#at least that's the plan! godspeed y/n

[ask-zacharies-snackarie]

It's a lovely night...

[southern-fried-simpin]

Taking a bath with the Gotham Bois 🛁🧼 | Part 1

A/N: Excluding Bruce because, where I’m at in Gotham, he’s still a child.

Warnings: Implied nudity, baths (obviously), Jerome, teensy bit of nsfw content, fluffy things

Jerome Valeska

“I don’t need a bath!” “You are literally covered in blood.” “NO!” “I’ll get in with you ~”

Boi took his clothes off right there, no shame whatsoever, he absolutely did not care that the blinds were open either

But before you both actually get in the tub he stops in his tracks and just starts rummaging through your cabinets and/or the bathroom closet

Finally he emerges, buck ass naked with a triumphant grin on his face and holding bath bombs, some bath oil, salts and a rubber ducky for each of you because obviously it’s not a proper bath until there’s a rubber ducky, c’mon Y/n get with the program

Congratulations, you have successfully gotten Jerome in the bathtub 🛁

But now you have to actually get him to wash himself and not constantly try to grope whatever parts of you he can get his hands on…Good luck and Godspeed, partner.

Eventually you get him to allow you to wash him if he gets to wash you

And lemme tell you, he is having the time of his life not just because he’s being washed by you, but also because of the bubbles and brightly colored bath bombs

It wouldn’t surprise me if Jerome didn’t get to have fun little bath toys and such growing up so this is lowkey therapeutic for him 🥺🥺🥺

Baths are now a regular occurrence in your household, so just be prepared to repeat this entire process at least once a week

Jervis Tetch

Nervous Boi ™

You asked if he wanted to bathe with you while you were both discussing your plans for that night, assuming he would successfully pull off a heist he had arranged that day.

The kicker? It’s the first time you’ll have been intimate with each other, aside from maybe changing into a disguise in the same room after needing to get the cops of y’all’s trail

The poor man nearly choked

He tried to regain his composure and act all charismatic but he was failing. So. Freaking. Hard.

So spoiler: the heist was successful! Now he just has to calm his nerves before going home to his wonderful Alice!

And there you are when he walks in the door: wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe and you look so cute he has to pretend to clear his throat so you don’t hear the little squeal he let out when he saw you 🥺

So, finally it’s bath time: Bath is setup with some nice oils and some green tea bubble bath (because ya know…tea ☕️) and now you actually get to partake in the lovely bath you’ve drawn! Yay!

However Jervis has suddenly developed some stage fright

“Jervis, is something wrong?” “Oh no, nothing at all dear! I just…um…well-“ “Aw, darling, are you nervous? Here.”

Boom. Robe is gone and so is his stage fright, you have his full attention, and his admiration.

Oh, he can’t believe how beautiful his Alice is. And he’s very vocal about it.

“My darling Alice, I do so wish we had done this sooner, all the flowers in all of Wonderland aren’t nearly as beautiful as you ~”

Cuddles while bathing 🥺

Can and will whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he washes you

He loves the feeling of you washing his hair

He practically purrs when you do it but don’t tell anyone

Loves bathing with you and usually is the one to propose bathing together from then on ❤️

Jonathan Crane

So it’s pretty normal for Jon to be in a constant state of…not dirty but not clean either

He’s more of a quick shower kinda guy and he will usually wash with literally just a bar of soap. Shampoo? Conditioner? Sorry we don’t know her.

Usually you’re okay with it, as long as he doesn’t smell of sweat and fear toxin, but one day you just lose it.

“Let go of me, I’m not finished wi-“ He rambles woefully about his work as you drag him to the bathroom.

He lays eyes on the bathtub and there’s panic in his eyes as he realizes you are now undressing him the way a mother would do her toddler who played in the mud outside. (Don’t worry he’s fine with it he’s just shook atm)

“No! Hey-“ he groaned and ran his fingers frustratedly through his hair “I took a shower yesterday I don’t need anotherAH-“

You pushed him into the bathtub because face it, honey, he wasn’t going to go peacefully

He’s so busy pouting and muttering about how he’s “wasting precious time that could be spent perfecting his toxin” and “Doesn’t even need a bath” that he didn’t even register you undressing until you got in with him

At which point, he fell silent and wasn’t sure what to do when you started washing him, he almost leaned away from your touch but stopped himself

It might take a few minutes for him to stop being so nervous, he’s shy 🥺 What?! No he’s not scared, he’s the Master Of Fear!

He’ll ask if it’s okay for him to wash you before making a move and when you say yes, he suddenly gets this look on his face like he’s this 👌🏼 close to figuring out the answer to a question on jeopardy

And then he immediately shifts from determination and being methodical to a soft gentle boi as he goes to wash your hair 

Btw Wash his hair and then just watch as he becomes completely and utterly relaxed, he’ll literally start purring like a cat

Okay so maybe taking time to bathe isn’t that bad

He’s going to still be a little apprehensive towards baths, just because he’s a workaholic but once you’ve got him on board, he’s happy to get in the tub with you

Edward Nygma (Post-Riddler)

So unlike the other men on this list, it was actually his idea to bathe with you!

In a rare moment of Ed wanting to have a simple, and not an exceedingly extravagant, date with you, he opted for a date night in.

However, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t made the bath itself exceedingly extravagant. 😅

You come home from work, drop your things by the door, too tired to carry anything but yourself to your shared bedroom and gracefully plop onto the bed.

Then, from the bathroom, you hear Ed’s voice: “I hold water, but I have no hands, I run but have no legs, and I am…pretty much required in every house and home…what am I?”

You raise your head exhaustedly, “A bath…or…” you try to not bring down his mood but you’re also so tired. So you walk into the bathroom and there’s your adorable nerd standing next to a bath with rose petals, plenty of bubbles and floofy towels for the both of you 🥺

“It was actually a bathtub, but you were close enough, I suppose.” He is already undressed so the only thing left to do is for you to get undressed and get in the bath together 🥰

Lots of kissing and cuddling ❤️❤️❤️

Also playing with bubbles (it’s you more than Ed, but he’s not complaining)

And of course: facts about bathing and showering 🤓

“So…wait…people in the Middle Ages only bathed four times a year?!” “Yup, after Christmas, on Easter, at the end of June, and the end of September!”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 22

Hannibal and y/n arrive at Camp Big Brother and receive an unusual greeting.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: guns, threats of violence, cult stuff, brief mention of North Korea 

The car ride up to the mountain introduced you to a new feeling. You thought it similar to that of prisoners on their way to be executed. The comfortable numbness of accepting your rapidly-approaching demise. 

The road only brought you so far. It turned into a dirt path, which then turned into just the imprint of tire tracks. Your car wasn’t equipped for mountainous terrain, so you had to get out and walk. You weren’t ill-prepared for a hike; you made a point to change clothes before leaving the house, and your work shoes were worn-in enough to withstand a trek through the forest. You only feared losing one of your gloves.

It was Hannibal you were worried about. You’d never seen him in anything but a full three-piece suit and today was no exception. He’d taken off his jacket and vest, but having to hike in suit pants and dress shoes was far from ideal. 

You were in the middle of a game of ‘how many 12 gauge bullets can I fit on my person’ when you heard the rumbling of an ATV coming down the track. You loaded a shell into the gun and watched it turn the corner and stop in front of you. Hannibal stood behind you, looking dignified as ever. 

The driver dismounted the vehicle and took off their helmet. The woman beneath the helmet looked like she’d either lived a hard 20 years or an easy 50 years. You didn’t pay much attention to her face. She looked nourished and had a head full of hair, so she wasn’t one of Chase’s slaves. 

