

For a moment you considered staying as you were, wreckage among wreckage. To wither away with blown apart story book pages. To die here where she had. 

What if you'd heard the bombs coming? What if you had time to tuck her in and send her sleeping before everything ended? Would you still feel this way now? 

What if she had made it, and you had not? What would she do with no words and a walk she'd only just started practicing? Was it better this way? 

You could not stay here. You could die here, like she had. And for a moment you wanted too. For a moment you sat and stared past the light of the candle into the darkness and wondered if your bones ached as much as your soul, if you'd ever be able to feel much of anything again.

And the darkness grew with nightfall, as you argued with yourself over whether to move. You'd only gotten as far as what was left of the kitchen. You tested the lamp in the corner, out of instinct. Not of hope. Because you had none left you weren't disappointed to find the darkness covered you still. Was it possible you'd known your way around so well the halls well enough that that bricks blocking your way were only a minor inconvenience? Was it better to stay here, in a place you could no longer thrive in, but knew well enough to survive? 

You drifted back and forth, like you had when you silenced so many of your daughters night terrors. Now you lived through your own, and found no comfort in the way you tried to shake away the shock. You thought of no plan. You only thought of what had happened. And couldn't even think of what had resulted since the explosion. You just relieved it. Lived in it. Listened for her cries you knew would no longer come but would haunt you forever, however long that might be, now.

Then, past the ringing in your ears, lower hums and sharper shuffles could be heard. You recognized a foreign language beyond the blown apart walls of your home, and ducked away from the busted out windows in case whoever passed by wasn't nearly as afraid.

There was no telling the topic of the conversation they shared. You wondered if you'd even care to know the banter they traded in such a time as this. 

You knew they wouldn't save you. You didn't feel you needed saving. You didn't feel much of anything, all the while. Not even when the distant sound of gunfire and battle cries broke through the way you'd started to slip into unconsciousness amidst the dirt and dust. 

But when the shuffle of feet crept closer to the bits of home left hanging over your head, you found your heart was still intact. It started to thud and fill your chest, pushing your stomach into a nervous clench. You were still alive and your body was fighting to stay that way, it seemed. 

There was no time to clamor over the rubble, or hide behind the overturned dining table that could've easily been turned right side up and used, but never would be again. 

Instead you stood and stalled on the opposite side of the entry doorway a stranger had staggered to pause in. The silhouette of a soldier was neither a comfort or a curse. Not yet. His stance was frozen like yours, uncertain. He lifted both hands, and stayed where he was as you prepared for every possibility, for the worst you could think of. 

But nothing changed still. What was he waiting for? If only he'd drag you away, or shoot you down. If only this never ending nightmare would end. It was then you feared this was nothing more than a dream. That time had frozen inside the remains of your home, and the man who'd nearly entered, couldn't. 

His cautious step inside brought you back to reality. Almost relief. You had not floated into a stalled version of the worst moment in time. But it was still going on all around you. 

"I want nothing." He said. And somehow you understood. It was the only thing you'd been sure of, since the darkness swallowed everything whole, and spit you out to save for later. 

You watched the soldier move, slow, his broad shadow covered hands still raised to face you. He crept further, until he reached the window you'd been spying out of for what seemed like forever now. He did the same. And you saw the man's profile against the light of distant fire and fury. You saw the notch in his brow and his frown that grew as his eyes swept across the view from your window. He would not have known what was there before. The picket fences and pie shops to look for in the distance. The view you'd been used to, until today. 

And when the soldier turned away from searching his eyes found you. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked, turning slowly to evaluate you as you stood with no idea of the answer. A shake of your head was all you could manage, unsure otherwise. His sweeping gaze didn't seem to twist or change, so you must've appeared to be fine. 

But he looked a mess. Hair swept back with dirt. All the color of his face gone besides the dark circles under his eyes. And as you searched his frame, past his ripped and worn but otherwise fine looking uniform you saw the crimson covered cloth wrapped around his hand, and a jagged line of torn flesh traveling up his wrist, uncovered by the useless makeshift bandage.  

