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wchswift · 7 days ago

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Under the Lights ༉‧₊˚

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader Summary: A sweet and peaceful Christmas with Dean. Content: fluff, mostly soft moments, family, first Christmas at the bunker, I hate Mary but she is mentioned briefly, not proofread, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 2k A/N: almost christmas and im so excited!! I really love christmas and lately these are the only ideas I can think of to write lol. i just love soft and happy dean so I thought I'd write a cute one shot about him having a good christmas bc all i wanted was to spend these holidays with him

mdni 𖤐 18+

Dean leaned against the doorway, the faintest curve of a smile playing on his lips. The sight of you, utterly absorbed in decorating the tree, tugged at something deep in his chest. The soft glow of the twinkling lights painted your face in golds and silvers. You were on your toes, reaching for a high branch, determined to hang an ornament in its perfect place. From his vantage point, Dean couldn’t help but grin. The way your nose crinkled when something didn’t sit just right, the soft hum of Christmas music as you worked—it all made the bunker feel a little less like a fortress and a little more like home.

The table behind you bore the chaos of your efforts—ornaments arranged and rearranged, tinsel spilling onto the floor like silken threads of moonlight. It was chaos, yes, but it was yours, and Dean found it impossible to look away.

“Sweetheart,” he finally said, his voice warm and teasing, breaking through the soft hum of Let It Snow playing in the background. “Not to rush a masterpiece, but you’ve been at this tree longer than it takes Santa to finish his route.”

You turned, giving him a mock glare, your lips pressed into a pout that was as endearing as it was teasing. “It has to be perfect, Dean.”

“It already is,” he countered, stepping closer, his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. “Lights, ornaments, a star on top—what more does a tree need?”

“Your enthusiasm,” you shot back, turning back to adjust the ribbon for what must have been the hundredth time.

Dean chuckled, moving to your side, sliding an arm around your waist, and pulling you against him. “My enthusiasm’s here,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "I'm just more contained about it."

You let out a soft sigh, letting yourself lean deeper into his warm embrace as you closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort he provided. "I know, Dean," you began, your voice gentle but filled with understanding. "But I also know how excited you get about these celebrations. Deep down, you wish for that typical family cliche, and you and Sam truly deserve it. I just want us to have a memorable time together… Could you please enjoy this too and get into the mood with me?"

You turned your face to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with hope and sincerity. Your tone was calm, and the warmth of your words seemed to hang in the air between you. Dean, ever the skeptic, tried to roll his eyes in playful defiance, but a smile broke through despite his efforts. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he leaned in, planting a quick, soft kiss on your lips before surrendering to your encouragement, as he usually did.

The sound of boots against metal echoed through the bunker as Sam descended the stairs. His voice rang out before he even reached the bottom. “Dean, what’s going on in here?”

Sam paused, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the sight of his brother atop the map table, duct-taping garland to the ceiling beams.

"Decking the halls, Sammy. What’s it look like?” He replied, still focused on the lights.

“It looks like a fire hazard,” Sam deadpanned, crossing his arms as he took in the mess of lights, ornaments, and tinsel scattered across the room.

You emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of cookies, just as Dean hopped down from the table. “Sam, you should’ve seen him earlier. He tried to hang stockings with fishing wire.”

Dean shrugged, unapologetic. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "So, this is your new thing now? Christmas?” He muttered though a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” you chimed in, setting the cookies down on the table. “It's the best time of the year. Even hunters deserve a little holiday spirit.”

Dean grabbed a cookie, pointing it at Sam. “She’s right. Stop being a Grinch.”

Reluctantly, Sam joined in, helping you and Dean finish decorating the bunker. By the time you were done, the usually cold, utilitarian space looked warm and inviting. Lights draped across the walls, the centerpiece Sam had crafted out of pine branches and candles sat proudly on the map table, and the tree sparkled in the corner.

Dean stepped back, hands on his hips, surveying the scene. “Not bad for a bunch of hunters, huh?”

Later that evening, the bunker had settled into a cozy stillness. Sam had retreated to his room, leaving you and Dean sitting by the softly glowing tree. The faint crackle of a vinyl record Dean had unearthed earlier filled the air, Bing Crosby crooning about dreaming of a white Christmas.

You leaned back against the armchair, watching Dean as he entertained himself by drinking his hot chocolate. The moment felt right, so you reached beside you and pulled out a carefully wrapped box tied with red string.

“Okay,” you said, your voice tinged with both excitement and hesitation, “before you make a big deal out of this, I just want to say that it’s practical.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose as he took the box, his lips twitching into a grin. “Practical, huh? Not sure what that means coming from you.”

“Just open it,” you urged, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.

Dean unwrapped the box with care, his grin softening as he revealed a thick leather-bound journal. His fingers brushed over the cover, and for a moment, he was quiet, his thumb tracing the edges of the pages.

“It’s, uh…” you started, your voice softer now. “I noticed you don’t really have a place to write things down—your thoughts, memories, whatever. So I thought… maybe you could use it. For good stuff. Things you want to remember. Not like hunting stuff or anything like your dad's but something good? Or whatever you want I don't know...” you rambled, feeling anxious.

Dean opened the journal, flipping through the blank pages. Inside the front cover, you’d written a small inscription in your neat handwriting: For all the moments you want to hold on to.

He stared at the words for a long beat before letting out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You know me too well, sweetheart.”

“I just thought,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “after everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to have something that’s yours. Something that’s just… good.”

Dean closed the journal and set it carefully on the table beside him. Then he turned to you, his green eyes impossibly soft. “You always know what I need before I even know it myself.”

Before you could respond, he reached behind him and pulled something from his jacket pocket. “Okay, my turn.”

He held out a small box, its edges worn, like it had been carried around for some time. “It’s not new,” he said, almost apologetically. “But I’ve been meaning to give this to you.”

You opened the box slowly, revealing a simple yet beautiful silver bracelet. The charms hanging were clearly chosen by a hunter, it was small and subtle, but unmistakable.

“It was my mom’s,” Dean said quietly, his gaze dropping to the bracelet. “She always said it was for protection. I’ve kept it all these years, but… I think she’d want you to have it.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes as you looked at him. “Dean, I… I can’t take this. It’s too important.”

Dean shook his head, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re important,” he said simply. “And if anyone deserves to have it, it’s you.”

You stared at the bracelet, overwhelmed by the gesture. Then, without a word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. He held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head.

When you finally pulled away, you slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, smiling through the tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the record player. And as you leaned back against him, the bracelet resting cool against your skin, you felt a sense of belonging that you hadn’t known you were missing.

The warm connection from the gift exchange flowed naturally into the next day, making every interaction lighter, and more meaningful.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity as the three of you prepared dinner. Dean insisted on taking charge of the main course, proudly presenting a vegetarian lasagna for Sam and you.

“See? I’m not just a pie guy,” he said, grinning.

Meanwhile, you and Sam teamed up to bake cookies. It started out innocent enough, but it quickly devolved into a flour fight when Sam accidentally knocked over the mixing bowl.

Dean walked in just as you lobbed a handful of flour at Sam, only to hit him square in the chest instead. He froze, staring down at his now-flour-covered shirt. “What the hell, guys?”

Dean just watched you and Sam burst into laughter, trying to stay mad.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, brushing flour off his jacket. “Real funny. Guess who’s cleaning this up?”

“Not me,” you and Sam said in unison, making you chuckle again.

Dean shook his head, a grin appearing on his face despite his attempt to remain irritated.

Later that night, the three of you gathered in the living room, your plates cleared and the remnants of the day’s chaos tucked away. Sam stretched out on the other armchair with a book, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he occasionally glanced at you and Dean by the tree, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders.

The bracelet he’d given you caught the soft glow of the lights, its charm resting lightly against your wrist. You found yourself absently touching it, grounding yourself in the weight of what it meant.

Sam finally closed his book, setting it aside as he stretched his long legs. “You know,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “You two actually did a pretty good job. I think this might be the first time the bunkers actually felt… normal. Like a real home.”

Dean snorted softly. “Took long enough, huh?”

Sam smiled, his expression soft. “Yeah. But I’m glad we got here.”

Dean raised his mug in a mock toast. “To surviving another year and not burning the place down with Christmas lights.”

Sam rolled his eyes but lifted his mug too. “Yeah, yeah... To family.”

You lifted your own mug, smiling as you echoed the sentiment. “To family.”

The three of you sat quietly for a while, watching the lights twinkle on the tree. Eventually, Sam excused himself, muttering something about research, leaving you and Dean alone again.

Dean nudged you gently, drawing your attention. “Come with me for a sec,” he said, his voice low but insistent.

Curious, you followed him as he grabbed a thick blanket from the couch and led you up the large stairs of the bunker. He stopped at one of the heavy iron doors, twisting the wheel to unlock it before pulling it open to reveal the wide, open expanse of the night sky.

The cold air hit you first, crisp and biting, but the sight of the stars made you forget it almost instantly. Dean draped the blanket over your shoulders and pulled you close, his warmth a welcome contrast to the chill.

“Figured we could use some fresh air,” he said simply, his voice quiet.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as you gazed up at the stars. They glittered against the inky blackness, impossibly bright and infinite, like tiny promises of hope scattered across the sky.

“We really did it huh?” Dean murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Did what?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“This,” he said simply, gesturing back to the bunker. “Christmas. The whole thing. It’s not half bad.”

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, resting your head back against his shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world felt distant here, the weight of hunting, loss, and responsibility held at bay by the vastness of the universe.

Dean’s voice broke the silence, soft but sure. “You know, I never thought I’d get something like this.”

You turned to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Something like what?”

He gestured toward the stars, the blanket, the faint glow of the bunker behind you. “All this. A night where everything’s quiet. Where it feels like we’re not just surviving.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “You deserve this, Dean. You deserve nights like this and so much more.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the starlight above. A gentle smile played on his lips as he spoke, “So do you,” his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, sending a warm thrill through you. "Thank you." With a tender sincerity, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and lingering, filled with a depth of love and unspoken emotions that seemed to wrap around you like a cozy blanket, leaving you breathless in the stillness of the night.

The two of you stayed there, wrapped in the quiet and each other, until the cold became too much to ignore.

As you made your way back inside, Dean caught your hand, stopping you just before you reached the main hallway.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges. “Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips, your heart full. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

And in that moment, with the warmth of his hand in yours and the quiet hum of life around you, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time: hope. This was home—messy, chaotic, and imperfect. And it was everything you needed.

a/n: oh my god, I had so much fun writing this :) I don't know if I liked how it turned out that much, but I thought it was cute enough to post...

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

#꣖ ີ ꣓ writes.#dean supernatural #dean winchester x fem reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester angst #jackles #jensen ackles #jensen ackles drabble #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #supernatural dean #supernatural drabble #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester #christmas fic

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moonshynecybin · 6 months ago

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Hey! Just wanted to say I’m in awe of how your writing it’s just so GOOD and FUN and TORUROUS. It’s rly hard to nail the voices and dialogue of characters (especially when writing them speaking in english!) but you always make it so believable. Ur Vale especially is sooo charismatic which like hats off bc a more mercurial man has not been made.

Re ur charged-airport-conversation fic, I’m intrigued to find out how Marc will handle his sexuality crisis. Will he be in denial? does he very seriously study gay culture like telemetry data? is he getting Grindr? is he seeing it as something to incorporate into his PT routine & somehow translate this to a competitive edge? how did he feel about the pope saying frociaggine????

Also I loved the goofy brother shenanigans, Alex strongest most patient and silliest man alive truly. Extremely funny to think of Alex “please get a girlfriend you’re 30 and annoying me” Marquez having to cope with Marc coming back like “I found one! :3” holding hands with Cervera’s enemy #1 undisputed champ 2015-2024

Anyways, would love to hear any thoughts u had but no pressure! I just wanted to thank u for ur brilliant mind & forget about whatever fresh hell that sprint was

this one. is one that i plan to maybe actually and fr write out so i shant answer in full because i hope that you'll find out eventually. um. i CAN give you chapter two! of THIS fic where Marc and Vale get stuck in an airport and have a somewhat fraught little bonding session. i have not proofread this OR reread the original so if there's inconsistencies just chill out. theres also a lot of liberties taken with the amount of privacy these guys have on a given race weekend again just chill out. please. they live in different countries and are bitter rivals its hard to get them alone into fictional scenarios. its about 1.4k.

(Part ONE !)

The next time he sees Vale is in the paddock.

It's not unusual to see him— the paddock is small and Vale is always a presence, felt even when he’s gone, indelible—but it’s on the television more often than not these days. Maybe a glimpse of him zooming around on his scooter, ignoring the swing of the camera phones tracking him in his wake. But it’s not like this, never this close up. Vale maintains distance, and Marc has adapted to take his cues from that same distance. He’s not going to be the first to engage, not anymore.

All that being said, Marc is trying to grab some alone time in between sessions, communing with his lunch and contemplating ways to improve his breaking into Turn 11. He’s tucked into a shady place out of the way, generally out of the range of any stray cameras, when Vale catches him, sliding next to him on the table and leaning forwards on his elbows.