“Are you ‘prefect’?” You asked, squinting at her from behind the gun. “Or ‘Aunt Lydia’?” 

“You must be [F/N] [L/N].” The woman said. “Vanguard sent me to pick you up, but didn’t say anything about a guest.” 

“What’s to stop me from blasting your head off, taking that ATV and going up there myself?” You spat. 

The woman disregarded your question. She pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and clicked it on. “Vanguard, [L/N] is here and she brought a friend.” 

The device crackled, then Chase spoke. “Is it a cop?” 

The woman scanned Hannibal up and down. “No.” 

“Let her off with a warning, then.” Chase instructed. “She knew the rules.” 

“You heard the man.” She pulled a pistol from her holster and pointed it at Hannibal with full intentions to shoot him dead. He put his hands behind his head, but didn’t seem at all fazed. 

You aimed the gun at the woman’s head. “I don’t think you want to do that.” 

“Don’t waste your ammo, love.” Hannibal said to you. “She’s obviously bluffing.” 

“You want to find out?” She pulled the hammer back. 

“Hannibal, she’s not bluffing!” Your voice started to shake. 

“Yes she is, darling.” He insisted. “Nobody would be stupid enough to fire off a shot this close to an active naval base.” 

She lowered her pistol. “What are you talking about, there’s no military base up here.” 

“Of course there is.” He refuted. “Camp David is within a few miles of here.”

For a moment, she looked genuinely fearful. You thought you saw her cult mask begin to slip as she remembered that there was a world outside of the one Chase cultivated. 

“Oh.” Hannibal feigned surprise. “That is, unless, Chase Mulvaney didn’t tell you.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I’m his right-hand woman, he tells me everything.” 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it seems he sees you as just as disposable as Catherine Miller. He sent you down here to kill anyone [F/N] brought along with her, catching the attention of the military personnel on base and ultimately throwing you under the bus.” 

“He wouldn’t.” She snapped. “Chase loves me like a sister.”

“I’ll bet that’s what he tells the other girls.” You commented. 

Judging by the look on her face, you were right. And you struck a nerve. 

“But, if you are so inclined to do Chase’s dirty work for him,” Hannibal said, loosening his collar. “At least try not to get blood on my suit pants.” 

She held the gun out for a few moments, then dropped it. “He would want to kill you himself.”

“That’s more like it.” You said, mounting the vehicle with your gun slung over your back. 

“Vanguard doesn’t mind two armed strangers on his property?” Hannibal asked, having to yell over the revving of the engine. 

The woman scoffed. “It doesn’t make any difference. Bullets don’t work on Vanguard.” 

You furrowed your brow. “What?” 

“Vanguard is blessed with the armor of Christ.” She said, with 100% conviction. There wasn’t a trace of irony or sarcasm in her voice. “No bullets can pierce his earthly flesh.” 

“Do you actually believe what you’re saying, or is this all some kind of fucked-up extended metaphor?” You asked. 

“Vanguard proved it in chapel.” She insisted. “He fired a gun at his chest and it didn’t puncture him! The bullet just crumpled against his chest.”

“Wow.” You said, flatly. This person’s rationality was so scrubbed away, she could be fooled by even the lamest of magic tricks. 

“The people of North Korea believe that Kim-Jong Il is responsible for inventing the hamburger.” Hannibal whispered to you. “Because they don’t have access to any information that proves otherwise.” 

“Yeah, we’re about to ‘prove otherwise’ alright.” You muttered back with a smile. 

After a few minutes, the outline of a building appeared. As you grew closer, you saw a cheaply-constructed cabin made for quantity, not quality. Next to it was a chapel, but it was only identifiable as such because of the massive cross. With industrial metal siding and no visible windows, it resembled a bomb shelter. 

The woman unceremoniously dumped you both off the ATV at an opening in the razor wire fence.

"Morning devotional is at eight." She explained. "You'll hear the bell ring. You'll be expected to attend, of course."

"I don't give a shit what you expect." You shook your head. "I don't owe you fucks anything."

"But you owe Jesus everything." She said, matter-of-factually.

“What in the Midsommar fuck is this?” You said, squinting in the early daylight. 

“Come on.” Hannibal took your gloved hand in his. “Let’s find our Will.” 

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains off in the distance, coloring the sky as red as the blood on Chase's hands.

"It's going to be light soon." Hannibal whispered. "We only have so long before people start to wake up."

"So where do we check first?" You asked.

"At eight, the chapel will be full and the cabin will be empty." Hannibal pointed out. "That gives us fifteen minutes to search the chapel until people start filing in."

You nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

You snuck towards the entrance to the chapel and crept inside without a sound. One look and you knew you had a lot of ground to cover in only fifteen minutes.

The chapel looked like the inside of a shipping container. You knew that growing up Catholic gave you a certain image of how church should look, but this was hardly a structure, let alone a place of worship. Much like the outside, the only feature that identified this building as a church was the massive cross, which was not even mounted on the wall or suspended from the ceiling. It just laid lazily against the back wall. A couple of folding tables with some linens draped over them made up a bare-bones altar, decorated with nothing but a couple of candles. The high windows gave the chilling feeling that the room was underground.

"You'd think with ninety million dollars, they could afford some real chairs." You commented, looking disgustedly at the rows of folding chairs.

"This isn't a summer camp." Hannibal observed. "This is a military base."

Your foot hit a loose tile on the ground. You took a knee and grabbed it. A whole patch of tiles lifted with it, revealing a small secret door. 

“I think you might be on to something.” You said, looking up at Hannibal. 

You slung your gun over your back and carefully descended the ladder while Hannibal kept watch. 

“It’s dark down here.” You called up. You heard the striking of a match and Hannibal handed you a lit candle. You were about to thank him when the sharp tones of a bell cut through the silence. 

“Shit.” You cursed. “Hannibal, close the hatch.” 

“I’m not going to leave you.” Hannibal’s voice hardened. 

“This bunker is narrow as Christ’s asshole.” You said. “I can handle it. You need to investigate the cabin.” 

“Darling-” 

“Go to the cabin. Now.” You demanded. “I’m not asking.” 

Hannibal smiled down at you, feeling a sense of pride. He knelt down beside the trap door, and reached for your hand. He removed your glove and pressed his lips against your skin. “Godspeed, my indulgence.” 

You saluted. “And also with you.” 

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.12

Chapter Twelve: Godspeed: Moving out and moving on. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2.0k Warnings: mild swearing, heartbreak, jealousy, talk of breakup/s, serious angst, idiots being idiots, very mild fluff (? idk if you would call it that), this whole series is a real slow burn.

series masterlist

-

The solace circulating through your veins as you stared blankly at the packed cardboard boxes of your stuff was strange to say the least. It was undoubtedly odd to be feeling this content about a huge chunk of your life just, ending.

And so drastically for that matter.

You knew you should be feeling sad, mournful even. You were supposed to get married in a matter of months. You were on your way to live the rest of your life with who you believed was the right person. Ethan. Your person. The two of you were about to start looking for a forever home, think about starting a family. You were supposed to start your happily ever after.

Now, you had no fiancé and no place to call home. Yet what you felt as you stood in the half-empty apartment you once shared with Ethan was peace.

Because the heartbreak you were experiencing wasn't for your life with Ethan, it was for Spencer.

“Apart from these here, is there anything else that’s yours?” Luke asked, pointing to the boxes that currently held all of your attention.

You blinked and looked up at him, pausing your thoughts. “I have suitcases in the bedroom, and a few more things to grab from the kitchen.” You advised and he nodded quickly before proceeding to lift one of the cartons. 