You moved from your place in the middle of the room, carefully maneuvering to clear the arm chair in the corner of fallen debris. You turned to find the soldier watching you, and waved him to sit. After one of those pauses that made you question time, he floated toward the chair and sat as you suggested. 

You'd been busy before this. And the apron that remained around your midsection was only good for one thing now. You untied the garment and ripped the fabric into reasonable bits. 

He did not ask what you were doing. Not even when you knelt at his side and started to remove the poor bandage he must've made himself along his way. Where was he going, you wondered? How had either of you ended up here? 

As you'd secured a couple pieces of cloth around his healing wound, you felt the soldiers eyes watching. You looked up to him, when you'd finished. And at the softness in his expression despite everything, you wondered again if this was all a dream. 

It’s only the sound of gun fire and battle cries growing nearer that snap you back to the realization that this is your life now. And the softness on the soldiers face before you had started to turn cold.

"I cannot stay here." He said, a bevy of emotion lied somewhere in his tone past the way he seemed tense and hardened by whatever it was he spoke of. Wherever he was going, or had already been. 

"Neither can I." You say. You can die here. You'd started too. "But I do not know how to leave." 

This was all you had left of your life. Of her life. Her first cries came from here. Her last, too. You could not take her with you. And you couldn't understand where to turn without her, now. 

After another pause you wished meant time had stopped, it only seemed to tick by like one final warning. 

"Do you trust me?" The soldier asked. 

You did not know. But past the candle light, the darkness was broken up by a pair of eyes glinting into yours. And the working hand of a soldier extended to meet yours. 

He pulled you away from the candle light. You clutched onto him through the doorway, past the darkness. And as the pair of you crept into the tattered city, ducking behind rubble and dashing toward freedom, the unknown past the light of all the fire and fury wasn't nearly as dark as it had seemed to hang in the only home you'd known. All that was left of it was shadows. And since you'd gone, you didn't worry about leaving her there, because that wasn't where she was anymore. So you couldn't stay. 

And maybe.... maybe there was hope to be considered; from the look in the eyes of the soldier who stayed by your side until sunrise and admitted then, he was just as scared as you.

[la-lune-historia]

Why are you crying?

.

.

.

.

.

[thylalock]

Yet there's no sickness toil nor danger In that bright land to which I go

[x]

[valterras]

Thinking about Will Schofield.

[incorrect1917quotes]

Hi there, I really like your posts. They are so funny 🤣When Schofield mentioned food and drinks I thought about this ⬇️(I hope this is the right way to submit. Sorry if they are not. I’m not really familiar with this😩)

Schofield: *traded the medal for a bottle of wine*

Schofield: *traded whatever for ham and bread*

Blake: Please don’t trade me for food

Schofield:

Schofield: I’ll try

[heffrcns]

i did this for dean, so here, have an appreciation post for george too😌

[s1ater]

dating jack marrowbone would include.

summary 📣: dating jack marrowbone would include

warning/s 🚫: n/a atm

slater’s note 🗯: there’s no jack marrowbone fics/imagines on here and it makes me sad!! so i decided to write something myself to put my mind to rest

➪ he’s very protective of you

➪ and always wants to have a hand on you when you’re around, which sounds weird but he low key has separation anxiety and wants to at least hold your hand

➪ cheek and forehead kisses

➪ dancing

➪ i absolutely adore this idea and it would be something like a quiet night with the record player playing in the background to fill the silence and he’ll just stand up and offer his hand to you

➪ you’ll stand and it’ll just be a silent, peaceful dance with his hand wrapped around your waist while the other holds yours gently

➪ he would hum along to the song quietly, causing his chest to vibrate against yours in a calming way

➪ you absolutely adored sam and would hold him tightly anytime you’d see him before it all went down

➪ jane was like your best friend and you could tell her anything

➪ she’s the one who got you and jack set up together

➪ billy would try to teach you how to fish before jack took over

➪ he’d always ask you whether or not if you liked jack before the two of you started dating and you’d shamelessly say “yes”

➪ when he has nightmares, you’d comfort him

➪ he always wants to keep you safe but sometimes he lacks to realize he’s the one that needs saving

➪ he tries to put on a big front to try to protect the people he loves and never wants them to see his breaking points

➪ you always try to help him but he wants to think he doesn’t need any and pushes you away

➪ “jack, please just let me help you, please.”