He starts picking at Marc’s food.

Marc reacts reflexively, not even processing that it's Vale who’s at his elbow who is reaching over to snag a bit of his chicken. He lifts his bowl out of reach like he would with Alex. “Hey— that's mine,”

Vale’s game, apparently, shooting him one of those dangerous grins, eyes crinkling at the sides towards Marc like he hasn’t seen in years. He’s brimming with the confidence of someone used to getting away with breaking rules. Marc puts down his food. Lifts a hand, adjusts the cap at the top of his head, and tucks his hair behind his ear.

This means something. He doesn’t know what.

“Allora, you were not eating it.”

And Marc has always been easy for it—the simple skill he has in spinning a situation into the brightest version of itself, mood turning on a dime. Even when he was destroying Marc, he would do it with a smile.

It’s that same silverbright thread that makes Marc laugh, disbelieving, a shock of delight. He shoves at the edge of Vale’s arm, jockeying with his elbow. He bites his lip, shakes his head. Would you look at that?

“Presumptuous,” Marc scolds, and tucks back into his lunch, forking another bite into his mouth. Vale grins and leans closer, conspiratorial. That same hot, embarrassed feeling from the airport rears its head, giddy. Marc glances around. There’s no one here. He feels like there is. LIke there’s eyes on them, even though he’d chosen a place where there shouldn't be.

It feels like crossing a line, teetering on the edge of some cliff, one toe over the edge. Hot and anticipatory in the pit of his stomach. There’s a breeze going, and he shivers. Vale leans closer.

He likes it.

He also knows that he shouldn't like it. He’s gone through this song and dance before. This feeling, this hero worship that he has with Vale never leads him down any good road. He thought– six premier class titles and nearly ten years of vitriol had been an effective cure. Not so, he’s finding out.

Vale corrects, “I see what I see. This I cannot help.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been watching me?

Vale shrugs, steals another bite. “You do manage to put on a good, ah, show.” He finds the words in Spanish. Marc can’t remember the last time they spoke in Spanish.

Marc takes a breath in. Settles himself. He doesn’t know what the end goal is here. Curiosity wins out— it’s better than wondering why Vale’s here in the first place. What game he’s trying to play. What he thinks he’ll get out of being nice to Marc, aside from that shivery feeling clawing its way up the base of his spine. He should really at least find out if he’s doing this because he plans on not being nice to Marc.

“How did you find me?” Is what he goes with. Neutral enough.

“You are not hard to find.” The answer is vague, but frank. Vale loves to speak around things.

Marc raises an eyebrow, decides to just keep looking at him. They both know he’s bullshitting. Vale breaks, and makes a face, shrugging.

“I have been racing here longer than you. I know the hiding spots.”

Marc gives him a minute roll of the eyes. It's still not an answer. “You know, they remodeled not too long ago. The entire layout changed.” Vale would’ve had to work to find him.

“Not too much!” Vale spreads his palms cheerfully, seizing on a diversion. “The bones are still the same. The stands are over there,” he juts a thumb, “The pits are here. The bathrooms change, but bah. It’s a facelift.”

Marc wrangles down a smile. Vale’s not being serious— he’s being fun. Maybe he’s trying to get him comfortable for some reason. “A lot changes, I think.” He says frankly, and he means it.

Vale’s eyes flash. He sees Marc’s conviction, catches the double meaning. Another one of their conversations centering around two different issues on the surface, but coming back to their history all the same. The elephant in the room butting into other topics. History, division, and rivalry, all sneaking its way into the cracks in their words.

Vale keeps going, the lead in their little play.

“Maybe. But it’s not— like, aerodynamics, new regulations, new tires— all that changes. Small stuff. Opinions, riders. But it is still a paddock. I’ve been in paddocks my entire life. You can’t change much.”

Things change a lot, in Marc’s experience. People. Teams. Bodies.

Friendships.

And Marc is brave usually, has made a career out of it, so he feels like he has to ask. No use avoiding it and feeling half out of his skin for the rest of the day. Vale’s knee bumps into his own and he closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them Vale is already looking at him

“Why are you here?” He levels.

Vale throws him a soft smile. It comforts exactly no part of Marc.

“Maybe I was looking for a hiding place.”

Marc hesitates, choosing his words carefully. It’s always a spar with Valentino; even when they were friendly, they were still competing.

“Am I the hiding place?”

“Well, I am still more famous than you, is true. Less photographers on you than me. It’s peaceful.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Now there’s a good question.” Vale says, stealing something else off of Marc’s plate. “Today? I was hungry. I thought I’d stop by and eat with an old friend.” The words jolt through Marc like a highside. He’s in the air— lost, flying, falling.

Vale stands, towering. He claps Marc on the shoulder. It burns white hot. Marc keeps his eyes on him, trying to catch a hint, a clue as to how this all happened.

An old friend.

“Is that what we are?” He asks, more earnest than he should be. Vale can be such a bastard.

“Well, what would you call it?” He responds, turning the question on Marc, voice quiet. Serious, like he knows whatever hangs between them is as thin as a spiderweb. Marc swallows.

“I don’t know,” Marc answers. still too honest, even now. Something flickers on Vale’s face, too quick and complex for him to read.

“Think about it.” Vale prompts, and walks away.

Marc finds out that they weren’t alone, in that section of the paddock the next day. The pictures hit the news after the race, headlines rolling in thankfully after Marc has left for home. Valentino Rossi and Marc Marquez sharing lunch, alone on a race weekend ten years after their falling out. What could it mean?

But Marc’s eyes look at the photo and just catch on Vale’s shoulders, leaning towards Marc, the palm of his hand, arcing through the air as he gestures, frozen on the screen of his phone, and himself, eyes crinkled at the corners. He was wrong. He didn’t manage to reign in that smile after all.

FRIENDS AGAIN?, the headline asks, and Marc wonders.

#to answer your quastion. a little bit.#marc thinks its adolescent hero worship. which is good excuse until youre thirty and supposed to hate someone #and then youre maybe friends again and you STILL feel the same and also are having sex dreams at ur big age.#motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez #my fic #airport au

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nephalem-da · 3 months ago

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I hope this is the ask box, I’m not exactly sure which one was correct but I saw your latest y/n x bill story and I wanted to suggest one?

Do it whenever you want but I was thinking monster falls AU where hunter!Bill catches y/n (not sure what creature, but something mythical would be cool) and he’s very proud of his catch, showing the angry y/n off to the henchmen- who are other various hunters now.

Also if you aren’t taking requests just ignore this lol

The Hunt

(Human!Bill Cipher x GN!Reader)

Time for a Human Bill fic (╯✧▽✧)╯

Genre: Monster Falls AU, Slow-burn Romance, Humor.

Warnings: Mild violence, Panic/Anxiety on the Reader's part, Mutual pining/awkward tension, Fluff with hints of playful tension.

Summary: Bill Cipher is a skilled hunter who captures you, a rare mythical Selkie, after an intense chase through the forest. Proud of his prize, he shows you off to the Henchmaniacs.

The forest was alive with sounds of pursuit. Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind through the leaves, sent your heart racing faster than your legs could carry you. Your feet hit the damp ground in frantic steps, each stride uneven as you darted through the towering pines. Your lungs burned, muscles protesting with every rapid movement. But you couldn’t stop. Not now.

They were close.

Bill Cipher, the infamous hunter who prowled these woods, had been tracking you for days—maybe weeks. Time had blurred into a stretch of panic ever since you realized you were being hunted. And now, the moment you feared had arrived. You were the prey in a game you hadn’t asked to join.

The transformation had already begun—whether from fear or necessity, you weren’t sure. The smooth, dark skin of your seal-like form shimmered, glinting under the dappled moonlight that barely broke through the dense canopy. The dampness from the nearby river clung to your limbs, and the scent of wet earth filled the air. You could feel the shift deep within you—the urge to dive into the water, your true element, was overwhelming. But there was no time.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the night, startling you. The sound echoed in your mind, a reminder that you weren’t alone. Bill was close.

Your seal-skin was only half-formed, and you were stuck between two worlds—too slow to slip into the full speed of your natural form, too vulnerable in this half-shifted state. Panic surged through you. You had heard the stories about Bill and his relentless pursuit of mythical creatures. There were whispers among your kind about his cruel efficiency and unbreakable persistence. He never failed.

“Where do you think you're going, fishy?” Bill's voice cut through the silence like a blade, mocking and far too close for comfort. “You’re just making this harder on yourself!”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you didn’t slow. You couldn’t. With your lungs burning and your legs aching, you pushed harder, veering off the path and toward the river. Water—if you could reach it, maybe you could escape. Your Selkie form could glide through it effortlessly, leaving the hunter far behind.

But Bill had been planning this for too long, and he was one step ahead of you.

Just as the sound of rushing water reached your ears, you felt a sharp pull, the ground falling out from under you as a net sprang up, tangling you in its enchanted threads. You hit the earth hard, pain shooting through your side as you struggled against the bindings. The more you fought, the tighter the net seemed to hold, cutting into your skin and sealing your fate.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Bill’s triumphant voice rang out as he sauntered into view, his human form tall and menacing against the shadowy backdrop of the trees. His hunter’s outfit was weathered but well-kept, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his eyepatch that was oddly shaped like a triangle, and a single, golden eye.

“There you are! That took longer than I thought.” He crouched beside you, tilting his head in mock sympathy. “You almost had me, you know? But no one escapes me.”

You glared up at him, your chest heaving with the effort of trying to free yourself from the net. But it was useless. The enchanted rope sapped your strength and neutralized your magic, leaving you half-shifted and vulnerable.

Bill’s grin widened. "You’re quite the catch. I was expecting something more boring, but a Selkie?” He whistled low. “That’s rare. Guess it’s my lucky day."

You growled, shifting your weight in the net, but Bill only smirked. He grabbed a fistful of the netting and yanked you upright, pulling you onto your feet. “Easy there, slippery,” he chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to hurt my prized catch before showing you off.”

As if on cue, Bill’s henchmen—the Henchmaniacs—emerged from the shadows, laughing and cheering at their leader’s success. They were rough, grizzled hunters who worked under Bill’s command, each more eager than the last to prove their loyalty.

"Nice work, boss!" one of them shouted, nudging the others. "Look at that catch!"

The others chimed in, offering their congratulations as Bill proudly dragged you toward them, your bound form stumbling in his grip. You could feel their eyes on you—hungry, calculating, and cruel.

“Hey, think it’s dangerous?” one of them asked, eyeing your Selkie skin with curiosity.

Bill scoffed. “Not anymore. I’ve got this one under control. Besides—” he leaned in close, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper—“they’re too smart for their own good, but not smart enough to escape me.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your glare only made Bill chuckle. He tugged the net tighter, making you wince.

Behind him, the Henchmaniacs began to busy themselves with camp preparations, their voices blending into the background as they moved through the clearing. A fire crackled nearby, its light casting flickering shadows across the monstrous landscape.

And just beyond the edge of the camp, you could see them—the creatures of Gravity Falls. They lingered at the edge of the woods, watching with wide, glowing eyes. They watched the hunters from afar.

You could feel their gaze on you, watching as Bill presented his latest catch. They knew the game, but none of them would step in. The unspoken rule was simple: if you were caught by the hunters, you were on your own.

Bill dragged you to the center of the camp, his grin never faltering. “Everyone, meet the new addition to our little collection,” he announced, loud and proud. “A rare, hard-to-catch Selkie. Not bad, huh?”

The Henchmaniacs cheered, but the monsters at the edge of the woods remained silent, their eyes glowing with something you couldn’t quite place—pity, perhaps? Or maybe frustration? They wouldn’t step in, but it didn’t mean they weren’t waiting for something to change.

As the night wore on, you sat by the fire, still trapped in the net and unable to shift fully into your true form. Bill hovered nearby, his smug expression softening just a bit as he poked at the fire with a stick.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “I don’t usually keep my catches alive. But you... there’s something interesting about you. Might just keep you around.”

You glared at him but didn’t respond. Every muscle in your body was tense, your mind racing with thoughts of escape.

Bill’s eye flicked to you, studying your silence for a moment before he shrugged. “Fine. Be that way. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

But there was something in the way he looked at you that gave you pause. For all his bravado and arrogance, there was something else there—a flicker of curiosity, of something deeper. He wasn’t just proud of his catch; he was fascinated by you. And that, more than anything, made your pulse quicken.