You watched him leave and couldn't help but think back to the night you ended things with Ethan. How he stormed out before you even got to finish your reasoning and endless apologies; the sound of slamming doors echoing in your ears.

“You okay?” Tara asked, appearing in the doorframe you were currently examining. She shoot you concerned look. “Yeah... I’m just, I don’t know. I guess I’m not feeling what I should be feeling.” You replied averting your eyes to her. “I’m relieved of all things.”

“That’s normal.” She stated.

“Is it though? I’m going through a breakup, and a big one at that. Yet I haven't shed a single tear for Ethan and for what we lost. But with Spencer...” Your voice faded out and you quickly cleared your throat. “I guess I just thought despite everything I would at least feel a little bit sad.” You added, gently shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/N, if anything this proves Ethan wasn't the man for you.” Tara said simply and you nodded, desperately hoping she was right.

Which of course she was.

Tara and Penelope were the only two people on the team who knew the entire truth behind your engagement falling through, and the reasons why. Therefore, only the two ladies knew Ethan wasn't the person for you. Spencer was.

However, that fact remained unspoken.

With one last reassuring smile, Tara turned to the remaining stack of boxes and lifted one carefully. You followed suit, and the two of you made your way outside to the moving truck - where you found Luke and Penelope bickering about how best to fit everything.

“Words cannot express how grateful I am for your help today.” You glanced between the small group after placing the box you were holding at the back of the truck. “Thank you, seriously.”

“It’s our pleasure.” Luke expressed with a wide grin. “Yeah, what kind of friends would we be if we let you do this alone.” Penelope chimed in, her lips twirling upwards.

You couldn't help but smile back at them before turning your attention to Tara. “And thank you for letting me stay in your spare room while I find a place of my own.” She playfully rolled her eyes at your words. “I wouldn't have it any other way girl.”

“Now, we better finish up and get moving if we want to make Rossi’s dinner on time.” She added and all four of you promptly got back to work.

Evenings at Rossi’s were something you always looked forward to greatly. A delicious home cooked meal, an abundance of wine, and quality time spent with your second family. The most perfect mix.

Tonight was no different. The evening was an escape.

See, you had recently fallen victim to crude office gossip. News of your broken engagement spread like wildfire. People had their own theories and speculations as to what really happened. And they weren't shy about adding their own five cents to the story.

Everyone present at the dinner however, knew better than to ask about details of your failed relationship. Tara and Penelope already had the full story, and the others knew you weren't here to share more than you already had. You came to enjoy yourself. So they didn't pry and for that you were eternally grateful.

Especially since one of the reasons why was to make an appearance at the dinner momentarily. And to say you were anxious about seeing him tonight would be an understatement.

The two of you haven't held a conversation that wasn't work related since the night at his apartment door. Every time you got the inclining to talk to him, you were painfully reminded by his words and your heart was in anguish once again. Not that the aching ever went really went away. On most days it hurt to even look at him.

The buzzing office whispers and obvious glances only made matters worse between you and the brunette doctor. It was through such secondary channels Spencer found out about your broken engagement. You had planned to tell him in person, even if things were awkward between you, but you never got the chance. The office chatter beat you to it.

Because of the distance you weren't sure how Spencer felt about the end of your engagement. A part of you thought - rather hoped - he would have changed his mind since you still firmly believed he didn't mean what he said. However, the opposite happened. He seemed more withdrawn than before.

As if that was even possible.

A small smile circled your lips as the brunette doctor entered the dimly lit garden. A smile he noticed immediately from the corner of his eye, while he said hello to everyone else. And although he wasn't looking directly at you, he couldn't help but smile too.

It was a moment you didn't even know you were sharing.

“You should just talk to him.” Penelope nudged your arm, her gaze following yours. “I don't want to make things worse between us.” You replied, your eyes still glued to Spencer's frame. 

“Sweetheart, and trust that I say this with love, but it can’t possibly get any worse than it is.” She pointed out.

You chewed down briefly on your bottom lip while she nudged you in the arm again, encouraging you to go to him.

Letting out a deep breath, you downed the rest of your drink. For a brief second Penelope thought she won as she watched you amble in the direction of the handsome doctor. The sly grin on her face quickly disappeared when instead of approaching Spencer, you made a beeline for inside the house.

If you had the courage to talk to him, what would you even say? That you were pathetically in love with him? That despite his pleas, the only man you wanted to be with was him? No, you couldn't admit that. Spencer didn't want you. The pain in your chest was proof enough, he didn't want to be with you.

“Y/N.”

Wiping the lone tear that trailed down your cheek, you did a double take at the sound of your name - the sound of your name coming from his lips.

As soon as your eyes locked with hazel gaze, the air caught in your throat.

“I was hoping we could talk.” Spencer stated calmly, taking a single step towards you.

“We have nothing to talk about, Spencer. You said I should be with Ethan and I broke up with him but that wasn’t because I thought it would change your mind.” You conveyed. A big fat lie.

“That’s not why I want to talk.” Spencer countered, his brows furrowed closely together. “I-I still care about you and I know you’ve been through a lot these last few weeks... I just, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything because you feel guilty that my engagement fell apart. And I especially don’t need you worrying about me.” You spat, surprising yourself at the harshness of your tone. It wasn't intentional and you cursed yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

Spencer swallowed. His jaw clenching for a brief second. He knew he deserved your anger. He deserved your hostility and the cold shoulder. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn't come sooner. But as he watched you fight back your tears, he knew there was only one way to fix this - apologise.

He crossed the space in your direction, stopping just mere few inches away from you. He lingered in his spot for a moment, wondering whether he should take your hand in his like he did so many times before.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.” He apologised.

“I know you are.” You whispered back, loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sorry too, Spencer.”

The two of you looked at each other in congenial silence - the first one you shared in a very long time. For a split second. For one blissful pure moment, everything was back to the way it was. He was once again your best friend, your confidant.

The love of your life.

As he stared so deeply into your eyes, into your soul, you were reminded of the many joyful happy memories you shared. Where the good really outweighed the bad. Where it outweighed the heartbreak.

“Friends?” You suggested, the corners of your lips twirled upwards into a tiny kindhearted smile. It wasn't what you wanted but it was the best you could come up with to keep him in your life.

Spencer returned the expression. “Friends.” He replied, although unbeknown to you it was also not what the outcome he hoped for. Not while the voicemail you drunkenly left him continuously replayed in his mind on loop. The message where you admitted you didn't really believe he didn't want to be with you.

“I-I me-an you uh couldn't-t even look me-e in the eye when you sss-said it.... please-e S-Spencer-”

He wanted you to remember the message. Remember the last time you said you loved him. In his eyes, it would make fixing things between you a lot easier.

But he didn't deserve easy. Not after the way he let things unfold.

You stepped forward, breaking the distance between you. Slowly, with your eyes still fixated on his, you reached out your hand and placed it gently on his forearm. At your touch, Spencer’s heart landed in his throat. You gave his arm a squeeze and said ‘I’ll see you back in there.’, and although he saw the sentence escape your lips, he didn't quite register it. He couldn't think straight. His mind was boggled.

The amiable look in your eyes was captivating and Spencer wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you. Hold you tight.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss you. Kiss you with all his might. Kiss you like he’s never done before. Kiss you like he would for the rest of your lives together.

There was nothing holding him back anymore, nothing standing between the two of you, and yet the brunette doctor couldn't move.

When he didn't say anything, you dropped your hand and walked around him. He turned, simultaneously following you with his lost gaze. Trying to decipher what was going through your head. Did you also want to kiss him? Spencer settled for never finding out.

With one last smile, you disappeared back into the garden leaving him alone.