➪ “i don’t need your help, i’m fine.”

➪ but whenever he has little anxiety attacks, you try to catch them in the beginning by squeezing his hand tightly, even pressing kisses on the back of his hands

➪ he’s very sweet though and gentle with you

➪ he likes running his finger tips along your bare skin

➪ like dipping his finger down along your hip bones, stomach, cheek

➪ he absolutely adores you

➪ he reads to you at times, such as like before the two of you go to bed or just sitting out on the porch swing

➪ nature hikes

➪ walking along the beach without your guys’ shoes while holding each other’s hands, swinging back and forth

➪ he likes brushing your hair out of your face so he can see your eyes better

➪ he loves touching your face, dragging his thumb along your cheekbones and jaw

➪ he preps your face with kisses

➪ whenever your sad he holds you tightly with his hands wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses in the crook of your neck while he whispers sweet things in your ear about how much he loves you

➪ he’ll pick flowers in the field out back behind the marrowbone house for you

➪ he’ll write nice notes whenever he’s out when you get home

➪ “i think of you always and forever. i saw these flowers today and they compare nothing to your beauty. see you soon love x”

➪ he has the prettiest laugh and you just melt every time it rings through your ears

➪ attempted to braid his short strands of hair and sticking small flowers throughout it

➪ he loves you in sundresses, he thinks you absolutely glow more then you usually do

➪ he likes the way it flows around you body as you dance around mindlessly

➪ “you look stunning, love.”

➪ the two of you talk about marriage a lot and he says things mindlessly like:

➪ “i’m going to marry you someday, dovey.”

➪ “i’ll make you mrs. marrowbone.”

➪ being absolutely in love with each other

masterlist

taglist 🗞:

hi cowboy, join the taglist

[strangethings-everywhere]

In The Trenches - George Mackay x Reader

Navigating the trenches and obstacles of No Man’s Land was hard enough during the filming of 1917. No one expected you and lead actor George Mackay to actually have to fight your way out of the set when things suddenly started to go wrong. 

A/N: Here it is! I hope you all enjoy it and I might be writing some more and maybe adding a tagslist, so who knows!

Words: 1562

Warnings: possible spoilers for 1917 (if you squint), cursing, a lil making out

---

No matter how illustrious a film promised to be, the last thing you ever wanted to do was slide on your ass into a death trap replica of a WWI trench and paint actors with just enough mud and fake horse shit and whatever else they needed to look the right amount of miserable. Yet there you were, sliding on your ass into a trench replica to dip your brushes in the mud and then wipe it on people’s faces and so on.

The film itself was an incredible feat of cinematography and physical work, especially from the two leads, Dean and George. They were both sweet young men and were very respectful and cooperative, especially when you had to cover them in various trench shit. 

At that particular moment, you were being led through ‘No Man’s Land’ to where George and Dean were. One of the challenges that Lance Corporals Schofield and Blake faced in the film involved navigating through a boobytrapped German trench and bunker system. Your job was to be ready in case the scene had to be filmed again and makeup had to be fixed. 

As you made your way over to the other trench, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach twist up in knots. You knew why too: George Mackay. The tall, blond, blue-eyed boy had been a constant customer in your makeup chair since filming had started and even before then, you had been on set during the six-month rehearsals. You had watched him and Dean rehearse their scenes and do military drills and you couldn’t deny the fact that you were attracted to him. He was like a magnet.