Part 2 || Alt. Part 2

#bill cipher x reader #gravity falls #the book of bill #bill cipher #henchmaniacs #chase #awkward #selkie

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updownlately · 1 year ago

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but i bet you if they only knew (they’d just be jealous of us)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 2k | a/n: another req! in all honesty this took me ages to even get a basic idea of what i wanted to write and countless drafts and i still don't how to feel about it. hopefully y'all atleast find this somewhat wholesome bc that's what i was going for but if not then welp... to whoever requested, my bad for the time this took but i hope you don't mind that i changed the req a bit! anyway, as usual, happy reading!

~~~

In the midst of the locker room chaos, everyone seemingly more energetic after the afternoon training, sat Leah- nearly ready to go, regular trainers on, bag packed, focus strayed drastically from her original intent of going home as quickly as possible.

Attention instead directed towards Beth and Katie’s, their off key singing easily entertaining the whole Arsenal women’s team, the blonde missed the way her phone vibrated, the noise of the notification lost in the sea of laughter, yelling, and the (not) grammy winning performance.

Arms crossed as she leant back in her seat, an amused smile on her face as she took in the interaction in front of her, the near silent buzzes went ignored, the second and third messages, each pinging one after the other, unnoticed by the English skipper.

It was only when the noise died down ever so slightly, ironic timing with your final planned text coming in, did she realize what was occurring.

Small smile already crossing her face, a pretty good idea of who it might be already on her mind, Leah reached for the device beside her, quickly lifting it and smiling wider as the multiple notifications of text messages from you showed on the lock screen.

Heading to your message thread, her grin grew as she saw the onslaught of texts.

‘Someone was excited to wake up today’

‘The smile’s been there since morning’

‘I think he misses you’

The words were split with a video coming between the first two messages, and a short clip followed the final message.

As Leah hit play on the first clip, unaware of the three sets of eyes on her, a soft look crossed her face- one that very much didn’t go unnoticed by Viv, Steph, and most importantly, McCabe.

Letting Leah finish watching whatever it was, devious smile ever-present, the Irishwoman made her way over to the blonde, teasing words already slipping past her lips.

“Well, did the missus text ya something? The way your smile’s nearly turned you into the Cheshire Cat, I think you oughta share with us, no?”

And before Leah could even shoot off the barest of replies to you, her phone was promptly taken from her grasp, the blonde left with a shock on her face, mind not yet caught up to what was happening, hand still outstretched from where it had been holding her phone.

Barely able to formulate any sense of a protest Leah watched helplessly as the whole locker room went silent when Katie’s surprised cry rang out, a look of disbelief clear on her face as her head turned dramatically to face the midfielder then the phone in her hands and then the midfielder again, jaw nearly on the floor.

“IS THAT YOURS?”

The bewildered question was unusually loud, capturing the attention of everyone else.

The blonde couldn’t help but nod meekly in response, shrinking in on herself as the unwanted attention directed towards her, an innumerable set of eyes peering at the interaction.

A red hue spread on her face as Katie continued to stand in front of her, jaw agape, phone now locked automatically as her head turned back to face the black screen.

As the silence stretched on, neither the blonde nor brunette uttering a single word, the silent Mexican standoff piqued the curiosity of their fellow teammates, Beth and Steph quietly making their way over to peer over Katie’s shoulder only to be met with a black screen.

“What are you on about?”

And at Beth’s questioning words, Leah sprang into action, quickly rising from where she was resting and reaching to try and grab her phone off the other woman.

Her attempt was futile though, as Katie pulled the locked device behind her back, the other arms snapping out to block Leah from advancing any closer.

“Nope. No. No way. You’re not getting this back until you explain yourself.”

“Katie- no-“

The protest was cleanly cut off, the Irishwoman reverently shaking her head at the futile attempt.

“That doesn’t sound like an explanation…”

“McCabe…How about I tell you later? Just between us?”

Apparently though, that wasn’t good enough for the rest of the team, a large outcry of protests rising at the words.

It was only Lia who sat back amusedly, watching as she watched the other girls try and get Leah to unlock her phone or get Katie to spill the secret, the Swiss captain already having an idea of what this could be about, a secret she had known since its origin.

“At least show them the video under the condition that they can’t ask questions today?”

If the sharp glare that her work wife received was any indication, Leah was not at all a fan of the idea, herself concerned if she could even share the videos.

Turning her gaze back to the rest of the squad huddled around the left winger who still had her phone, she sighed in defeat, clearly realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this one, especially not after that last proposition.

Sighing, the blonde pinched the bridge of her nose in disbelief, disappointed in herself for giving in.

“Alright. I’ll show you guys what Katie saw, on the condition that I’m not answering any questions today after I show you and I get my phone back first.”

“What if you just sprint out of here with it?”

Rolling her eyes at the remark made by none other than the devil herself, Leah groaned audibly, head thrown back as she rubbed her temples.

“I’ve got the yellow-card queen in front of me and Jen’s standing by the door…thank you but no thank you- I value my ability to walk…”

The smart-ass reply had Katie hesitantly handing Leah her phone, the blonde promptly texting you for permission to show the team before she actually did.

It wasn’t like you controlled who saw the pictures, but very early on in the whole procedure- the whole relationship really- you both had agreed upon keeping this area of your life private, especially as the game grew to the extent that it did.

As much as the team knew you existed, you having met them countless times by now, even to the point where Lia would tease that you would’ve been her work wife had you played for Arsenal instead, the existence of the tiny human you and Leah had was very much not common knowledge to the team.

If anything, only the Swiss captain was really the only one who knew in the football world.

People had their hunches of course, your own teammates at Bayern having an inkling themselves, but it had never been confirmed, and you and the blonde had never been more grateful.

It’s why Leah patiently waited for your go-ahead text to come, shaking her head at the grumbling of her fellow teammates as she waited for a response.

Quieting the team’s grumbling with threats of just waiting them out, Leah smiled in victory as none of them called her bluff, sighing in relief as your text chimed in, nervousness fluttering at the words she read.

‘I think it’s about time, yeah?’

Nodding to herself and taking a deep breath in, the blonde let out a quick exhale before texting back a quick saluting emoji and a heart in response, waiting for your reply before showing the team the root of the intervention.

“Okay, so like I said, no questions once I show you, and I get to leave ASAP and you’ll understand why…”

When no one protested at the words, Leah nodded, taking confirmation in the silence and scrolling up in the conversation to find the videos you had sent.

Proud grin on her face as she turned her phone to face the team, she couldn’t help the way her chest slightly puffed up, chin subconsciously rising in joy.

And as the rest of the team huddled around to get the barest of looks, one by one their jaws dropped, the video on the screen garnering the same reaction as earlier, except this time across the whole room and not just the walking loudspeaker.

Said video that featured your and Leah’s six-month old, eyes half closed as the little guy did a gummy little yawn, arms stretching adorably across the bed before he pulled them back in and shot a cheeky little grin straight towards the camera- the same grin you swear he somehow stole from Leah.

Hearing the audio cut out and the frozen stares across the room, the team no doubt in a state of shock and confusion, Leah quickly pulled back the phone and swiped to the next video, a mix of pride and nervousness thrumming through her as the second video played.

It consisted of you holding your son in your arms as you danced around your shared kitchen, music softly being played in the background. And whilst it was cute with the way the toddler was gripping tightly onto your forearms, a toothy grin ever-present on his face, it wasn’t the key part of the video.

It was what followed the end of the video, the way the drunk-seeming little tiny human babbled the little words with you, repeating the little vowels as you said them. How you looked at the camera before reciting the words, being repeated by the baby and coming out barely legible yet clear as day to the blonde- ‘luv ma ma’.

The utterance of the broken phrase was highlighted by your shocked face as you did a little cheer of your own, looking at your phone before sending the lens a tender smile just before the video cut.

It wasn’t the first time your son had said it, but each day it seemed to get a little clearer, and with each utterance it had Leah’s heart doing a flutter she never knew anyone but you could cause.

Trying not to get too teared up at the thought of how quickly the days were passing, the skipper snapped herself out of the thoughts, shyly bringing her arm back as she registered the silence in the room.

Swallowing audibly at the number of shocked faces expectantly looking at her, she turned towards Lia, a pleading look of help on her face as the other woman merely shrugged with a smirk on her face.

Damn the Swiss and their need to be neutral…

Turning back to the sea of Arsenal warm gear, Leah prepared herself mentally, reaching for her bag and quickly shouldering it before tucking her cleats under her arms.

Wincing as the team barely moved, she planned her escape whilst shrugging as if to say ‘well…’

“Surprise? I guess?”

Within milliseconds of the words leaving her, the blonde heard a flurry of questions immediately being sent her way, her previous request tossed out the window without a second glance.

And as the onslaught of ‘how old is he?’, ‘he or she?’, coupled with the ‘why didn’t you tell us?’, ‘wait since when?’ and of course, the ‘what the fuck Leah???’ (courtesy of Beth of course) barrelled through, the Englishwoman quickly sprinted her way out of the change rooms, those that were just barely dressed and ready to leave immediately following her like a row of ducklings, as the blonde sprinted to her car.

Mentally berating herself on why she didn’t just leave halfway through Beth and Katie’s rendition of ‘I want it that way’, Leah quickly got into her car, reversing before the team had any shot of catching up, phone being (gently) tossed into the backseat as texts started ringing through.

With nearly a half hour passing since the blonde was supposed to be home, and the thought of the little munchkin waiting at home for her (and of course, you), Leah relaxed as she made the drive back home, grimacing at the thought of the chaotic uproar she most definitely left behind, and glad for the chaotic peace that awaited her a handful of minutes away.

Smiling at the contrast, a small grin overtook her face, gratefully for the overgrown kids she had with football, and the small tot she had at home.

Yeah, maybe life didn’t get any better than this, the perfect mix of chaos and love never-ending…she’d happily take this.

~~~

inspo for this post was literally this insta reel - can't tell me that isn't absolutely adorableeeeee

#not proofread as usual- we don't do that here anymore it seems #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #my writing #fic #fic req #fluff #bibyitok #if this is shit... idek man- my bad

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littlejuicebox · 11 months ago

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A growing brood.

Summary: Gale has just turned three years old and is adjusting to the idea of becoming a big brother. He and Astarion go out for a walk in the orchard, where the older man gets an opportunity to practice some of his stealth skills.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, Dadstarion, parenthood, babies, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of Astarion’s past and trauma, idk what else

Gale is holding a toy sword he received on his birthday as he and Astarion walk along the back grounds of the manor. The child is swinging the wooden object haphazardly as he sings a babbled song his father can’t identify.

Astarion surveys the small orchard as they meander along the dirt path. He’d been sent here with the little boy at the request of his pregnant wife, tasked with determining whether or not the trees were ready to harvest. She currently stood on the balcony of their home, waiting for her husband’s signal. She wouldn’t make the trek out until then; it had to be worth navigating uneven ground and overgrown brush in her condition.

Picking fruit in the orchard had become Tav and Gale’s yearly autumn tradition. The first year they’d spent quite a bit of time introducing the little one to new fruits he had not yet tried.

Pregnant or not, she refused to miss the orchard harvest.

Astarion is secretly relieved when he determines nothing is quite ripe. He felt Tav was pushing herself too hard, going above and beyond to make their first born feel valued as he adjusted to the idea of siblings. But carrying the twins was starting to exhaust her and she desperately needed rest. She’d already overworked herself for Gale’s third birthday party just a week ago, despite Astarion’s protests.

The elf lifts his hand and shoots a ray of frost up into the sky. He knows his little love will see the signal and retreat back into the house. He hopes she will take a much needed nap now that their son is preoccupied with his father.

“CHARGE!” Gale shouts, running forward on two stubby legs with his toy sword in the air.

“Gale, don’t run in the orchard you’ll—“ Astarion starts, but before he can finish his chastisement the little boy’s foot gets caught on a particularly large tree root. He stumbles and falls onto his knees with a soft thud and a grunt of surprise. The toy sword clatters to the ground as Gale’s small hands extend in front of him to break the fall.

Astarion thinks they really need to dedicate outdoor clothes for the child. Traipsing around the orchard in gold threaded finery simply wouldn’t do. The older man’s eyes flutter toward the back of his head in exasperation as he walks over to the three year old calling, “Are you alright, Gale?”

The toddler stands back up, dusting off his hands. His previously pristine trousers are now caked in dirt and grass. He turns and nods to Astarion before responding, “I okay, Papa!”

A brood of their free-range chickens is clustered nearby, bawking as they peck at the ground searching for insects. The noise captures Gale’s attention and he forgets his sword, running towards the small cluster of birds.

“Chickens, guess what! I free years old now!” He shouts, holding his middle three fingers up to show the fowl his new age.

But as he approaches the chickens, they scatter off, deterred by the loud babblings of the boy. Gale huffs in disappointment. And then he shouts, “CHICKENS! Get over here now!”

The chickens bawk and run further away from the little boy, much to his chagrin. His shoulders sag dramatically as he pouts.

“You’d do well to learn that you’ll catch more flys with honey than vinegar, little prince.” Astarion lectures, coming up behind his son after scooping the forgotten wooden sword from the earth.

Gale blinks at his father, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “But daddy, chickens doesn’t fly does they? My book say they doesn’t.”

The little prince was particularly fascinated by birds. At the child’s party a week ago, Gale of Waterdeep had gifted his namesake a set of twenty six children’s books listed A through Z, each covering the specifics of one bird. Astarion had just been held hostage by the three year old and forced to read “C” for chickens twice a few nights ago.