Frustrated with himself, Spencer ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. The small box he’d been carrying around everywhere these last few weeks in the inside pocket of his jacket weighing him down. The ring he’d never get to give you.

Fuck, he should have kissed you.

Still I'll always be there for you How I do

-

A/N: as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway​

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce

[sarahwroteathing]

Just One Kiss (13)

Word Count: 4070

Summary: You fulfill your promise to write to Bucky while he is away.

Warnings: Um? Excessive letter writing?

A/N: And once again, you’ll suffer, but you’ll be at least marginally happy about it. Godspeed.

Catch up here!

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,

You wanted me to be mean, and I’ll do my very best. Not for you or because you told me to, of course. I just naturally feel the urge to wipe that absurdly charming smile off your face. Now, I don’t want you writing back crying to me about this, you hear me? This is what you asked for. As if I was going to be sending you love letters otherwise. Don’t go making jokes about the scented paper, alright? I spilled my perfume on it by accident and for no romantic reason. So, there. 

And I know I enclosed a photograph, which is the sort of thing all the gals are sending to their fellas overseas, but I’m only slipping it in here because Betty insisted. She just got a camera from her Aunt Edna, and she wants to show off her new hobby to as many people as possible. I’m only in it because Betty wanted to see how the material on my new dress would photograph. So quit your smiling; it has nothing to do with you. You’re more than welcome to toss it out or send it back.

I don’t suppose you’ll much care to hear about the sort of things I get up to these days, not with all the excitement in your life right now, but somebody has got to keep you tethered to home so you don’t go running off with a USO girl. So I might as well let you know I bought some new curtains for the apartment today. They’re a lovely shade of blue. Betty reckons they match your eyes exactly, got real cheeky with me about it and insisted that’s the reason I bought them. Silly, right? I’ll admit I did instantly think of you when I saw them, but it wasn’t because they’re the same shade as your eyes. And it’s certainly not what you’re thinking of either. 

Rather, looking at curtains reminded me of when you helped me hang the ones in my room and nearly lost your foot thanks to that silly loose floorboard Louise used to hide her love letters under. Anyway, you’ll have to come home and prove to Betty once and for all that these curtains don’t match your eyes in the slightest while you hang them for me. As far as I’m concerned, hanging curtains is very much your job, so this new set will be waiting folded over the back of your favorite chair when you get back. 

Anyway, be careful out there, would ya? Betty and I have chores waiting for you, and we don’t like to be stood up. 

I definitely don't miss you a bit,

Y/N

------------------------------------

My Gal Back Home,

Even when you’re fussing at me you drive me crazy. I can’t even imagine what it would be like if you actually had any kind of feelings for me. I’d be in danger of getting up and swimming home to you. I appreciate that moment of clumsiness that made you spill your perfume on the paper. Lucky for me it doesn’t smell half so nice on paper as it does on you or I’d take to sleeping with your letter pressed to my nose. Then again I suppose I might be biased because if I’m close enough to catch a hint of your perfume, I’m exactly where I want to be. 

Thank Lady Liza for the lovely picture, won’t you? The dress did photograph real nice, but to be honest I was a bit distracted by the model. If she wants the dress to be the focus, maybe she should try it out on someone who won’t steal the show. For her own artistic collection, of course. I don’t care to see it on anyone else. And I’ll keep on smiling, thank you very much. I’ll smile every time I look at it, and there’s nothing you can do about it unless you’d like to come on over here and really give me something to smile about. And I’m not tossing the picture. I’m keeping it in an inside pocket, close to my heart where you belong. 

Doll, I want to hear everything you want to tell me. Don’t leave anything out. I don’t mind if you want to keep me tethered, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Yours is the only skirt I’d willingly chase. (That was supposed to be charming. Give me a giggle for it, at least?)

 Blue curtains, huh? I don’t know that you should be shrugging off Betty’s suggestions. She does double as a psychic after all. She knows a thing or two. Kind of you to save a chore for me to come back to. Nothing like the promise of manual labor to bring a fella running home. But you know, I think you’ve been taking advantage of me. Most people get paid for fixing things up. What are you planning on giving me for my trouble? Don’t worry, I won’t charge much. I’ll take a kiss and not a penny more. Sound like a deal?

Oh, and I don’t miss you either. I’m glad you mentioned that. I was worried you might get a little lonely or a bit nervous walking home without me. It’s good to know you don’t miss me, but do me a favor and at least find someone to walk home with? I know you’re capable of handling things for yourself if the occasion calls for it, but I’d rather you didn’t have to. Not that I’ve been thinking about you. I haven’t. Not at all. 

When I’m trying to fall asleep, I don’t think about the slow walks home with your smiles and playful shoves. I don’t think about walking down your street on my way home on your nights off and seeing the warm, safe light from your window. I don’t think about how my family doted on you at Christmas or the way you looked at me when I handed you that first letter. And I definitely, definitely don’t think about the times you let me hold you. Because I just don’t miss you at all. And if I did, thinking about those things would only make it worse. 

All the best,

Bucky

-------------------------------------

James Buchanan,

Now I don’t know who you think you are sending me notes like that. What exactly are you trying to do, huh? I’ve had to hide it away beneath the floorboard in my room. Not because I treasure it in any sort of way, to be clear. It was so horrible it put all sorts of fluttery feelings in my stomach, and I had to hide it away because even looking at it had my nerves acting up. Don’t get smug about it, you hear? These reactions weren’t in the least bit emotional. I really and truly believe that letter was making me ill. To write such sentimental things! You could give a girl all sorts of ideas talking like that. I hope you’re not sending any of your other “gals back home” notes like that or you’ll come home to half a dozen fiancées. 

Really, Bucky, you shouldn’t be writing to me like this. How am I supposed to stay mean and tough like I promised you if you’re going to go and lay on the charm strong enough to make even the paper blush? It really is unfair. If you’re allowed to spout sweet nothings, then you couldn’t  complain if I were to write something like… I think of you always (just as an example, you understand) and I already dream about the day you’ll come home to me and run straight into my arms and… well, you get my point, don’t you? So cut the sweet talk, Sergeant, or we’ll have a real problem on our hands.

Oh, Lord have mercy. There’s that charm again. Bucky, you don’t have to chase skirts if the skirts are chasing you. (Maybe I did giggle, and maybe I didn’t. You’ve certainly got no proof either way.) Don’t you encourage this psychic nonsense of hers. You know she’s only faking. She doesn’t know a thing. Besides, there are plenty of blue eyed people out there in the world. 

Who’s to say that even if I did buy them to match someone’s eyes that someone would be you? Maybe they match Louise’s eyes? I am very fond of her, after all, and this is her old room. She has a right to be represented in a place she lived for so long with so many happy memories, doesn’t she? So what if the curtains are a bit off of her shade and are much closer to yours? A coincidence and nothing more. Don’t go feeling special.

 As for waiting for you to hang them, who else could I ask? And anyway, I thought asking a man to come in and hang the curtains might be a bit too close to a date, and we know I can’t go on any of those. I seem to remember promising myself to some cheeky flirt. Can’t for the life of me remember who, though. For, you see, I don’t think of him at all. In any case, I’m certainly not kissing you, James Buchanan. At least, not until you come back and face me like a man about it. 

I’m glad you don’t miss me either. That might have been a horribly awkward situation. Oh, no, I prefer to walk without any sort of protective arm around me or goofy smiles. And I can’t tolerate a man pouting for a kiss at the doorstep as if I don’t want to give him one. Yes, I’m much better off walking with a waitress who doubles as a psychic and does impressions of you to make me laugh. And you know she would never let anything happen to me. 