And the craziest part was he often approached you first. It was terrifying.

You never allowed yourself to dwell on it, which is why the five-ten minute journey from trench to trench was torture. By the time you reached your destination, your hands were shaking. 

“You know he has to film his scenes, right? You don’t have to talk to him.” Rachel, the other hairstylist, offered you a comforting smile. She knew all about your infatuation with George. 

“I know, but part of me wants to. The other side of me wants to take this golf cart and drive as far away as I can.” You whined, showing her a weak smile in return. She laughed. 

“C’mon Juliet. Let’s go find Romeo and make sure his foundation isn’t running.” 

“You aren’t funny. At ALL.” You groaned, sliding out of the cart.

The crew was usually set up in a base camp, and the cameras would follow Dean and George wherever they were going because of how the movie was being shot.

Unfortunately for us, they had already done one take and needed to do it again. This meant we had to go into the German bunker and fix the boys’ makeup. 

“You know, when I applied to be a makeup artist in the movie world, I didn’t think I’d be drudging through trenches.” You muttered to Rachel as an assistant led you through the bunker, all of you holding flashlights. She snorted.

“You know, me neither.” A very familiar British accent ascended from the darkness, causing you to let out a shriek. The accent began to laugh and revealed himself to be the one and only George Mackay. 

“Oh shit Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He grinned. George was covered in ‘dust’ and ‘debris’ from the disaster he had just recently survived, which meant you would have to clean him off and reapply what you could. 

“Oh you asshat.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “C’mon, where can I fix you up?”

“This way. Oh, and Dean should be this way too.” George hooked his thumbs in the straps of his pack and began down a passageway, you and Rachel close at his heels. “Be careful.” He added. 

It didn’t take long for your trio to find the cameramen and Dean, which meant that you and George were off sitting by yourselves. 

And you had to touch his face. 

“So, Y/N…” George began, those blue eyes of his intently watching your face as you worked. You cursed internally; he could see you blushing so hard. 

“So, George… or do I call you Lance Corporal William Schofield until we’re done filming?” You asked, turning away for a moment to rummage in your bag. George chuckled. 

“Was that wit and sarcasm, Miss Y/L/N?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Maybe. I’m feeling bold today.” 

“Alright, I respect that.” 

“Thanks, look up please.” You gently lifted his chin with one shaking hand and then began blotting makeup under his eyes with the other. 

“Why are you shaking?” His voice had softened and he almost sounded nervous himself. Slowly, George removed your hands from his face and held them in his own. “Are you nervous? Cold? Both?” 

“I…” 

Before you could answer, the set started to shake. Across the room, the cameramen lept to their feet and began to run out of the small room, desperate to protect the camera equipment. Dean and Rachel glanced over at you and George, worry etched onto their faces. 

“George?” You squeaked out. You clutched his hand as the ceiling began to spew dust. 

“Y/N, it’s gonna be alright, I promise.” He said slowly. “We have to make our way over to the exit. Dean and Rachel are on their way out, we have to follow.”

“Okay.” 

As soon as we took our first step, the ceiling cracked and the exit caved in, covering us in dust and debris. 

“George?!” You screamed, your throat coated in the terrible dust in the air that you couldn’t cough out. You couldn’t see, and his hand was no longer in your grip. “George?!”

“I’m here!” His cry was muffled, but close. “Y/N, where are you?”

“Okay, George? I can’t see.” You began to scramble along the ground like a madwoman, trying to feel for him. 

“Did you have a flashlight?” 

You had a lighter in your pocket, not for any particular reason, but you had one. By the grace of the good Lord, it was still there. “George, I have a solution.”

“Thank goodness!”

“It involves fire.”

“Absolutely not.”

“George!” You groaned and pulled the lighter out of your pocket. You gave it a few flicks and suddenly there was a warm pocket of light surrounding you. “George, come to the light!” 

He was there in a second, his hair wild and his grin full of relief and joy. “Thank god,” George whispered, reaching forward to wipe some dust off your face. “You know, this is supposed to be a stunt.” 