The elf had rushed through the first reading in an attempt to finish quickly and join Tav for a much needed tryst between mommy and daddy. Gale had refused to let him leave until he read the book properly.

“It’s an expression, Gale, it means— nevermind, it’s not important.” Astarion sighs, flailing his hand in a dismissive gesture. He isn’t about to waste his time explaining idioms to a three year old, “But maybe if you approach the chickens more quietly, they’ll come up to you.”

Gale considers this and then nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He begins walking toward the brood, trying desperately to be quiet. He’s just a few feet away when the chickens scatter again, clucking anxiously to one another. The careful movements of a three year old are still too noisy and abrupt for the birds.

The silver-haired boy groans in frustration.

“Watch me, Gale.” Astarion whispers as he hands the toy sword back to his son.

The elf crouches lower to the ground, easily engaging the predatory behavior he hadn’t used since turning mortal roughly four years ago. But the muscle memory alone allows him to silently and efficiently make his way to the group of chickens. Long-fingered hands dart out and quickly retrieve a spotted hen from the periphery of the brood.

Gale cheers before dropping the sword once again as he runs up to his father, wanting to examine the animal more closely. The rest of the flock members instantly run away when the little boy approaches, but he pays them no mind. Tiny fingers come out to gently pet the back of the bird.

“Good job, daddy!” The child exclaims, causing the older man to chuckle.

Astarion finds it entertaining that he is being praised for catching a harmless domesticated chicken. Gale truly had no idea that, only a few years ago, his father easily downed wild boars and a few bears with nothing but his fangs.

They’d purposely bought this estate on the outer edge of Rivington as a way to meet the nutritional needs of the prior vampire. In fact, Astarion had used the wild boar infestation in this very orchard to justify a lower price point from the seller and then quickly turned around and solved the problem with his hunting in a matter of weeks.

One day, Gale will know more about his father’s past.

But not today.

Today, Astarion is just a daddy catching a chicken.

Perhaps that’s who he truly is. Perhaps he doesn’t have to cling so hard to who he thought he was.

A light drizzle abruptly ended the walk in the orchard. Astarion scooped Gale up and hurriedly returned to the manor; the last thing he and Tav needed was the little boy catching a cold.

They were wearing a set of matching drenched curls when Astarion plopped his son on the back porch.

“Papa…” Gale starts, looking down at the toy sword he’s fiddling with in his hand, lost in thought.

“What is it, little prince?” Astarion asks as he removes his mud-caked boots before crouching to help his child do the same.

“When my other babies born,” He continues while lifting a leg, trying to help his dad remove the dirty shoes. The little boy had always referred to the twins as “my babies” and his parents simply shrugged it off as one of those strange things kids do, “You gonna love me, still, right, Papa?”

Astarion pauses.

Shit.

This was the type of sensitive, vulnerable, soft stuff that Tav usually handled so smoothly and Astarion felt sure he always fumbled.

The older man slowly places the child’s shoes down and then peers into his son’s round, emerald eyes. Gale was growing to be a much more sensitive and empathetic boy than Astarion had anticipated. The child might be the spitting image of his father, but his disposition certainly leaned more toward his mother.

It was something Astarion simultaneously feared and wanted to fiercely protect.

“Yes, Gale. I will still love you when your little brothers or sisters are born,” Astarion murmurs, bringing his hand up to gently brush it through his child’s unruly, wet curls, “You’ll still love me, won’t you?”

Gale nods and grins at his father as the worry in his little body fades away, “I love you always, daddy.”

The older man pulls his son into a hug, mostly to avoid Gale catching a glimpse of his father blinking back tears, “I will always love you, too, Gale.”

The elf lifts the little boy back up and heads into the house, planning to get them both into a fresh change of clothes.

The child may now be three years old and have two other siblings on the way, but whether he is three, thirty three, or three hundred… Gale will always be Astarion’s first baby.

And Astarion will always love his little boy.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fluff #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #papastarion #soft astarion

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muldermuse · 11 months ago

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Happy Valentine's (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Glenda plans a Valentine's evening for her and Gator. He has other plans.

Warnings: this is written from Glenda's POV at first so is more angsty than usual. as aforementioned, reader and gator are t e r r i b l e people. infidelity as always. i used the upsetting gift narrative from love actually (im so sorry). nsfw!!! mdni!!! no explicit smut written but heavily suggested at. unhappy ending- sorry my loves.

this is the song from the end 🫶

as always, part of the two sinners world ❤️

The table had been ready since 2pm, and finishing touches had been added all day but the table just began to look more cluttered with pink. Glenda had added homemade cupcakes and macaroons as well as a variety of photos of her and Gator. The usually drab and beige-colored dining room had been transformed into something from an awful teenage rom-com. Pink heart balloons floated up to the ceiling with hundreds of rose petals covering the stained wooden floor. Roy had gone out of town so Glenda had taken the full day to make the ranch a romantic paradise to celebrate the 14th February. This was the couple’s third Valentine’s Day and Glenda was sure that Gator was going to propose tonight, well, Roy had hinted as much.

Glenda had dressed herself in her white newest cardigan with a muted pink dress underneath. She wore the perfume that Gator seemed to acknowledge more and spent more time than usual pushing her blonde hair from her face. She’d bought Gator a new wallet, his name precisely sewn in by luxurious thread and a bottle of his favourite whiskey with a crystal tumbler with his name engraved. Gator had no idea about the gifts but Glenda had a rough idea of what Gator had bought her. To Glenda, Gator was great at many things but discretion was not one of them. Maybe Gator wanted Glenda to know? She couldn’t look inside, it wouldn’t be very Christian of her but she could at least admire the bag. It was a boutique just outside of town, they sold bespoke jewellery as well as some lingerie but Glenda and her girlfriends always averted their eyes at that. Since seeing the bag, Glenda had spent nearly every day looking in the store, trying to figure out what her complex boyfriend might have got her. Maybe a necklace? Maybe some undergarments? Maybe her engagement ring had been in this very store?

She couldn’t wait for him to get home.

Glenda had no idea that you’d been texting Gator all day and he was planning on spending the full night with you.

***

The helium from the balloons seeped out without Glenda noticing. The non alcoholic sparkling wine, which was chilled, was now lukewarm. The Etta James record had stopped spinning, she’d restarted it after it played out every time but for the last two hours, she just listened to noise of the cattle outside. Gator’s phone was going straight to answer phone, he’d text her a few hours ago that he would be home soon. It was now just after 9. He finished work at 5. Where was he?

The sky above was black and looked starless.

There was nothing shining down on her tonight.

Every light outside was the brightest she’d ever seen. Did Gator’s patrol car have bright lights? How had she never noticed this? She’d called reception at the station and Amy had the same tone of voice as she usually did when Glenda routinely made this call.

“Has he not come home again?”

“I swear Glenda, he left right on time- no reports of any collisions so it should’ve been a smooth run”

“You need to have a chat with him Glenda, this isn’t fair- talk to his daddy. He’ll beat it outta him”

Glenda wasn’t sure if she had suspicions about Gator or not. She honestly wouldn’t allow herself to even consider it, he would never do anything. What would he even be doing? He could’ve been at the bar with an old school buddy or maybe he’s back at the shooting range. His job was so stressful, he needed chance to unwind and how could she deprive him of that?

***

Gator came round to you as soon as he finished work, you heard the tyres squeal as he braked with force from the speed of his patrol car racing down your suburban street. You’d been teasing him all day, sending lingerie pics from as early as 10 this morning.

[sent at 10:32] You: ok, so i think my boobs look amazing in this

[sent at 10:32] You: image attached

[sent at 10:33] You: but my ass looks unreal in this- right???

[sent at 10:33] You: image attached

[recieved at 10:35] Gator🐍💩: got a lonnnnnng fuckin day ahead- don’t do this

[sent at 11:04] You: ur my valentine right???? i bought this just for u :(

[sent at 11:05] You: image attached

[recieved at 11:56] Gator🐍💩: make sure the doors unlocked at 5. cya then. b good.

He tried to hide the smirk from his face as he text Glenda he’d be home late.

You’d chosen your new lingerie set for him, it was baby pink and had dark hearts sewn in. Your hair was half up half down and slightly curled with a pink bow firmly secured with pins. You looked amazing, you had to admit that it was some of your best work. You’d poured a big glass of whiskey for Gator and left it on the cabinet next to your bedroom door. He’d love that little touch.

The pink tapered candles fluttered and the miscellaneous sexy playlist hummed through the speakers. As soon as you heard Gator slam your front door, you’d arched your back so the first thing he saw when he entered would be your ‘please fuck me’ eyes and the second would be your ass positioned high in the air. You smirked in anticipation.

“Fuckin’ hell baby- tha’s a sight for sore eyes” Gator swallowed half the whiskey in one gulp. He hissed as the liquid slid down his parched throat.

“You like your present?” remaining in your arched position, you shook your ass at him and smiled hearing him groan in response

He slammed the glass down; now empty after one final sip. He sneered at you as his eyes followed yours, he loved you like this, so pretty and complaint. He gripped your hair in his fist and pulled you up to his face; you could smell the heat of the whiskey on his tongue.

“Y’wanna know what I want for my present baby?” his grip tightened in your perfectly pruned hair, and your eyes rounded in response, prompting an answer.

“I want you to be a good girl f’me, all night long” his other hand clasped around your chin, tilting your lips up to his. The caliber of kiss was synonymous with Gator: it was rough, passionate, and filled with a desperate desire for control. His tongue slid against yours and you could now taste the spice of the whiskey on his tongue, along with the artificial taste of whatever disgusting vape he’d been sucking all day. Spit trailed between your lips as you pulled away.

“M’gonna be good, Sir- all night, I promise”

He mumbled a final "good girl" against your lips, kissed you quick, and pushed you back against your cream coloured linen. His ravenous eyes never left yours as he pulled his belt out of its loops, “s’gonna be a long night for you, baby”

***

You must have dozed off on his chest, you awoke to the feeling of his heart pumping and the sound of him taking a drag on some god awful vape. God, he irritated you so much. Your throat felt sore, presumably a mix of Gator’s strong hand wrapped around it and how much of the evening you’d spent crying out his name in pleasure. He smelt of sex- the whole room did. The bedsheets long forgotten as they kept getting in the way of the two of you trying to fuck each other as hard as you could. The playlist had moved onto something more romantic and you were too exhausted to feel uncomfortable. It was Norah Jones- Come away with me.

‘While I’m safe there in your arms’

Gator was too content to leave, he was vaping to try to stop himself from falling asleep in the cozy comfort of your room. He’d cum across your face and your tits, he could feel it drying against his side as you fell into a brief sleep. He knew you were awake now, your breathing had become slightly more laboured. Gator knew you were building up the courage to ask him to leave. You never liked it when it got like this. It was so easy when he was fucking you, when he had your ponytail wrapped around his hand and was using it as leverage to fuck you with everything he had- that was what you enjoyed the most. But, this is what he enjoyed the most.

He had to tell you about what he’d bought you.

‘So all I ask is for you’

The bag alone was beautiful, it was from the boutique outside of town. You’d never even considered going inside, it always looked too expensive and you didn’t like to be surrounded by pretty, delicate things.

Too scared of them shattering.

Too scared of breaking something beyond repair.

‘To come away with me in the night’

It was a necklace. And god, it was gorgeous. It was a simple silver pendant with small diamonds embedded and the heart in the middle was solid silver. Even in the dim light of your bedroom; its beauty radiated. You’d had gifts from guys before but nothing ever, ever like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat. This wasn’t right.

Fuck, this was a mistake.

Gator’s voice broke the crippling silence.

“As soon as I saw it, it reminded me of you” he placed a soft kiss against your temple “s’beautiful like you”. His voice was gentle and tender.

It was too much.

You had to shatter it.

‘Come away with me’

“Give this to Glenda- I, uh, I don’t want it” you felt too vulnerable; you couldn’t look at him. “M’not your girlfriend Gator, give it to her”.

You placed the necklace in the palm of his hand with care, already feeling immense guilt and regret but you couldn’t go back.

Gator got dressed whilst you sat in your en-suite bathroom, pretending not to care about him. You did, of course. You cared too much. After Gator drove away, you re-entered the bedroom, the music had stopped and the candles had burned out into unlit nubs. You didn’t bother to remake your bed, you just crawled into the warm spot Gator had left and tried not to lament.

***

Glenda loved the necklace that much that the thoughts of the abandoned Valentine’s Day dinner dissipated from her mind. Gator was the kind man she always knew he was and this beautiful gift had confirmed it.

Gator climbed into bed and immediately turned away from Glenda. He couldn’t look at her. The necklace wasn’t for her.

She was wearing your necklace.

You should have been wearing his heart.

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totallynotsilversora · 2 years ago

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Hey nerds guess who made another thread about Vash's shooting skills during the finale of Trigun Stampede?

This nerd right here!

(( AGAIN! ))

Because Studio Orange has been driving me insane with how great Vash is as a gunman not just cinematically but realistically! I am NOT getting over this for a while my friends.