She smacked someone with a rolled up newspaper just the other day for bothering me at work. Told him even if that kind of behavior was acceptable, I’ve got a fella overseas who’d give him much worse than a newspaper if he found out. Don’t know who she could have been talking about. Ask around, would you? I know it can’t be you because I believe you when you say you’re not thinking of me. I don’t think of you either.

Do you want to know my favorite things to not think about? Our first dance. Do you remember it? After you helped me move in, and you were so tired you were barely moving your feet. That had to be the reason you weren’t moving, right? I can’t think of any other. Or remember after you got in that awful fight and you were so distracted you told me I was yours, if not officially then in every way that mattered? I like to not think about that. 

And of course I never think of the way you cared for me when I was sick, and I never go back to the gazebo to trace over our initials. And I don’t think about how soft your hair is or how sweet you look when you’re tired. Or the way you were holding me before you left almost like you never wanted to let go. Anyone looking might have thought… Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. We know the truth, don’t we? I’m just writing to pass the time.

With no trace of affection and definitely NOT your girl,

Y/N

-----------------

Definitely My Girl,

You sure tried to bury that fella from the diner in a whole lot of teasing, but you’re not getting out of this conversation, doll. What’s the story there? What does “bothering” mean, huh? Talking smooth? He better not have said anything nasty to you. If he so much as laid a hand on you, well, I know what my plans will be if I ever get leave. Could you find his name and address for me? Think I’ll send him a little hello letter. Introduce myself. 

But you give that Lady Liza a big ole kiss for me, you hear me? (Don’t go gettin’ jealous now - on the hand or cheek would suit the situation just fine.) I’m putting another letter in this envelope for her, so make sure she gets it, please. And no peeking! 

Anyway, I’m not sorry I made you flustered. I only wish I could have seen it. I could always say more. I could fill pages and pages with the way I feel about you, babydoll. And I’m glad you’re finally getting some use out of Louise’s death trap. I promise I’ll keep writing to you, and maybe if this war goes on long enough, it’ll get so full that the floorboard won’t shift beneath your feet anymore. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Now that I’m not around to catch you. 

I know we’ve been avoiding talking about it, but… I think we should. I didn’t want to say anything, but just in case. I’ve got a bad feeling about tomorrow… I know more than likely it’s nothing. It’s not like I should feel any other way about what we’re here to do. But just in case...

What I want to say is that I do miss you. Every second of every day I miss you. I miss that beautiful smile, even when it came at the price of a joke at my expense or pretending to stumble on the sidewalk so you’d grab my arm. I miss your eyes - how they sparkled sometimes when you clearly didn’t want them to, how they got all shiny with big happy tears even when you tried to hide them, how I knew exactly when you were going to be Trouble because of that secret little glint. And I miss your hands. The way they felt folded up with mine, or resting on my shoulder, or holding onto my arm, or holding my face so sweet and nice and running through my hair, or best of all carrying those secret little kisses from you to me.

I miss you, and you can make fun of me all you like for it, and I’ll laugh with you. But I need to make sure you know. 

And I’m sure you’re being honest and it’s not at all tough for you, but if it ever is, or if you feel it in your heart to do this for me, drop in on Ma and Rebecca. Get Betty to keep doing those impressions of me - I’m sure they probably suit you better than the real thing. And I know we said no other dates, and I’ll keep to that without any trouble, but if you’ve got a chance at something better, you take it. You got it? And keep an eye of Steve. That punk is always getting himself in trouble.

I wish I had time to write more, but we’ve got to move. I’ll write every time I have a chance. Don’t give up on me, yeah? I’m coming home for that kiss.

Your Bucky

--------------

Dear Lady Liza, Madame of Fortune,

Listen, Betty, I can’t thank you enough for looking out for our girl while I’m gone. I knew I could count on you for that, but it was still nice to hear about it. I need you to promise me you’ll always be there for her. This is the first time I’ve ever dared to write it, but if I don’t come back… Please, God, tell me that you’ll help her. I don’t flatter myself to think I’m anything special, but she’s got such a big heart, and I have a feeling that if anything happens to me, it’ll hit her real hard. Just watch over her for me, as much as you can. Help her move on if the time comes. More than anything else, she deserves to be happy, even if it’s not with me. But, you know… sweet talk fate and fortune for me, Lady Liza. Because I sure would love to come home and marry that girl. 

Best,

Bucky

----------------

James,

You’re scaring me, talking like that. 

You told me before you left to keep you in line, remember? So that’s what I’m going to do. So chin up, eyes forward, shoulders back. You’re going to be just fine. You know how I know? Because I haven’t had my first kiss yet. 

Didn’t you once tell me back in school that it was a crime for a beautiful dame like me to be deprived of a lovely thing like kissing? Well, if that was the case all those years ago, at this point it must surely have been promoted from a crime to a tragedy. It’s a wrong that all the other fellas I know are woefully underqualified to set right. I’m afraid my first kiss will have to be your responsibility, and yours alone. I know it’s a heavy burden for you to carry, but I have a funny feeling you’ll rise to the challenge just fine. It’s you, or no one at all. 

As for that fella at the diner, Betty sent him running all on her own. I don’t think he needs any threatening letters. (I don’t believe for a second you’d be sending a friendly greeting letter, and anyway I think I would be very jealous if you wasted paper on writing to anyone besides your family, Steve, and I.) 

What’s this talk about finding something better? Since when has James Buchanan Barnes believed there was anyone better for me than him? Why, the James Buchanan that left me at the dock would have been grumpy and sulking for weeks if I had ever dared to say such a thing. The ten year old James Buchanan would kick you right in the shin for that. I’ll put your attitude down to exhaustion or maybe drunkenness. There can be no other explanation. 

I do go see your mother and sister as often as I can. We usually have dinner together once a week. I’ve been teaching Rebecca how to do her own hair in different styles and giving her what advice I can on various things I’m absolutely not allowed to tell you, so don’t you dare ask. Your mother has been teaching me some of your Secret family recipes. (So there, Sergeant Barnes, you’re not the only one who gets access to classified information - take that)

 As for Steve… He asked me not to tell you because he thought you might be worried for him when you should be focused on yourself, but he finally found a doctor who cleared him for enlistment. Now, I know it’s frightening, and it chills me to the bone, but if you could have seen how happy he was… And you have to believe they’ll select him for something they know he can do. They won’t throw away a life when we’ve already lost so many. Steve will be okay. He’ll push through, just like always.

Be careful with all this flattery, James Buchanan. If you’re not careful I might just try my luck with the USO so I can chase after you and keep you all to myself. If you’re planning on using those lines on anyone else, remember to invite Betty and me to the wedding, huh? Because that’s surely too much charm for any woman to withstand. 

Good thing I know you don’t mean it when you say it to me because we talked about it and agreed on absolutely no love letters, didn’t we? And we wouldn’t go back on our promises for anything, certainly not for something like a bad feeling. Because you’re going to be fine, and everything is going to turn out alright, and you’re going to come home, and I’m going to plant a big, stupid kiss on that big, stupid pout of yours. Got it?

 And I will never ever, ever give up on you.

Begrudgingly Your Girl,

Y/N

-----------------------

Bucky,

I see why you’re not answering. I gave in too easily, silly me! After all these years of teasing and refusing, I lost my touch all over a bit of worry and a bit of flattery. I promise it won’t happen again. I’m not in the least bit concerned for you because I know that you’re just fine. Absolutely fine. I’m not worried a bit. I mean it. 