“You’re so not funny right now.” You grinned. 

“I’m not trying to be. This is supposed to be a stunt.” George moved closer, his eyes shining in what little light you had. “But if I had to be trapped down here with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.” 

If breathing wasn’t already difficult because of the dust, his words almost stopped your breath entirely. “W-What?” 

George slid the lighter from your hand and wedged it between some rocks, out of your way. “Y/N, you know exactly what I said.”

You blinked a few times. 

“Yes, yes I do.” You took a deep breath, grabbed his dusty military uniform, and pressed your lips to his. 

George was stunned, a small squeak escaping him before his senses finally returned to him. He seemed almost frustrated that his body wouldn’t move fast enough as he slid his arms around you and yanked you up onto his lap. You detached one hand from the straps of his uniform and slid it into his hair, pulling ever so slightly. George sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening on your waist. 

“Shit, Y/N.” He hissed against your lips. Those blue eyes held a look you’d never seen before. They were dark, hungry. In the flickering flame from your lighter, he looked almost scary, like he was looking for something to consume.

Somebody to consume.

“George…” You whispered, gently running your fingers through his hair again. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a satisfied hum. He pressed his lips lightly to yours, then pulled away and dropped his head into the crook of your neck with a shaky exhale. 

“Mm Y/N we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” He murmured. With every movement of his mouth against your skin, the knots in your stomach got tighter and tighter. “So when we get out of here, will you go to dinner with me?” 

“Dinner?” You grinned. George glanced up at you, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. 

“Yeah, I just thought-”

“OI, GEORGE? Y/N? YOU ALIVE?” Light broke into the little room and Dean’s voice followed. You quickly slid off George’s lap and grabbed your lighter. 

“Hey, George?”

“Yeah?” 

You took his hand and squeezed it gently. “I’d love to have dinner with you, as long as I don’t get stuck in any more trenches.”

He laughed. “No promises, but I’ll do my best. For you.”

[blueeyedheizer]

A Little Light - Blake & Schofield x reader

WARNINGS: x

A/N: just so you know, this is NOT a romantic imagine. I purposely chose not to include any kind of romance cause that's exactly what made the original scene so beautiful & real :) <3

---

"Il n'y a rien ici. Nous n'avons rien pour vous. S'il vous plaît." (There is nothing here. We have nothing for you. Please.) Your voice was quiet but shaking, fear quickly taking over you as you revealed yourself, slightly stepping out of the dark corner you were hiding in. The knot in your throat tightened as you noticed the rifle the two soldiers were holding and you stepped back a little when their eyes met yours.

"Anglais...not German." One of them said as they both set their rifle down, holding their hands up. "Friends...we are friends."

"I'm Blake. And this is Schofield." The younger one continued, gesturing to himself and his friend. Feeling relieved as you understood they weren't a threat, you nodded your head and slowly walked out of your hiding place, hugging your arms close to yourself.

"You are hurt...." you whispered softly as you noticed blood on the back of Schofield's head. Taking a step towards him, you pointed at a chair near the fire. "Asseyez-vous." (sit down)

"Asseyez-vous, monsieur." (sit down, sir) you insisted as he suddenly began to sway, feeling nauseous.

"C'mon Scho, sit down." you heard the younger soldier say as he placed a hand over his friend's shoulder. The man swayed slightly before dropping into the chair. Slowly, you moved over to him and placed your hand on his, making him jump as tenderness was still foreign to him. You carefully parted his damp hair and accidentally let your finger brush over the wound, making him flinch. You apologized silently before reaching down and taking out a handkerchief, holding it against the wound to stop the bleeding.

"Il me reste un petit peu de désinfectant. Je peux vous le donner." (I have a little bit of disinfectant left. I can give it to you.)

"No..." the man answered before turning slowly to face you, your gaze locking momentarily. "Save it for yourself, in case you need it." he continued, his voice weak from pain and tiredness. After a moment, you nodded.