Of course, if you hadn't watched the finale yet and want to avoid spoilers, just know this post is gonna be filled with them and if you'd like to see my first analysis on Vash the Pro Gunslinger you can check it out here on tumblr and here on twitter before reading through this one!

Speaking of the bird, this post is also on twitter below:

Oh but wait, don't have one? No worries! I've retyped everything below so you don't have to look at the bird app if you don't want to!

All posts mention guns and shooting because otherwise this analysis would not work at all.

NOW LET'S ROLL!

First off, again, I’m going based on what I remembered from shooting air rifles & other research I’ve gained over the years! Second, I’m not an OG Trigun fan, so do take this thread with a grain of salt!

With that, let’s dive into THEE fight scene:

So right off the bat we’re getting Vash’s “smooth criminal” shot! Notice how he’s lining up his body sideways with his pistol vs forward like in the past. That’s exactly how you’re supposed to shoot one handed: feet shoulder width apart and aligned w/ the gun.

Normally you’d want both feet planted on the ground when firing but since Vash HAS to stay on the move to avoid getting hit AND is being a cocky little shit to his brother, he lets himself lean forward to fire and use that kick back to gently guide him into his next step.

Again, you NEVER fight what’s considered natural movement with a gun! You WILL get hurt! If you want to aim properly you NEED to be relaxed and composed. Vash isn’t fighting against the force of his gun, he follows it with the confidence and poise of a dancer on stage.

And speaking of dancing just look at how Vash makes Knives dance over puddles! Vash has impeccable aim yet he deliberately chooses to shoot in areas that could stun or stumble Knives, knowing he could block the shots, and distract him as he goes behind the corner.

Remember how I said lining up sideways is how you shoot properly? Here he’s firing straight forward using the corner as his shield. Had he not been holding a ticking bomb in his hand he would probably rest the gun on his other hand like he normally does on the rock jutting out.

The second he fired his last shot he dips down to reload and LOOK AT THAT!!

He is practicing proper trigger discipline again!!

You do NOT keep your finger on the trigger when loading in order to prevent misfire. That is BASIC SHOOTING SAFETY!!

And he does this throughout the fight!

When he turns away from Knives to make his way to the corner he lets go of the trigger before he turns back around to fire at him!

He can only hold 8 bullets in that gun and he will make each one count!

He can NOT afford to misfire.

Why??

Because that bullet he loaded was going STRAIGHT FOR KNIVES! Vash is NOT messing around! At this angle it looks like he aimed and could’ve hit Knives' NECK which would be super hard to dodge close range. Knives would have to bend backwards like he did here to dodge.

Shout out to everyone at Orange for the incredible work put into Vash and his shooting! There’s so much care into this show I can’t wait to see more!

Bonus: while we’re here, let’s get into Vash’s stellar reloads starting with this one (my absolute favorite) :

Remember how I said Vash was being a cocky little shit to Knives earlier?

Yeah this is it at it’s peak.

Faced forward, standing still til the last second, and very slowly reloading so Knives hears all 8 clicks before flying out the window.

This is just being mean lol XD

It's because we KNOW he can reload fast! The gif below might be faster by half a second but it's still RIDICULOUS compared to the first one:

Hell, he’s put individual bullets in the chamber midair and slammed a container of them in the SAME FLIGHT! MIDAIR!!!

He did NOT have to mess with Knives like that! Dude's flexin' hard.

In any case, I can’t recommend this show enough! The amount of work and detail put into not just Vash’s skills as a marksman but the acting and storytelling - everything is superb!! What an amazing experience!

Thanks again Studio Orange and Nightow! See you again, soon!

#trigun stampede #vash the stampede #marksmanship #analysis #trigun analysis #shooting #guns #gun #text post #GODDAMN I AM GOING BALLISTIC #LORD #took me way to long to figure out how to make gifs and compress them wtf happened internet

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ghostymarni · 29 days ago

Text

didn’t want to grief post on this thread, so just venting here for my own piece of mind

digital holonet entry 112824 0714hours

I’ve been on and off coping as grief does, but after seeing that post about not thinking too long about crosshair just reminded me how much I’ve kinda been avoiding drawing him.

I know I recently had a similar conversation with Lupe about this. He will always be favorite overall, but my vision for cross has artistically changed so many times because I think deep down it’s a grief truth for me that I’m struggling with. I have so many crosshair drawings I never posted because they’re just SAD. I didn’t want to turn this to a depression blog so I refrained from posting or deleted those from here.

My husband passed this summer more suddenly than I’d like to think about. He was watching season 3 without me because I was too busy with work at the time. But rewatching it after he passed had me instant hone in on crosshair + connecting the loss of my husband with the loss of tech; which gave a different part in my grief acceptance + a secondary obsession with the brilliant minded clone. It’s a reminder to hold onto everything we created and did, + to always keep thinking about him.

Crosshair returning with his brothers + not having tech there feels twice as suffering knowing what their last interaction was like. And an even deeper personal meaning knowing I see my husband in everything. In our life around us, in how I choose things, how I respond to things. (Which we see + are reminded of that tech is apart of everyone he ever met)

Self regret that we didn’t have time to have a proper last moment. It just ended. Just because you choose to accept they knew you loved them, + vise versa, doesn’t make it easier than you’ll never have them around anymore.

Which with grief, digs the vibro-blade a little deeper because you never know when your last interaction with someone is.

watching how each of them take the notion of what tech would do, picking up where he would take over. I would imagine it would catch crosshair off guard, hearing tinkering to certain data pad beeps, only to look up + see Echo fixing something, or Omega typing away. Because I literally do this with sounds I associate with my late husband.

That feeling never goes away for a loved one. His brother, his batch twin. But omega is a huge part of that healing. And she has been a huge part in mine connecting her with my kid who isn’t giving up on me + needs me. Simple intended motions go such a long way. And the scene were they’re meditating hits hard for me.

Even more so when I’m constantly shaking out my own hand to keep it under control. It’s never easy when it hits, but every scene of cross trying to get his tremors under control, is something I do more often than I care to admit. I just have to keep going.

Not seeing tech with omega, is like realizing I won’t ever see my husband with our son growing up. He’s young, + it feels more unfair. And that hurts. Crosshair is such a dynamic clone + his guilt + hurt reaches out to many people in so many different ways. Which is why I can’t think too long about him either, but he will always be my favorite overall because I see him as me.

From grief, trauma, hand tremors, loss. (if I’m being honest, I’m pretty decent at shooting actual long range rifles) there’s so much to crosshair I personally relate to, and not just his attitude haha!

Crosshair didn’t see his brother fall, but he watched another brother die in his place. An older brother that taught him a lesson he didn’t realize he needed to know until it was too late. We confirmed that from his retaliation of shooting an imperial officer, + when they returned to the deserted base; he instantly moves to set up the memorial buckets as Mayday did. A reminder of the fallen, a reminder that they existed + lived.

A lesson I have to remind myself everyday.

So what I guess I’m also trying to convey, while I see myself as crosshair, despite the grief, the false fight some days, I’ve never felt so alone than having my soulmate gone. Going from a life of fun, banter, + life for granted, to solitude and what feels like isolation.

the clone community really gave me a second chance. At me. At reconnecting with myself, my art, my humor + wit. The friendships I’ve made + are continue to make really are giving me a new fight and a new reason to just keep going.

I never share for sympathy, I don’t want to be put in a “do not interact zone”. That’s the opposite of what I need or want. I just wear my heart on my sleeve + find comfort in just being honest about struggles + how we strive to move on.

as our boy hardcase (+ echo) quote, what I try to embrace:

“LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY”

#digital diary #artist talks #holonet entry #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #the bad batch #tbb #tw grief #sad talk #grief feels

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mads-nixon · 1 year ago

Text

See the Good

Eugene Sledge x Medic!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Merry Christmas @iceman-kazansky!! I literally squealed when I saw I got you as my giftee! I loved your prompts, and I hope you like what I did with them!! I'm going to post one gift per day so that they'll be a little spaced out! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of k company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Prompt: “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: When Gene can only see himself as the terrible things he's done in the war, (y/n) is right there to remind him who he really is.

Warnings: descriptions of dead bodies (non-graphic)

OKINAWA, JAPAN: MAY, 1945:

The ground beneath their boots trembled, and the deafening whistles of mortars filled the air as (y/n) and the rest of K Company ran for cover. They sunk into the muddy sludge below them, turning each step into a battle against the sucking earth. Gripping her corpsman pack with white knuckles, (y/n) followed Gene, not daring to stop in the barrage.

“They have us targeted!” Burgie yelled, hurdling over a giant boulder in his path. “Get to cover!”

Just as (y/n) ran past the remnants of a demolished shed, a sudden blast threw her violently to the ground, sending a cascade of mud in all directions. Her ears rang with disorientation as she blinked slowly, struggling to regain her senses. The ringing faded into a muffled whine and a face appeared in (y/n)‘s vision. Although the figure’s face was blurred, she knew it was Eugene. His mouth moved rapidly, but she couldn’t understand a word he said. Realizing this, he quickly grasped the front of her uniform and hoisted her to her feet, throwing an arm around her waist to keep her upright as they bolted for cover.

Reaching the rocks, (y/n)‘s hearing slowly faded back, and the sounds of booming artillery reached her ears.

Sledge pulled on her arm, helping her over the rugged terrain. “Come on. We’re almost there!”

Finally reaching the safety of cover, the company continued farther into the rocks to escape the barrage. Snafu was in front of them and on the verge of a panicked breakdown.

“This is bullshit!” he cried, plopping down on a rock. “If I ever find the FO that called that arty, I’ll shoot him!”

Gene maintained his hold on (y/n) as he led them toward a big rock, his frustration evident. “They’ll just do it again,” he huffed, gritting his teeth. “All because some asshole officer read a map wrong and nobody gives a shit about us!”

After he sat (y/n) on the boulder beside Snafu, Eugene took a deep breath and sank beside her. He turned to the dazed woman beside him, her once white corpsman armband a brown and muddy mess. “You alright?” he asked her, knowing even he himself wasn’t alright after what happened before the shelling.

The woman and her baby…

(Y/n) nodded slowly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. ”Yeah. Just got my bell rung. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Sledge persisted.

“Yes, Gene. I’m okay,” she murmured wearily, rubbing her eyes. “Really.”

Removing her helmet, she threaded her fingers through her (y/h/c) hair, wincing at the dried mud that pulled at the roots. Over their time on the dreadful island, they all discovered that the jungle was just as much an enemy as the Japs.

Snafu stared wide-eyed at the ground below him, hands on his head as his chest heaved. His expression was the same one that each marine wore as they grappled with the massacre they’d just witnessed.

What country uses its own civilians as shields for a surprise attack?

As a corpsman, (y/n) had seen more death than the average marine, and after the fierce fighting on the islands of Peleliu and Pavuvu, she was struggling to remain afloat in the vast ocean of numbness that threatened to drown her. The only thing keeping her above water were her boys, the men of K Company: Sledge, Snafu, Burgin, and De L’eau, although Jay had been transferred to intelligence. They’d lost so many good men, and it made her even more thankful for the guys who had always been there for her.

“Corpsman up front!”

The call snapped (y/n) from her thoughts, and she quickly rose, momentarily losing her balance until a strong hand grasped her upper arm, holding her steady. She felt the warmth of his hand through her thin ODs as he held her in place, accompanied by a blush creeping up her neck.

“(Y/n)-” Gene started.

Shrugging him off gently, she turned toward the call. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful,” he whispered after her, watching her form disappear into a sea of olive-green uniforms. With another deep breath, Sledge sat back down, trying to calm his still-racing heart. She had been right behind him…until she wasn’t. Panic had gripped him when he saw her motionless figure in the mud as the artillery rained down around them. When she opened her eyes, he felt a weight lift off his chest.

Rain drenched the marines through the night as they held their position looking up to the ridge. Around 2000HRS the next day, (y/n) trudged back to her squad, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Dried blood clung to her cracked hands, refusing to wash away, no matter how many times she’d scrubbed them raw. The casualties were unending like the rain that constantly poured on them. Luckily, the downpour had come to a stop in the early morning.

She’d been at the BAS since the previous afternoon treating and evacuating wounded marines from the already bloody battle. Continued artillery and fire throughout the day brought a steady stream of bleeding men through the tent’s entrance. One of these men had been Bill Leyden. He wasn’t in good shape, and when (y/n) saw the damage on her friend’s body, the air rushed from her lungs. After pushing away the panic, she quickly helped other corpsmen stabilize him, before sending him off to a hospital ship. As she watched him go, her heart sank at the realization the company had lost another man…another friend.

“Hey Doc,” Snafu called out gently as she approached.

She looked up from her feet at the man with a tired smile. “Hey, Snaf,” she whispered. “You seen Gene?”

Motioning over his shoulder, Snafu replied, “He’s right over there. But, Bill…“

“Yeah,” she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We got him stabilized. He should make a full recovery. Lost a few fingers, though.”