Which reminds me, we somehow need to be both much more and much less worried for Steve… He’s… Well, I’m not sure how much I should say. I’m sure he told me much more than he was supposed to, and I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing you should trust to a letter. Let’s say he’s involved in bond sales now and seems to be much healthier these days. I’m still keeping an eye on him like you asked, but it’s much more difficult now. He was in town for a little while, but now he’s gone again. He still writes when he can. 

And may I say, you should improve your letter-writing. He answers every single one of my letters. And sends me pretty pictures too. So you’d better hurry up and answer and beg my apologies and favor or else I might just run off with Steve and his superior letter writing abilities. 

Rebecca is spending the night with Betty and I tonight. Apparently she never got an answer from you for her last letter either, and she’s feeling a bit gloomy. But Lady Liza, Madame of Fortune will set her straight. At this point, she’s a trained professional in cheering up sulking sighers. Not me, you understand. I don’t sulk or sigh, and certainly not over you. 

I’m excited to have her here. Maybe she can help me put the curtain issue to rest at last, since she shares that special Barnes shade of blue eyes. I’m telling you, they won’t match. And after that, we will sip milkshakes and talk about fellas. Do I have you intrigued yet? I’m almost certainly not allowed to share any information with you, but I may be persuaded by a well-written and timely answer… 

Your Girl,

Y/N 

--------------

Please, Bucky, 

Please say something, anything at all. One sentence, one word even. A single scrap of paper with just your name in your handwriting. They’ve returned my last two letters, but I’ll keep sending them back. There must be some sort of mistake. There has to be. The postal service really is losing its touch because they sent your mother a terrible letter today. About how you’re gone and they don’t expect you’ll ever come back. She called as soon as she opened it, and I think I’m staying here for tonight. They’ve just about broken her spirit, and I won’t stand by and let them.

She went back to her room a few hours ago, and your father is with her now. I can’t bear to leave Rebecca. She’s tired herself out now and is asleep on my lap, but the thought of her waking up alone and remembering… I can’t let that happen. 

It’s a terrible, cruel mistake, but I don’t want you to worry. I’ll take care of your family until it’s sorted out. And it will be. Because you’re not gone. I would know if you were gone. I would have felt it. I know I would have. 

That little ten year old boy who doused me in hot chocolate one minute only to give me his birthday present and ask for a kiss the very next? He doesn’t just slip through the cracks. The swaggering adolescent who used to notice when I was struggling in class and tip off our mutual friend since he knew I wouldn’t accept his help? (Didn’t know I knew about that, did you?) He doesn’t just disappear. 

The man that dragged himself bone-tired and world-weary to a scrappy little diner every night to walk me home before turning and going all the way back across town to his own apartment after a full day of work? Nothing could take him away from me. Nothing. You, who are so full of deep and genuine feeling and parade around on sunshine and smiles could never ever be gone. Not without taking me with you. 

So please say something. Please, Bucky, you promised.

You promised me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh boy. How are we feeling? What are we thinking? Letters are my personal weakness come scream about it with me!

Chapter 14 

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Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @wiintershero @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415  @notimetoblog @cherrynat  @multifandomgirl-us @teenybucks @angryteapot @nomadicpixel @raven-ur-mum @notimetoblog @vintagepigeon @withahintofpestoaioli @kindaace @sadanddeadsoul @thinkwritexpress-official @promarvelfangirl  @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @majesticavenger @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[littleteatimestories]

writing prompt 101 with MTMTE Megatron please? Bonus if the reader is the one saying "you're tolerable". Thank u!

(Image Source: TF Wiki)

Prompt: @ourwritingprompts’s #101 “I love you.” “You’re tolerable.” || Pairing: With MTMTE Megatron ||| As requested by a mysterious Anon

A/N: Hey, guyths!!! Long time no see, right? I’m so sorry for not being able to update anything. I got really busy with work and I always ended up watching TV series during my free time. But, here it is! Another request fulfilled and updated! Finally, I’ve actually done something! So, as you can all read, this is a drabble prompt about MTMTE Megsy and I really hope that the dear anon (whoever you are, if you’re still out there) will be able to like this. I’m proud to say that the poem y’all going to encounter was inspired by William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29. Anyone familiar about this will probably recognize that I borrowed one of the playwright’s lines in there. Anyway, enjoy this one and if you want a prompt request, make sure to check this 🔖 first before making any attempts. Godspeed!

-

Budget meeting… How boring… You yawned practically for the fourth time now, trying to focus your attention on the different graphs displayed on the screen. The words were Cybetronian, but thanks to Brainstorm, you were given hi-tech glasses where the foreign words were automatically translated to your native language.

Ultra Magnus was still blabbering. You already wanted to end this, but knowing him, he can get pretty long. You already saw Rodimus playing with his datapad since you can see his tongue (whatever the Cybertronian equivalent term for that is) sticking out to which your TIC was completely ignoring. You turned your attention to your SIC, Megatron, who was diligently listening to the report. Well, good for him because as the selected liaison of Earth, you were tasked to keep an eye on him (and the rest of the Lost Light crew as well). You were like keeping the diplomatic relations between the ex-warlord and the crew (and also making sure that he’s not going to plan on invading Earth again). So far, it seemed everything’s fine.

You puffed out a breath and kept on wishing that this meeting would be over soon.

***

Megatron kept shifting his attention between Ultra Magnus’s report and to you. Actually, he mostly focuses on you when you were not looking at him. It had been six months since you came on board of the Lost Light. To admit that it was love at first sight that pulled his attentiveness towards you was an understatement; too cliché even. But, that was the truth. His brain module was like malfunctioning crazily just the thought of you.

If you think he was taking notes of Ultra Magnus’s report in his datapad, believe it or not, he was actually composing a poem; a love poem, to be exact. He had been arranging this for a while now and edited and repeated it many times. At first, he wanted to constitute the idea of your beauty. However, it turned foreboding that he had to entirely make another one. He tried again and it was still perturbing. He can’t seem to shake the fact that he was and will always be the mass murderer who everyone would associate with.

That’s why he always had this feeling that he didn’t deserve to be loved; that he didn’t deserve to have your love especially because he tried to kill your planet.

***

I long for a different path or route

Though it seems that I can’t have that at all

For I look at myself, I curse my fate

For how I wish I can have your love–

‘No, no! Don’t ever put that!’ Megatron mused. He was once again back to square one. His previous poem was a disaster. It was like he was pining over you on it and it frustrated him. He didn’t want to long over you because he knew couldn’t have you. It was impossible, after all.

After the meeting, he went back to his habsuite quickly. He had to find more inspiration on how he could express his adoration without looking like he actually wanted you in his life (though he really wanted that). He grumbled. He didn’t even know why he had to stress over this when he can always tend to other things.

‘You know what, forget about this. It won’t matter-‘ His thoughts were interrupted when his habsuite doorbells rang. He knew immediately who it was since that doorbell was designed only for you so that they could open their large doors for you.

He ex-vented anxiously and tried to remain calm.

‘Everything’s going to be fine, Megatron,’ he told himself and pushed a button to open his door.

***

You waved at him with a smile. After the meeting, you thought he went to the bar. You searched for him, but didn’t catch sight of him. You were delayed a bit when Tailgate scooped you up in an embrace and cooed you to hang out with him and Cyclonus. You told him that you needed to check on Megatron, which you were returned with an, “Awww! But, (Y/n)…!” It was a good thing that Cyclonus saved you and dragged Tailgate away from you. You sighed in relief at that time.

“I didn’t see you at the bar so I came in here,” you said. “Just wanted to check up on you. Are you okay? I feel like you’re being a little distant or something.”

***

That surprised him. “No, no! Not at all! I was just…” He was looking for an excuse. “I… needed to summarize Ultra Magnus’s report. It was rather long and Rodimus needs a more simplistic explanation of it.” Finally, he found one.