Then, a soft sound suddenly came from behind you, and both men's eyes shot open. Getting up carefully, you moved to the corner of the room and lifted up a baby from an old drawer that had been lined with cloth. The boys quickly followed after you, their eyes never leaving the baby.

"Bonjour ma puce..." (hello, sweetie...) you whispered, taking a sit on the dusty mattress that laid on the floor. You stroked the little girl's cheeks as she began crying, kissing her forehead and mumbling soothing words as Blake and Schofield kneeled in front of you.

"Shhh, je suis là. Je suis là. (Shh. I'm here. I'm right here.) Regarde. On n'est pas toutes seules. Tu dis bonjour?" (Look. We're not alone. You wanna say hi?) The little girl's cries subsisted as she laid her eyes on the soldiers, intrigued by them.

The two boys stared at the baby with a soft smile as she squirmed around and whimpered into your arms for a moment. Looking up, you could see the excitement glowing in the younger boy's eyes.

"Est-ce que— est-ce que tu veux la porter?...hold her?" you asked. You could tell he was unsure of what to do or say, not knowing if this was a good idea. Blake turned to Schofield who nodded at him after a few seconds. With a smile, you moved closer and carefully handed the baby over to Blake, not letting go until you were certain he had the hang of her.

"Make sure to support her head." Schofield spoke softly and Blake nodded as he started cradling her gently. The baby settled in his arms almost immediately, making him smile. Her big brown eyes were staring up at him and she reached up, trying to touch his face.

"She's beautiful..." Blake murmured as she grabbed his finger with her tiny palm and gurgled happily. Blake looked up at you with a bright smile before turning his attention back to the baby, softly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. You and Schofield shared a soft look, appreciating this small heartwarming moment.

"She likes you." you whispered, smiling fondly at the scene in front of you, temporarily forgetting about the harsh reality of the outside world.

"What is her name?" Blake continued.

"Je ne sais pas. Elle n'est pas à moi..." (I don't know. She's not mine...)

Suddenly, the little girl's eyes filled with tears and a small cry left her throat. Blake tensed, his face falling with worry.

"She's hungry." You spoke as you reached out to stroke her tiny head. With a heavy heart, Blake handed her back to you, letting you cradle her. Placing your hand behind her tiny head, you carefully lifted her up to your shoulder, rubbing her back softly and whispering soothing words into her ear.

"Here. I have milk." Schofield announced as he pried the canteen from his belt, handing it over to you. You looked up at him, wearing a look of pure amazement and gratitude.

"Take these as well." Blake continued, before opening his pack and emptying his rations on the mattress. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out of it. "Take them all, for you and her."

"Je ne peux pas—" you finally managed to blurt out. "Vous en avez besoin...gardez-les." (I can't— you need that food...keep it.)

Before any of them could answer, the distant sound of the church bell startled them, and with one last glance towards the baby, they stood up. You watched them confused, holding the child closer to you as you followed them.

"Qu'est-ce que vous faites? Attendez, s'il vous plaît. Il va bientôt faire jour. Les soldats, ils vont vous voir." (What are you doing? Wait, please. It will be light soon. The soldiers, they'll see you.)

"We're sorry." Schofield answered as he grabbed his rifle and walked to the doorway, Blake following closely.

"Attendez, je vous en prie. Restez." (Wait, please. Stay.) you reached for Blake's arm, and his expression dropped even more when he saw your frightened state.

"I'm really sorry, but we have to go now." he eventually tried to reason with you. "My brother, along with hundred of men are in danger." Blake answered. You hadn't noticed the single tear that rolled down to your cheek until you felt its salty taste on your lips. After a few seconds, you let go of his arm and nodded slowly, taking a step back. You wrapped your arm around the baby protectively but also for comfort as you watched them walk over to the doorway with their rifles clutched in their hands.

And before you knew it, with one last apology, you were left alone again surrounded by darkness and fear.