In a trance-like state, Snafu nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. It was something they all did. A way to escape the horrors they lived through. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, (y/n) moved to find Sledge, but the Cajun’s voice stopped her.

“Eugene. He got a letter…his dog died.”

She turned to face him with raised brows. “Deacon?”

“I guess,” the man nodded. “I think he’s bothered more than he’s letting on. You know how Eugene is.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”

She found him staring into space ahead of him as he sat up against one of the island’s many rocks. Before she approached, (y/n) simply watched the man before her. She could see his growing stubble and the mud that splattered his cheeks, but what worried her was the blank expression on his face. She longed to see the lopsided smile that used to hang from his lips. (Y/n) didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen that smile…too long.

Pulling her satchel off her shoulder, she quietly approached him and slouched down beside him. They sat silently for a moment, the warmth of their touching shoulders spreading through them. Gene was the first to break the silence.

“Did you see Bill?” he asked quietly, his eyes still glued on the rocks in front of him.

(Y/n) nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”

Gene leaned his head back against the ground with a thud, his eyes closed as a shuttering sigh escaped his lips. She sat up off the rock and turned toward him, gently taking his hand.

“I’m sorry about Deacon.”

The second her fingers intertwined with his, Sledge’s heartbeat accelerated, and the man felt heat spread through his body. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened his eyes. He looked down at their intertwined hands before meeting her concerned gaze.

In that moment, Eugene could have sworn she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t matter that she was coated in blood, mud, and sweat. She was there for him like nobody else had ever been in his whole life. Sure, he was close with his parents, but he felt they never completely understood him.

Who’d have thought that he’d have to travel almost eight thousand miles to find someone who could do so?

Eugene’s eyes flashed down to her lips, unable to control himself as their closeness made him suddenly bold. He always wondered what they’d taste like. How they’d feel against his. They were chapped, just like everyone else's, but that didn’t matter. The young man wanted a way to show her how much she meant to him. Sure, there had been moments where he told himself he was going to kiss her, but the moment ended before he had the opportunity. Something in the moment felt wrong, though, and he decided to wait once more.

“Thank you,” he whispered, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure and keep the memories of his beloved dog at bay. “He was a good dog.”

“How old was he? 10? 11?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “10.”

The woman’s eyes searched his face, trying to get a read of what he needed from her. She saw pain in his hazel eyes. Pain from the loss of Bill. Pain from the loss of Deacon. Pain caused by the war.

She decided he needed some hope. Some laughter.

“Did I tell you about the time Snaf and I almost got caught stealing from an Army captain?”

Later that day, Gene and the rest of his squad sat among the rocks, each lost in their mind. (Y/n) was beside him, writing in her journal, and they were doing the same…all except Peck, who was attempting to dig a foxhole in the soaked ground. Since the day they arrived on the wretched island, Sledge kept up with how many days they spent there with tallies in the back of his Bible. With the days running together, they rarely knew what day it was or how long they’d been there.

“What’s the date?” Burgie asked, putting down his small journal.

The group turned to Gene, who took a deep breath. “June 5th, maybe. Might be the 6th.” He turned to (y/n). “(Y/n/n), which one you got?”

“I have no idea,” she sighed. “I gave up keeping track a while ago.”

Peck decided to chime in as he dug. “We’re never getting off this island.”

Everyone was thinking it, but he was the one person who dared to speak it aloud.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, glancing over at Gene with an annoyed expression. If looks could kill, Peck would be six feet deep from the redhead’s glare. His jaw clenched tightly, and his chest began to heave as he stared at the replacement.

Sensing his rising anger, (y/n) reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. His eyes moved to meet hers, and her (y/e/c) irises seemed to whisper, ”He’s not worth it,” and, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Gene took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Beating the crap out of Peck wouldn’t bring Bill back, and letting anger consume you was a dangerous game. Every time he was tempted to let it in, (y/n) was right there, a soft presence telling him that hate was not the answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted daily. Sledge had seen what men could do to each other. He had seen what the Japs did to his friends.

Looking away from Gene, she was met with a strange stare from Snafu, who was smoking a cigarette and sitting on their makeshift toilet. His gaze was questioning, but not criticizing. When the man’s eyes drifted down to her hand, her stomach dropped, and she felt like she was caught red-handed. (Y/n) quickly removed her hand from Gene’s leg and shot to her feet.

“I’m gonna go-uh-do some rounds,” she announced, not daring to look at Gene or Snafu.

A few seconds later, she went treading through the sludge, her corpsman satchel pressed tightly to her side. The men all watched in confusion as she left, unsure what had made her so jumpy all of a sudden.

“She alright?” Hamm asked once she’d disappeared from view.

Burgie, always an observer, glanced over at Sledge to watch his reaction. He looked somewhat like a kicked puppy. Wrapping up his Bible, Gene began to tuck it into his pocket without a word.

“Don’t worry about (y/n), Hamm,” Burgie replied with a nod.

Hamm raised an eyebrow at his sergeant. “But did you see her-”

“She’s fine,” Snafu interrupted, pulling up his pants and rejoining the group. “Besides, she’s already got someone to worry about her.”

At the statement, Eugene froze, a cold chill running through him despite the heat. A million thoughts ran rampant in his mind.

Is there someone else in her life?

Does he know something I don’t?

Does he know how I feel?

Groaning, Burgie smacked the Cajun’s shoulder. “Shut up, Snaf. Don’t go starting crap.”

The sergeant first noticed the bond between Sledge and (y/n) back in training, but especially when the company landed on Peleliu. They always stuck by one another when they could, and she seemed to help calm the Marine amid his anxiety. As time went on and their relationship changed, Romus knew they had feelings for one another, even if they didn’t admit it. He’d never spoken about it to anyone, fearing it could become a rumor that would possibly get the pair in trouble if they ever acted on their feelings. Hearing Snafu insinuate something between them sent a pang of panic through him.

“We all worry about (y/n),” he continued. “But she’s a great corpsman. She can hold her own.”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eugene rose to his feet and went to take a leak. He did have to relieve himself, but he also wanted to get away from the conversation. If Snafu knew about how he felt, the man would never stop tormenting him. Even if it was in a joking way, Gene didn’t want to be the subject of Shelton’s teasing.

Just as he made it to a somewhat secluded spot, he heard Mac’s voice ring out from above him.

“I need a stovepipe boy up top!” he yelled, coming down from the ridge.

Gene slightly ducked his head behind a rock, hoping the lieutenant would miss him. To his dismay, Mac caught his movement in the corner of his eye.

“Sledge, that’s you. Bring some comm wire.”

Sighing when his superior disappeared over the ridge, he muttered, “Yes, sir,” and went to follow his orders.

The stench of excrement and death permeated the air as (y/n) walked through their temporary camp checking on the men. Her eyes watered from the smell, and it took all her willpower not to gag. Even though she’d built a great tolerance to gruesome sights and smells over her time as a corpsman, sometimes it all got to her.

Snafu’s stare replayed in her mind, and she hoped that she didn’t accidentally give herself away to the group. Worry buzzed in her stomach like the disgusting flies that seemed to be ever-present among the mud and filth of Okinawa. (Y/n) tried to busy her mind with the long list of men to check on, but she couldn’t focus more than a few moments before getting lost in her head again.

Spotting a man on her list, she called out to him.

“Hey, James,” she greeted, approaching his muddy foxhole. “How’s the ankle?”

He groaned and shook his head. “As good as it’s gonna be, Doc.”

In the barrage the day prior, the private slipped and rolled his ankle in the mud trying to get to cover. He insisted he was fine, but some of his squadmates sent (y/n) to check on him. Henry James was a stubborn young man who wasn’t even old enough to drink, yet he was on a foreign island in Southeast Asia fighting for his country…fighting to survive. She crouched beside his hole, inspecting the ankle that was elevated above the entrance.

“Were you able to stay off it much?” (y/n) asked, gently prodding the bruised skin.

“A buddy of mine took my OP shift so I didn’t have to walk around on it. It’s more stiff than anything.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how ankles are. They’re tough-”

Her voice came to a stop as yelling filled the air. It wasn’t cheers of victory or anything of that nature. They were cries of attack…of desperation…of death. The second the sound registered in her mind, she was darting toward the ridge, hoping to get there before the shooting started in case someone got hit. The rapid beating of her heart filled her ears as she ran through the mud and past battle-weary marines. A few of them called out to her, but she didn’t hear them.

The first ping of an M-1 being fired echoed through the air as she made it to the base of the rocky ridge. Cursing under her breath, she quickly began her ascent. Finding the most solid footing, she climbed the hill, using the jagged rocks as handholds. Gunfire filled the air, silencing the screams of the enemy. (Y/n) was out of breath when she made it to the top, but she didn’t stop. Most of the fire had stopped, but a few shots still rang out.

At the moment the corpsman reached the other marines at the top of the ridge, her heart sank at the sight of Eugene unholstering his revolver and aiming at a wounded Jap.

“Cease fire!” Mac cried from the other side of the ridge. “Cease fire!”

Gene didn’t care.

“Damn, Sledge. Leave him,” Hamm muttered to the redhead.

Whipping around to face him, Eugene scowled. “What for? He’s a Jap, ain’t he?”

(Y/n) watched in horror as Gene opened fire on the man already wallowing in the mud. He missed the first two shots, but the third hit its mark, hitting the Jap just above his hip. The soldier sunk into the mud face down, his writhing coming to an end.

“Cease fire!” The Lieutenant repeated as he neared them. “Cease fire, damn it!”

Satisfied with his work, Sledge grabbed his rifle from beside Hamm and turned to descend the ridge. When he noticed (y/n) a few yards away, he froze for a moment, his eyes resembling a dark storm cloud that could start down pouring any second. Guilt seemed to cloud his usual hazel eyes, and he looked away, unable to stay steady beneath her gaze after what he’d just done. He then continued down the ridge.

Mac was quick to confront him, gripping his carbine in one hand with white knuckles.

“I told you to cease fire. What are you doing?”

The private spun to face Mac with gritted teeth.“Killing Japs,” he seethed, turning to go down the hill again.

Before he could get far, the lieutenant spoke again. “You just gave away our position!”

“I think they’ve got a pretty good idea of where we are,” Gene chuckled bitterly.

Mac pointed toward the dead Japs. “I told you to cease fire. You’re supposed to be observing, and then I see you with a damn sidearm!

“We were all sent here to kill Japs, weren’t we?” Sledge screamed, climbing back up to be nose-to-nose with his lieutenant. “So what the hell difference does it make what weapon we use?”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but flinch at Gene’s sudden outburst. She’d never seen him like this before, and she wondered what made him finally break. What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? What had happened in the five minutes she was gone?

A tear streaked down her cheek seeing the man she cared about more than anything giving in to the war. Seeing a man be reduced to a shell of who he once was was always heartbreaking, and (y/n) didn’t realize just how much until she witnessed him finally crack.

“I’d use my damn hands if I had to,” he whispered to a frozen Mac, who clenched his jaw and slowly walked past him. (Y/n) was quick to try and follow Gene once he stormed down the hill, but a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back.

It was Burgin, his face scrunched with concern. “Let ‘em cool off, (y/n/n).”

“Romus, he-”

“I know what he means to you,” he interrupted in a whisper as he glanced around them for any eavesdroppers. “But trust me. You need to leave him be for a little bit. Let him think.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly. “Please don’t tell anyone, Burgie. I could be-”

“Your secret’s safe with me…He needs you, (y/l/n), but give him a few hours.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, her gaze dropped to the ground. “He was fine when I left. What happened?”

“I don’t know. But we did hear him hollering about something right before he went up top.”

“Thanks for everything, Burg,” she sighed, patting his shoulder softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and the guys.”

A sheepish smile grew on his face, and he chuckled under his breath. “You’d be a lot more ladylike, that’s for sure. The other day, I’m pretty sure I saw you smoking Sledge’s pipe.”

“Whatever,” she groaned, rubbing a hand down her dirty face. “A lot of women actually smoke, ya know?”

The rest of the afternoon did not go according to (y/n)‘s plan, and she was unable to check on Gene after he cooled down. Within an hour of his outburst, she was called back to the field hospital to assist in an all-hands-on-deck emergency following a Jap ambush. The corpsman was up to her elbows in blood, bowels, and every other bodily fluid from vomit to urine. It was a hard night, and it got even worse when a terrible rainstorm moved in, trapping her from returning to her company due to poor visibility.

(Y/n) spent the night, and most of the next day, helping around the hospital. She dressed wounds, administered pain meds, and helped transport men to the hospital ships on a Jeep. A radio call was received that told of the 1st Marine’s plans to take the ridge, and (y/n) knew she needed to be there.

She caught a ride to the ridge just in time for the assault. The men were checking their weapons and quietly conversing with each other as she walked through the various companies. When she reached her squad, however, silence filled the air. They all had thousand-yard stares, and the group was missing two guys who had been there the day before. Her pace slowed as she approached them.

“Hey, guys,” (y/n) said softly, her eyes flicking from man to man. When none of them acknowledged her, she knew something bad had happened. “Where’s Hamm and Peck?”