Just gazing at your innocent expression, his brain module was being frantic again. How he come to love any expressions you give to him was out of context and yet, he came to adore those.

He waited for your answer.

***

You nodded your head slowly. “I see. So, I guess you’re busy then. But, do drop by at Swerve’s once you’re done. It’s not like everybody hates you now. They already know you’ve completely changed. And if some of them don’t, I’ll have to remind them.”

Megatron smiled sheepishly. “That’s very nice of you, (Y/n). Yes, I am aware that everyone, if not all, doesn’t hate me that much anymore. I’m just… busy at the moment.” He loathed to lie like this, but for some reasons, he had to.

He saw you beamed. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” He longingly watched you walk away from him. Unconsciously, his lip plate was reaching upwards even more.

‘I think I just found my inspiration.’

***

I long for a different path or route,

Though it seems that I can’t have that at all,

For I look at myself, I curse my fate,

Wishing to myself that there could be hope,

To desire to be everybody else,

Desiring this to have done something good,

With my past, I enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

I see your smile almost so radiating,

Like those clichéd romantic comedies,

Just thinking of you is enough for me

You amaze me every day of my life,

For your sweet love remembered such wealth brings,

That I scorn to think who I was before.

You read the poem over and over. It actually surprised you that he would do you a sonnet and that just warmed your heart. He didn’t say outright that “I love you”, but you got the idea that he couldn’t say it because he was afraid to say it. He feared his past as a murderer of billions of lives and thought he didn’t earn to have such caring feelings to anyone except for redemption. You knew he had come a long way and he proved to have really changed for the better.

You can’t say for certain if you could return his feelings, but, what the hell. He needs this and you’ll give it to him.

***

You were in an another meeting, this time, accident reports. Ultra Magnus is taking the lead again (because he couldn’t persuade Rodimus to do the reporting, for the life of him). As the boring reporting went on, you sent a message to Megatron.

***

Megatron’s datapad vibrated.

You have (1) message(s) from (Y/n).

As he was about to open it, another vibration occurred.

You have (2) message(s) from (Y/n).

He finally opened it.

(Y/n):

Thanks for that poem. You really didn’t have to do that. :)

“You’re tolerable” by the way

He replied,

What does that mean?

Not mere seconds later, there was an instant response.

(Y/n):

Uh… It means what it means. I felt the same

And from that moment, you were able to gaze at one another with huge smiles on your faces.

[paladin-andric]

When Worlds Collide (Part 4)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Things have truly gotten strange. As a rather...unique scheme takes place, the paladins wonder just what will come of this madness.

The crunching of fallen leaves echoed through the forest as two men made their way deeper within the wilds. One human in a suit of armor, and one koutu in pure white robes, both armed with swords and ready for battle...though they hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The chance for diplomacy was there. They just had to make it count...and their plan had the potential to get let everyone walk away today.

“I don’t know about this, Giles,” Finnigan said nervously, his koutu accent strong as ever, “How'd ya reckon this working out well?”

“Finnigan...everyone knows you have a helluva way with words when you want to. If anyone can talk these fellows down, it’s you.”

“Ack. I’m not sure. I still think I am the poorer choice. They think non-humans demons. You’d have a much easier time speaking with them. In case you couldn’t tell, they’d see me as a monster, don’tcha know?”

“Come now,” Giles answered confidently, “Only you can pull off those illusions. They’d think me some brigand or lowly soldier. You, though...we’ve discussed this. All you have to do, is bend reality and make yourself look like a messenger from heaven. Easy, right?”

“Gobshite,” the koutu muttered, drawing a laugh from the human.

“Don’t worry, Finnigan! Why do you think I passed this onto you. I know you’re the best we’ve got. Just put on a good show, talk your talk and remember what they said about their God.”

“Right,” the bird muttered, “Their faith…”

“We know they worship one God, so we’ve got that in common. They mentioned heaven and hell...Paradise and the Underworld, I assume. They believe in demons...they thought that kobold was one.”

“And they believe magic to be unholy,” the koutu chimed in.

“At least fire magic. Black magic...ha! They haven’t seen the horrors true demons are capable of.”

“Yes...they’ve not ever seen magic I imagine...we must proceed carefully...shatter the pretense of holiness and it’s all over.”

“Mhm. I suppose we’ll need to make the rest up along the way...be vague, Finnigan. Angels would probably speak in such a way anyway.”

“Of course...I will speak in riddles. They’ll think I know more than I do, no doubt.”

“Exactly!” Giles said with a nod, “Just like that! I have the upmost faith in your abilities.”

Finnigan smiled and shook his head. “...ah, you’re an alright lad, you know?”

The journey continued, until further on in the distance, they could hear...something.

Voices. Loud and cheery-sounding.

“What’s that? Is that them?” Giles gave Finnigan a concerned look.

“Aye. Not shrill enough to be kobolds. Sounds like they’re...singing?”

The pair picked up the pace, hurrying in the direction of the voices. Thankfully, the leaves had thinned out, so their footsteps didn’t give them away.

As they got closer, they could see them. Soldiers, so many, with their backs turned, marching ahead.

They could see colorful tabards on the men, metal helmets, and polearms of all kinds. This was no rabble, not even a levy. This was a professional military force, possibly veterans to boot.

Their singing was clearer now. They sang a small, simply song repeatedly, the soldiers apparently trying to keep their spirits up.

“Merry it is while summer lasts

with birdsong

but now, close by, the winds blast

and the weather is powerful.

Oh, oh, I exclaim, this night is long

And I also am done much wrong.

Sorrow and mourn and go without food.”

This must be a folk song from their…‘England’.

Giles frowned. He craned his head towards Finnigan, voice a whisper. “Are you ready?”

“Unfortunately.” The koutu took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. “With some luck, everyone can go home tonight. If not...I suppose I’m about to do something quite foolish.”

“Godspeed,” Giles said, crouching down and taking cover behind one of the trees.”

The koutu launched himself into the air and flew above the treetops, vanishing from sight.

…

Edward’s brow raised as he heard the sounds of winds and flapping wings behind him. He brought his horse to an immediate stop and turned around. The flapping grew faint, fading off into the distance. He could see no movement among the trees.

Harry frowned. “Err...sir? What was that?”

The Earl hesitated for a moment. “...just a bird.”

“That was very loud,” one of the knights commented, “It must be quite large...another demon?”

“Probably just a hawk,” Edward assured him, “Let’s keep moving. The demons must be around here somewhere…”

They began to march again, the soldiers stomping quickly while the knights and commanders slowly trotted along on their horses. Soon, they reached a large, open clearing...and there a sight the nobleman could hardly comprehend showed itself to him.

As they entered, and neared the middle of the clearing, a large figure appeared in the sky. Looking at it, the thing was...it had the shape of a man, but the head of a falcon, with wings for arms. It also had feathers covering its body, with tan and dark brown colors throughout. It wore a white robe, and carried a greatsword in its talons, located at the end of its wing-arms. The sword was bathed in flames, licking along the steel surface.

It was bathed in a pure, near-blinding light that seemed to emanate from the sky. The bird-man began to descend towards the earth, slowly floating downwards as fierce winds and bright light surrounded it. To top it all off, as the beasts’ talons touched the ground, Edward could make out the thing’s eyes. They were glowing a pure gold, beams of light emanating from them as if they were alight.

Everyone was frozen in utter shock and disbelief. The terror and panic was written plainly on their faces. They were witnessing things men should never need to see. The creature seemed to recognize this, for it called out to them in a deep, booming voice.