Silence.

She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine the worst. “Please, guys, whe-”

“Gone,” Gene interrupted harshly, his gaze snapping to hers. “Hamm's dead and Peck’s gone. He cracked.”

(Y/n) felt the all-too-familiar punch of grief knock the air from her lungs. Eugene’s hazel eyes were dark and stormy, even more so than the previous day. She swallowed thickly, attempting to push down the emotion that clogged her throat.

“What happened?” she asked shakily, her eyes never leaving Gene’s.

Before he could respond, Snafu spoke. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

“Shelton’s right,” Burgin added. “It’s hard, but we’ve got other things to focus on.”

(Y/n) nodded once and dropped her gaze to the group, blinking away the tears that burned her eyes. Two more of their group were gone. Sure, Peck wasn’t her favorite person by any means, but he was still part of their company….on their side. And Hamm…he was a kid. A kid who deserved better than to die in the mud on some foreign island.

They all deserved better.

“Let’s move out!” Mac announced, waving for them to follow.

Each man followed suit, but Eugene hung back to wait on (y/n). Seeing her tear-filled eyes, he instantly regretted opening his mouth. The anger within him seemed to dissipate momentarily as he joined her side.

“Remember, you’ve got a bullseye on your arm,” he murmured, gesturing to the red and white medic brassard on her arm. “Please be careful.”

“I will.” (Y/n) lifted her helmet to look up at him through her lashes. “You take care of yourself, too, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, admiring her features. His eyes trailed from her eyes down to her nose, and then to her lips before flicking back to her (y/e/c) eyes. They stayed locked in each other’s gaze for a few moments, their eyes seeming to have a silent conversation communicating everything that was left unsaid. Gene slowly reached up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. The racing of (y/n)‘s heart wasn’t from the artillery that had begun hammering the ridge, but Eugene’s warm caress against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gentle touch.

They both wished the moment could last forever.

Another yell from Mac shattered the moment, leaving (y/n) missing the tenderness of his hand in its absence.

“I’ll find you after,” he said, turning around and backpedaling to catch up with his squad. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

The corner of her lips quirked into a smirk. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Once the battle had died down and all the remaining Japanese were either killed or taken prisoner, (y/n) went searching for Gene. When the bullets began to fly, she couldn’t get the boy from Mobile off her mind, and anxiety churned in her stomach as she looked for him. The stench of gasoline, blood, and burnt flesh filled the air along her ascent to the ridge. Bodies of both marines and the enemy lined the narrow path up the hill, and her eyes scanned each one, praying that none of them were the men she’d come to love dearly.

“Burgie, you seen Sledgehammer? He was just over here.”

Hearing the familiar Cajun accent, she spun toward the voice and sighed in relief when she saw Snafu atop an old bunker, his legs swinging as he sat on the edge with a cigarette hanging from his lip. Romus was talking to another sergeant a few feet away, his rifle swung around his shoulder.

“There you are!” (Y/n) called out, reaching up and slapping Snafu’s foot. It was all she could reach from his elevated position on the concrete bunker. “You alright?”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow, blowing a puff of smoke into the humid air. “Not a scratch on me,” he mused. “I don’t know where Eugene is, but don’t worry, I just saw him. He’s okay, too.”

With this news, a wave of calm washed over her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding since they parted. “Thanks, Snaf. I’ll find him.”

“Have fun,” he laughed, waving his cigarette around in front of him. “And do me a favor and fuc-”

This caught Burgie's attention. “Hey!” He interrupted, scolding Snafu like he was a parent whose child was acting up in public. “Cut it out.”

Busting out laughing, Snafu winked at (y/n), who could feel the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks at his intended comment. She raised a hand and flipped him off with a grin before continuing her search for Gene.

It took her a few minutes of wandering to spot his familiar frame among the sea of dirty green uniforms, but when she did, a huge smile painted her face. (Y/n) almost called out to him, but something stopped her.

He was sitting alone on the busted remains of a bunker with his helmeted head in his hands, his weapon lying idle in the dirt beside him. She continued toward him slowly, observing the gentle shake of his shoulders that told her he was crying.

“Hey, Gene,” (y/n) murmured with a softness that matched the gravity of the moment, lowering herself onto the earth beside him. He reacted quickly, averting his gaze and hiding his face as he wiped the tears from his dirt-covered cheeks.

Reaching over, she softly turned his face toward her. After a moment of resistance, he gave in to her gentle touch. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met hers. (Y/n)‘s fingertips traced the dirt-streaked paths on his cheeks, her touch a soothing escape from the horror they lived in.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, ducking to meet his eyes. “I’m here.”

Gene’s lip began to quiver, and a stifled sob escaped him as he covered his face with trembling hands. “I’m a monster, (y/n). The things I’ve done…” he strained, moving away from her comforting touch.

(Y/n) watched the play of emotions on his face as he stood up abruptly, throwing an arm out to point to a bombed-out building. The skeletal remains of what once was a home loomed in the smoky haze. “There was a family in there. Now a baby with grow up without a family! I called in the mortars up there! I did that! I’m a monster!”

“No,” she shot up, her voice cutting him off. “You are not a monster, Eugene Sledge. We are at war. We’ve all done terrible things here, but it does not make you a monster. The fact that you’re feeling like you are proves you’re not. It means you’re human, Gene.”

Another tear streaked down his cheek as he clenched his teeth. “After Bill and everyone we’ve lost, I wanted to get them back. I wanted to. You saw me yesterday!”

“Eugene! Look at me!” she ordered, cupping his cheeks as she implored his attention. His gaze wandered everywhere but her face until she spoke again, her tone much softer this time. “Hon, please look at me.”

Tear-filled hazel eyes met hers, and she tugged him a little closer, they’re faces only inches apart. “We all want to get them back. You are not a monster.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he croaked, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “What if this is who I am now?”

“I know exactly who you are. You are Eugene Bondurant Sledge. You’re still that same boy from Mobile, Alabama who loved his dog more than anything, the same one who loved to fish with his father, and the very same one who I fell in love with before we even stepped foot on foreign soil.”

A sob escaped his lips, and his eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by her words. “There’s no way you can love me like this. You deserve someone else who-”

“I don’t love anyone else, Gene!” she urged, tears stinging her eyes. “I love you, and I’ll say it over and over, every single day, for as long as it takes to make you believe me.”

Shaking his head, he tried to break free from her touch, but she held on. “I’m not a good man.”

“You are good, Eugene. You are a good man. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but it’s how we respond to them that makes us who we are. This right here? It proves you’re a good man.”

Her words seemed to break through in his mind, and he froze for a moment. Pulling off his helmet, he moved (y/n)‘s hands from his face and cupped her cheeks, his red eyes still glossy. “I love you,” he murmured, voice wavering. “And I will spend the rest of my life working to be worthy of you if you’ll let me.”

The tears (y/n) had been holding back filled her eyes, a few of them trickling from her waterline. She nodded in his gentle hold. “You already are.”

He wiped a few tears away softly, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’,” Gene cooed. “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

With utmost care, Gene reached up and removed (y/n)‘s helmet, her tousled (y/h/c) spilling out. The fading sun added a soft glow to their faces, emphasizing the exhaustion etched in their features. As he delicately held the helmet aside, Eugene’s eyes met (y/n)‘s, a silent understanding passing between them. He closed the gap, his breath mixing with hers as his eyes lingered on her face, taking in every detail-the mud smudges, the fatigue-as if memorizing each nuance.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was a tender blend of longing and comfort, a quiet promise to stay by the other’s side. In that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Time slowed as they embraced, finding solace in the simple act of being together at last. The sounds of war faded into the background, replaced by the gentle symphony of two hearts seeking refuge in the warmth of each other’s touch.

#hbowarsanta23 #i hope you liked it!!#hbo war #the pacific #hbowar #the pacific x reader #the pacific imagines #the pacific imagine #eugene sledge #eugene sledgehammer sledge #eugene sledge x reader #eugene sledge x medic!reader #gene sledge #sledgehammer #eugene sledge imagines #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #ww2

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reds-writings · 9 months ago

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i love your blog more than i’ve loved anything on earth before.. can you maybe write something about 1995 rust and reader working a late night together and taking an awkward and romantically charged truck ride to the bar together?? oh im a fool for some good old yearning. hope you’re doing well i love what ya do

ahhh! thank you so much! i too love some good ol' yearning so i whipped some up quick! enjoy, darlin! (this takes place in the middle of the first of many and the start of something new and jj)

“We oughta call it a night.” Your voice rang out in the empty space of the precinct. It had to be bordering nine thirty and your body was begging for release from your hunched-over position, having been pouring over a surplus of articles for the past couple of hours. The slope of Rust’s shoulders jerked slightly as if forgetting where he was or that you had decided to hang back with him in the first place.

“Time is it?” He rumbled out, using the heel of his palm to rub at a tired eye.

“9:37. You good to drop me off still?” You replied after a quick glance at your wrist. Your truck was still in the shop but you couldn’t complain much if it meant being around Rust a little extra.

“Don’t worry about it. Sleep decides when it wants to find me. Even then it never really takes hold.” The casual admittance threaded with his perplexing way of describing what troubles him would never fail to bewilder you.

“Well…if you ain’t sleepin’ anytime soon could you be persuaded to stop for a drink on the way back? My treat.”

Rust had the humor to snort, a sharp and haughty sound, “If the company you keep makes a lady pay then they’re shit.”

“The company I keep mostly nowadays consists of Marty and the feral cat taking up residence in my yard every now and then.”

“Therein lies the problem.”

‘He likes to be spoiled. What can you do.” You shrugged playfully while beginning to gather your things.

“The cat or Marty?” That finally made you shoot out a laugh and he squashed down the distant desire to preen at your amusement.

Not fun outside of parties. Fuck you, Marty.

“We’ll grab a drink or two.” He relinquished. You pumped a fist in the air in a small celebration of victory with a hushed hiss of a ‘yes!’ The day was long and you could use a beer paired with the continued company of the wiry enigma.

As you mosied over to his truck and hopped in you batted your lashes in what dramatic fashion you could muster through your fatigue, “Free drinks and the voluntary companionship of Mr. Cohle? Gee, did I strike lucky-”

“I don't recall sayin' free.” He lit a cigarette with one hand and began to steer out of the lot with the other. It was concerning how such a mundane act could start to get you all hot and bothered.

“With you stickin' your nose in my business about what friends I do and don’t have they became free, I believe there was the implication of mighty disdain towards makin’ a lady pay.” A dainty finger wagged in his direction.

“I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of a lady-” The swat of your quick hand at his arm served as an interruption to his bullshitting. He was funny. When he wanted to be. Maybe not hardly ever but sometimes the mood struck whenever the stars decided to align just right. You thought it foolish to think the odds were specifically in your favor during moments like these but seeing him even a little bit at ease couldn’t hold you back from running right into the arms of said foolishness itself. Marty would dub you delusional. He could also kiss your ass.

Plain and simple.

“Because of your outright boorishness, I will be demanding some top-shelf finery tonight.” You half-sassed while he blew smoke from his sloped nose at your theatrics. The way you could go from suppressed and professional to the feisty spitfire sitting beside him now would soon throw him on his ass sooner than preferred. His liability to stop it was growing weaker with each car ride despite everything in his mind screaming to bring it to a severe halt. He wanted you far away from him but wanted you in constant proximity a hairsbreadth more.

“Low shelf. Maybe.”

“Top or bust. Consider it initiation as my new form of company. Just how it goes, friend.” You jokingly admonished and it was considered final.

Friend. He detested the warmth that took siege over his being.

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #anon ask #writer blog #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #blurb #drabble #request #jj universe #they are so silly

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3gremlins · 1 month ago

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i started another rook and i really didn't intend to make them so "i want that twink obliterated" but uh my hand slipped XD

this is björn ingellvar* (they/he, but sadly the game doesn't let you use mixed pronouns so i just use they/them in game) which just means bear and i realize they're not terribly bear like in appearance, but i think i'll rp it in personality more (ill be honest i liked the sound of it mostly and it had a meaning i can work with). Ingellvar was hard to pair with (i did consider making them a grey warden but i didn't vibe with thorne just yet and the mournwatch aspirational armor is kinda neat) Anyway they're a mourn watch warrior and so far a little more diplomatic/charismatic than my crow rogue rook. I had sort of thought to either romance bellara or emmerich this time round, but now i'm considering neve (trying to make myself make different choices! still an elf but eh). it's weird b/c when i started my other rook i didn't like any of the voices other than erika ishii's for them and this time i gravitated to one of the masc ones instead. so funny how characters shape themselves a bit, it's like oh this came together this way and now this voice is the one that is right. *various DA reddit threads suggested that nevarra is partially prussian inspired which does track with emmerich being an old german name. I spent several hours pouring through old german names which do also have a lot of cross pollination with various scandinavian names on several name etymology websites. Technically the german variant would be bjoern but whatever.

early thoughts on warrior: it feels a lot more underpowered than rogue from the outset. The weapon type swapping is a lot more awkward- rogue just uses r2 on controller to swap between knives and bow which feels really natural and fluid (and how a lot of other modern rpgs work, so you expect it). The war/mage use the d-pad to swap and it's just not as good of a feel (tho it is an interesting choice? the warrior swaps between sword & board and two handed, and mage swaps between staff and knife w/orb). i was def a bit like oh am i screwed, do i not get a ranged attack? but you sort of do (i think it would have been fine if war had arrows but i can see why they wanted to make it different) I like the idea of the captain america shield throw, but having to charge it up feels kind of bad (esp coming from the rogue where you just shoot your bow until you run out of arrows). Would have been better to have the shield throw just do something like that. (started towards the mourn watch tree and the shield throw is feeling better but wish it was better out of the gate you know?)

blocking is also a lot more important to the war kit and i'm bad at it (didn't really need to do it on rogue, just dodge quickly a lot) so we'll see if i can even stick to this. i don't want to block things except with my head, game. warrior also doesn't feel especially tanky per se, idk. doing this one on adventurer mode again but might turn it down (tbh rogue felt so op at the end there, i prob could have turned up the difficulty and been okay. maybe another future rogue rook if i'm ever feeling like a challenge ). i'm intrigued by the specializations (esp reaper i think) and i do think it'll get more fun as i unlock more skillz, but out of the gate a little clunky (i also started a mage rook and they also feel a bit weak compared to rogue. might like war more than mage for once??).

>>>> 2nd pt endgame knowledge spoilers behind cut!!! do not click if you haven't finished the game at least once! <<<<

playing this a second time and knowing everything you can actually spot the Varric CLUES early. There's a point where you're talking to solas in that first fade convo and he actually cuts himself off from saying that varric is dead, like you get the TINIEST hint of the "de" before solas elongates it into it a "is good at his own half truths".

also in conversations with harding her palpable sadness hits harder and her dialogue makes a lot more sense. When neve comes into the recovery room to talk to you the first time (i think it's whoever was injured?), she doesn't even look at varric and talks over him a teeny bit too. It's really subtle, they did a good job of laying clues you wouldn't catch unless you knew (at least for me, idk maybe yall were onto them sooner lol)

#dragon age #the veilguard #rook #warrior rook #mourn watch #veilguard spoilers #fen plays datv AGAIN #fen plays datv #veilguard #datv spoilers #spoilers #dragon age spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #q #second play through thoughts

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underratedmurder · 3 months ago

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The Road to Hallowskun (Fred Weasley x Reader) Part. 1

Takes place during Deathly Hallows part 1, where reader is an Auror in training. After death eaters attack the wedding at the burrow, reader and Fred escape together, on their own, they are on the run, trying to reach their destination, the Hallowskun safehouse.

Reader has a crush on Fred, unmentioned feelings and tension.

Warning for blood!

Edit: I’m sorry I know now that these are pics of George, I just wasn’t paying attention enough while scrolling on Pinterest 😭

_________________

Flash, bright blue and green light shone blindingly in your eyes. A crash sent shards of glass flying towards your face, piercing your skin and shredding it like paper. The tent was a blaze, there was absolute chaos all around you, and the burrow was under attack.

You wish you could say it was the first time you'd been at the Weasley's home as it was set on fire. But the dark lord didn't wait to strike again, you and the order found it wasn't in his nature. Not since he had sunk his fangs into the ministry, not since he had started hunting down Aurors.

You were winded, ears ringing and head banging from the pounding noise. The glass hit you fast, you hardly felt it cut you, and it sent your head sharply to the right. Your vision blurred, and you scrambled to find something, anything in front of you to hold onto. Your hands found a table, your wand still grasped in your hand, knuckles scraped and bleeding. After a breath, you could finally see again, a broken plate and rustled flowers lay before you. Your eyes followed a drop of blood as it fell onto the white tablecloth, red spindling throughout its weaving threads. You wiped your nose, suddenly aware that the skin was splayed open, cartilage exposed.

You removed your hand, red filled your palm, but there wasn't any more time to linger. A scream rang in your ear, and you spun around.

It was Luna, fighting in the arms of a death eater, head locking her, his wand pressed harshly to her temple. They both were staggering backward, as she struggled and writhed to free herself. He was about to apparate.

You couldn't let him, that would ensure her fate, and instantly your wand was in the air, swinging quickly, pointing sharply ahead. You shouted,

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand flew from his hand and shot straight towards you. You caught it just above your head, bringing it down to your foot, where you brought your heel down to snap it in half.

He scowled, almost letting Luna go as his grasp let up trying to reach for his wand. But then he stopped, tightening his grip around her as she almost wriggled free. He locked eyes with you, as his mouth quirked into a smile.

You leaped between the two tables in front of you to get to her, but it was too late, he had apparated, and they were both gone.

"Luna," you shuddered.

You began to look around frantically, for Luna, for anyone, she was misted into thin air and you weren't sure who else was gone.

The twins caught your eye immediately, they were by the entrance to the tent, dueling with two death eaters. They were holding their own, but a third was starting to approach, flanking them from behind.

Without rhyme or reason, you were bolting towards them. You pushed a table out of your way, striding past explosive spells that nearly knocked you off your feat. And one almost did, before you deflected it just centimeters from your already gushing bleeding face, you began to feel lightheaded again, but kept steady, reaching the Weasley boys in seconds.

"Fred, George!" waving your wand with vigor, you shot a sharp ray of red light towards the black smokey figure perusing them.

The death eater was instantly shooting through the side of the tent, ripping open a hole in the canvas. Your head was on a swivel, looking around like a jittery animal, teeth gritted, and brow furrowed furiously. You scanned your surroundings, the boys were still slashing their wands at the two death eaters, barely catching their offensive spells. Though, George had looked back to watch you, his eyes wide and panicked. You noticed his ear had started to bleed again, blood running down his neck onto the collar of his shirt.

Fred's wand flourished particularly spectacularly, bright orange sparks spiraled out of his wand and exploded into a yellow light that spun one of the death eaters in the air.

He smiled, and gasped.

"Well done, Freddie," George exclaimed, shouting to push and break through the static crowded noise.

George followed his brothers lead, and flourished his wand even more wildly, sending a bright blue light straight to the heart of the other death eater. At once, she seized up and fell to the ground.

"Better done, Georgie," the boys beamed at each other, and a part of you was inclined to smile.

You almost relaxed, until a hand abruptly came down on your shoulder from behind.

You whisked around, raising your wand, but found it was Remus, sweaty and cut up. He looked worse than you probably did, which you didn't want to think about right now. But he was a pleasant surprise. He was gasping, and in a hurry.

Before he could get to it though, his mouth fell into a horrified frown.

"God, y/n," His eyes drooped, concerned. "You need to get out of here, now,"

"I can't just leave. The others-"

"Will be fine. Take Fred with you," he exhaled.

"But George-"

"Tonks will be with him," he assured.

You relaxed a bit, feeling the calm his presence provided. You nodded at him, looking around, attempting to grasp what was about to happen.

"What about you?" you asked, horribly worried that he'd end up helping people to death if he could.

He smiled, "I'm going to the same place you are, in time," his smile faltered.

Alone, he was going alone.

He pushed you back towards the boys, "Go, now," he snapped, you locked eyes before walking back and into Fred.

You weren't sure you'd see Remus alive again.

Fred grabbed your arm, and you turned to face him, ready to grab his hand and apparate as soon as you could, but he stopped, his face turning white as he looked at you.

He was staring right at your nose and your left cheek, his eyes unwavering.

"What?" you blurted, raising your hand to touch the spot again, and you felt the blood, still wet. You understood, but said nothing, he swallowed.

"Take my hand," you shouted. But he hesitated, looking over at his brother.

"Tonks is coming, George will go with her," he looked back at you, frowning slightly, then back at his twin.

"Georgie," he called, and they nodded at one another, a glimmer in both their eyes, they were afraid of the same thing.

"Freddie," his gaze snapped to yours, "My hand," and he immediately intertwined his digits with yours, you felt the frayed ends of his suit jacket tickle your wrist.

Now, time was bending, and space flipped inside out, your skin strained under the pressure of fourth dimension defying magic. You could practically feel the muscle in your face tearing, already exposed from the attack. Freds other hand came to grasp you, fingers melding into the fabric of your clothing as he tried to pull you in tighter. You knew where to go, but also knew the death eaters would expect you all immediately, so you had to think of a starting point. Panic overtook you as the two of you spun around faster and faster, gravity pulling you together into a hot and frenzied mess. Then came the busiest, crowded, most confusing place you could think of. The London Underground.

In a second, you appeared in a station, feet stumbling backward on the tile floor as a train zoomed pass your noses, or what was left of yours.

Fred didn't let go of your hand and pulled you toward him so he could see your face.

His hands went to gently cup your cheeks, he scowled, flinching when you winced at the touch of his fingertips.

"You're still bleeding," he stammered.

"Yes, we need to keep moving," you grabbed his hand and started dragging him onto the train car.

"But, your nose," he came closer to you as you sat down in the corner, inspecting the area of your cheek.

"I'll be fine,"

"I know a charm," he blurted, his grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles white and fingers scarlet.

"There isn't enough time,"

"You're joking, you'll bleed out before we get to the safehouse," he sat next to you, bringing his wand up and focusing on your wound.

"Fred, the muggles," You whispered, noticing the few people at the other end of the car. The train was moving quickly, screeching as it turned a corner.

"They won't notice. Hardly observant, muggles," he smirked, but your vision started to blur again, and you decided to give in.

You didn't protest, letting him cup your jaw, slowly pointing his wand at your cheek, he began.

"Ferula," the word sounded like a cooling bandage, warm light radiated from his wand and onto your cheek. Your pain quickly soothed, and you could start to see clearly again.

Freds face was more defined now, his nose pointed and flaring as he watched a white bandage appear over your cheek and nose.

"Better?" his voice filled your ears, as the screeching of the train diminished.

You nodded, feeling the bandage with your fingers, the blood had stopped gushing, dried bits of it rested on your chin.

"That was risky, we're not safe yet," you readjusted in your seat, gripping your wand and surveyed the train again. There was no telling if death eaters had followed you here, but there was no sign of them yet.

"You looked horrible darling, couldn't handle looking at another gaping hole in someone's face after George," he joked, though the statement still rang true. You didn't need a mirror to know it was bad, you just couldn't stop to heal yourself yet, not if this wasn't the last of your wounds. And George, he was just attacked weeks ago, Freds eyes were glossy, his hands fidgeting with his jacket. He was worried about him.

"But I look better now, right?" you teased him a bit, trying to lift the weight of everything. He smiled at you.

"Good as new,"

You smiled back.

"George is gonna be okay,"

"I know, he always is," he sighed. You weren't sure if it was just some magical superstition, but it seemed the twins were connected, like that 'twin telepathy' people always talk about. Whenever Fred was upset about something, George was in the dumps too. You hoped whatever connection they had, was reassuring Fred that George was alive.

"Where are we love?" Fred asked, looking around and loosening his collar and tie, sweat dribbled down the side of his face.

"Muggle train system in London, I think we’ve just left Piccadilly Circus,”

He stared at you, puzzled.

“It’s a… really busy area in the city,”

“Any idea where we’re headed? I don’t suppose you’ve got a wonderfully planned set of directions for us to get to hallowskun. Or are you just so brilliant and responsible that you do?”

Hallowskun was the spooky name of the safe house, tucked away in the Scottish countryside. What made you laugh was it really wasn’t spooky at all. Quite cute actually.

You chuckled, “Very sweet, but no. I don’t,” you frowned, a bit disappointed in yourself.

“Then we’re on our own,”

“Yeah,” you sighed, but Fred's hand reached for yours, and you felt a bit better, squeezing his digits.

“The bandage makes you look pretty wicked you know,” he chimes, “More badass than any of those lousy spell eating death eaters could ever hope to look,” he beamed at you, eyes crinkled into a smile. They were brown and soft, kind. There was a cut just above his brow, red and deep. He was such a beautiful boy, you wanted to protect him. Didn’t matter if he was six feet tall, or exceptional at magic...

“Really?” you feigned surprise, he nodded.

But then, quite loudly, the train car doors slid open, and two men in all black boarded. Their boots thumped, booming as they stepped further into the cart. They were hooded, eyes barely visible but surrounded by black.

They may have very well been London punks, but the second man turning his head towards you on a swivel allerted you immediately. It was Walden Macnair, a devout follower of the Dark Lord, you remembered him from the battle at the Ministry. And it seemed he remembered you as well.

His eyes widened, and he grimaced. You squeezed Fred's hand, and he flinched, quickly looking ahead and noticing Macnair striding towards you.

“Legit?” Fred gasped, tugging on your hand.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and before Macnair threw his first spell, you were both dashing out of the cart.

_____________

Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two to this, I really enjoy the endless possibilities of the Harry Potter universe and would love to write some sweet sweet "there's only one bed" fanfiction goodness lol.

Thanks for reading!

#fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #george weasley #remus lupin #luna lovegood

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