“Hark! Do not be afraid, children. I have been sent by God to bring you his word.”

There was only silence. Who could say anything to that? An angel...an angel in the body of a man-bird, sent by God?!

The heavenly birdman held his burning sword carefully, in an attentive stance. He looked like some sort of divine guardian as he stood there, godlike beaming eyes washing over the crowd.

“You have been estranged from the Lord, and so he wishes to bring you hope in these dark times.”

“G-God…?” Edward barely managed. The thing nodded.

“Indeed. I serve him, as you do as well. He has been watching you, and in his great mercy, he has decided you must hear his commands.

The Earl clasped his hands and lowered his head, shivering. “W-what does the Lord, our God, have need of me for?”

“You...Earl Edward of Oxford…” the angel paused, as if thinking something over, “You...are not yet comprehending the world as it is. God will help you.”

The man’s eyes were closed as he bowed, everyone else doing the same. “W-who...who are you, messenger?”

“I am Finnigan, once among you, I now serve God more directly then I once did in life.”

“B-but...but you’re not...you…”

“My form?” it asked. Edward nodded.

“The servants of heaven are spirits, their vessels not always the same in appearance and function. I am one such example.”

“But the icons of angels...they were all…”

“I am not those angels,” it responded firmly, “I am Finnigan. I guard the skies and peer into the mortal world. You understand this.”

It was not a question. Indeed the men nodded, still shocked but having no choice but to accept the answer.

“Now...I tell you the truth. Those creatures you found...they are no demons.”

Edward blinked. “Wha-...huh?”

“Indeed. You think demons so weak and frail? They are the eternal enemies of all things holy. Such horrors would threaten to shatter your resolve from merely gazing upon them. Those...are a species of this earth, just as you are. They live, they work, and build homes and struggle...just as you do.”

“B-but...but there’s no such as monsters!” One of the soldiers cried.

“You witness living proof this day. That there are none in England, does not mean they do not exist. There is much of the world that men have never set foot in...and it is here these beings live.”

The Earl could feel the fear in his heart, but he had to know. He had to understand God’s knowledge. “What...what are they…?”

“Kobolds. The servants of dragons, and tribal beings.”

“D-dragons?!” the was a general uproar in the crowd of soldiers.

“Yes, dragons...have you not heard of them, either?”

“N-no, no!” Edward cried, “Of course I have! They, they’re...there’s the white and red dragons of Britannia, and Saint George. Saint George...he really was a dragonslayer, than…”

“Quite so. Perhaps he hunted down all that lived in the lands of man,” The angel said, seeing to reflect on those words himself.

“I can’t believe this…”

“Believe, Edward. God has need of you.”

“Is that why we were brought here? Why we survived the shipwreck? Why we were all miraculously unharmed?”

“Indeed...now that you know the truth...God needs you to cease your aggression upon the kobolds. You understand this?”

Edward had to think about that for a moment. This was all so much to take in.

“Than...why?”

“Eh?”

“Why were we brought here? What is our task, oh messenger?”

The angel stiffened up. He looked quite concerned about something.

“Err, uh, well…”

Edward frowned. What was this? Was this angel...confused?

“Y-you must spread your faith!” he announced hurriedly.

“We...what?”

“Yes! See, these kobolds, they are...they do not follow our faith!”

“They’re pagans!” Edward announced knowingly. The angel nodded.

“Yes, yes, that’s it! They’re pagans! You must show them the way of...of your God, OUR God!”

“You mean,” Edward’s eyes rose to meet the divine figure, “We have to convert these...kobolds...to Catholicism?”

“Yes! Catholicism! You must show them the right path!”

“Catholicism...wait…” Edward scratched his goatee. “So...so the Catholic faith IS the one true faith! Orthodoxy, and those damned Lollards...they’re heretics! Wrong about everything! Catholics ARE the only true Christians!”

“W-well,” the angel said in a surprisingly meek tone, “Err...perhaps they do not understand some things...but if they’re, if they believe in God as you do, if they’re ‘Christian’...they are still your brothers. I say this that you might more fully understand what wisdom I am about to impart upon you.”

“Wisdom?”

“Yes. You see...these kobolds are often stuck in their ways...they may reject the word of God. They might laugh, they might scowl. Dear loyal followers of the one true Lord...show patience and diligence. Do NOT take up the sword against them. Even if you win, and force them to convert at the sword’s edge, your victory will crumble into the ashes of defeat. Their words will be hollow, their faith meaningless. You must make them truly BELIEVE in God. Make them want salvation. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, dear messenger,” Edward replied with a deep bow.

“Excellent. Go forth and approach them in peace. Show them the path of God.”

“B-but...what about...what about the dragon?” one of the men asked. The angel turned to look at him, before giving him a reassuring nod.

“God is with you. The armor of faith will protect you against her flames if it comes to that, but...I expect peace. Go with courage, in the name of our Lord.”

“Y-yes, right away!”

“Very good...I must go, God has need of me. I dinnae ken when-” The angel caught himself, freezing in place for a moment. “E-err, I mean...I know not if we will meet again, but if we do not...know I watch over you, as all angels should.”

Edward’s face contorted into one of absolute horror. “Wait…”

“Farewell!” the angel cried hurriedly, divine light shining down on him as he lifted back into the air and vanished in a flash.

Harry ran over to the Earl, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. “S-sir?! G-God...God wants us to…”

“Nevermind that,” Edward said in a horrified whisper, “There is a much graver concern on my mind now.”

“And what is that?” the soldier asked.

“...Scotsmen.”

“Sir?”

“SCOTSMEN!” Edward cried, “Did you HEAR that?! ‘I dinnae ken when’, he said! Harry...the Scottish can go to heaven! They can become...bird-angels and give God’s orders to us, good, honest Englishmen! What has the Kingdom of Heaven come to, that the Scots are there?!”

“It is terrible,” Harry agreed.

…

Giles watched Finnigan land back beside him with a massive grin on his face.

“That was AMAZING, Finnigan! What did I say?! You’ve the golden tongue of the ancient king!”

“Ack, I soiled it! A single slip-up, and so close to the end…”

“Don’t worry about it,” the human reassured him, “You were amazing out there. For a second, I thought you WERE an angel!”

“Haha, very funny,” Finnigan answered with a roll of his eyes.

“No, I’m serious. That was exceptional. Good work.”

The koutu smiled. “Well...thank you. Still! We must make haste. I may even have to fly ahead.”

“Ah, right. What you said…”

“They might not respond...favorably,” Finnigan agreed, “I have to get there first and...explain the situation. Hopefully they’ll just play along. God, I hope Heivnenth is in good spirits today…”

“Right...well, she’s been very friendly with Greenroot. Hopefully she doesn’t refuse on principle. A dragon is not something I want getting angry, especially in these dire circumstances.”

Giles nodded. “Right, then...you’d better go. I’ll try to hurry past them. Good luck, friend.”

The koutu nodded. “You, as well.”

With that, he launched into the air, flying off past the trees and hurrying towards the kobold tribe.

The pieces have been put into place. Everything was going surprisingly smoothly at the moment. Perhaps, if this final part turned out well...peace could truly be achieved.

These humans, these ‘Englishmen’...who were they? Why were they here? What magic had whisked them away from their world to Deaco?

It was these questions and more that were on Giles’ mind. Even if they did end things peacefully, the soldiers would want to go home once their “conversion” was over...but he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about that.

If he wanted everything to be resolved, he’d have to track down their crashed ship, find and identify the magic nearby, work out what happened, find a sorcerer capable of teleporting armies...and determine the location of England, so that they could be transported home.

Just another trial to overcome.

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