#caleb x benjamin

[charliewrites99]

Turn:Washington spies is such an enjoyable show, it's honestly addicting.

The only draw back is that Brewster and Benjamin don't kiss. Not once. Not even ONCE I tell you.

[musicboxmemories]

Turn Week 2024 - Day 2 - Switch Sides (Based on the historian theory that Peggy Shippen was Agent 355)

[harmonikauvegajto]

Sorry gang the tallster brainrot has set in

[knowltonsrangers]

theoretically pt.9

[first , prev ] [female reader]

[//tw: swearing, guns, death and blood ahead\\ also angst]

By all means, you should have been fine.

Continually failing at trying to peel the knot apart which currently held your wrists hostage, you silently cursed at such a simple thing that just would not go your way.

You weren’t asking much, realistically speaking. Tossed on horseback, greedily speeding miles away from the beach, you were certain that whenever Caleb and the Major returned, they would likely follow the shoreline, in the opposite direction.

The skies had quickly clouded, and with little warning, the rain pounded against the Earth, drenching your clothes and your hopes that someone would find your clue.

“Identify yourself!”

You physically jump, startled at how fast they had approached your hiding spot. Though one could argue you weren’t really doing a great job at the feat, silently praying they wouldn’t venture any further.

“Ah, fuck—“ There wasn’t much to do other than oblige, so you stand on shaky legs and throw your hands up, hoping that the ‘I surrender’ mentality would save yourself here.

“Don’t shoot!” When you move your arms, your hand brushes the pocket that concealed the knife. Inwardly groaning, you can hear the metal hit the ground with an aggressive thud. For once, you find a moment to think rationally, you use the toe of your sneaker to draw an arrow in the sand.

They’ll likely take you the way they came from, one could hope.

“I’ve been stranded here,”

You begin talking straight nonsense, begging words that seemed an inkling of believable to fall from your lips.

“Miss, this is really no place for a lady to reside,”

When they finally arrive right in front of you, they lower their weapons, seemingly unanimously agreeing that you were no perceivable threat.

That kind of hurt, for some reason.

“Sorry for the binds, but we are on strict orders to take anyone or anything in that comes onto that beach,”

Your nose wrinkles, opting to not say anything at all. If you hadn’t dropped that fucking knife-

“That area is a known smugglers destination, ma’am.”

The younger one speaks, the one who’s currently sat behind you on the horse. His red sleeves are the only thing you can see of him, but as the sun would soon begin to rise, you would dare to take a glance back at his features.

“Your silence is proving you guilty,”

The older one chides now, but not by much.

“If I told you what really happened, you wouldn’t believe me,”

You whisper, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Subconsciously, you never wanted these guys to see you cry, but the frustration was starting to eat away at you. It was all building so fast, that the world started to spin, and as if it was nothing, it all stopped.

“You have permission to speak it, so I may relay it to the Lieutenant when we arrive back to camp.”

You roll your eyes, a sarcastic “Gee, thanks,” bubbling in your throat, but you remembered instantly what Caleb had told you.

"I promise, even if you come 'cross some lobsterbacks, they wouldn't harm a lady. Just say ya got lost, and ask for the Captain or Major. They'd be able to help you."

His index finger comes to his lips, as if he's about to disclose a secret.

"Jus' don't mention anything about the camp, alright? Yer a patriot now, y/n, don't go switchin' sides."

Maybe you should bide your time the best you could, stretching it until there was no more room to give.

“Lieutenant?” You warble, sniffling slightly.

“Yes, that is who we report to. Anyone else you wish to speak with is denied, until further information is provided.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders as well as you could, positioned in between the officers arms.

“What if we are headed in the completely wrong direction?”

It’s a very good question, one that every time it arose in his thoughts, he pushed back away. Becoming increasingly irritated, the blonde sighed, pushing away some flyaways from his forehead as they entered deeper into the woods.

“That is a very good possibility.” Is all he can reply, having a bit more incentive to get to you before you slip up, now having knowledge of the camp and that the General was stationed there.

He trusted that you would keep those secrets, but he did not know what level of…ill treatment you could take before the words came racing out of your mouth.

“So why didn’t we split up? Coulda met back there in a coupla hours.”

“I am hoping we are going the right way.”

If Caleb knew he was being very annoying, he was doing an excellent job at it.

“But what if we aren’t—“

“Caleb, please—“

And before he can say another word, there’s a rustle of something, wet leaves underfoot as silhouettes cast shadows in the daybreak.

“Shut up, please.” Ben asks, voice almost nothing as they both drop to a crouch behind some shrubbery, a couple hundred feet off. Although capable of seeing them, they were unable to hear what was being exchanged.

From the looks of it though, you had them right where you wanted them. They had halted their riding, the two horses idling as you stood next to a tree, arms bound but within reach. Your mouth was moving, and the two soldiers appeared to be at least satiated with whatever you were saying.

“See? She’s fine,”

Caleb hums, nudging the Major in the ribs. Ben turns to look at him so quickly he’s sure he’s just given himself whiplash.

“If I remember correctly,” He gravels, voice a bit elevated.

“I was the one consoling you,”

“Nah, I don’t remember that.”

Ben watches you carefully, and as if he willed it, your eyes made brief contact with his, looking just past the two officers. Nearly doing a double take, your eyes jump wide, but dart back to the taller man, so you wouldn’t give up their location.

You begin talking, your mouth moving once more but he’s unable to read exactly what you are saying. Catching your unexplainable surprise in what lies so far out into the trees, the shorter man spins around, scanning the horizon for something out of the ordinary.

Just as Ben turns to Caleb, ready to devise some sort of plan, you begin to shriek, piercing screams echoing through empty space as if it was amplified by a thousand.

The one redcoat, the one who was scouting, visibly jumps, turning to face you with a mixture of surprise and anger on his face, while the other attempts to figure out what was causing the screams.

“There was a spider on me!”

Ben will never be sure if there really was one on you, but Caleb audibly laughs, taking the opportunity that was so easily given to them.

Now, completely occupied and unable to console your loud cries, the two make a break for it and cross the remaining yards with ease.

“Hands up,”

Though the click of his flintlock pistol is satisfying, shoving the barrel directly between the man's shoulder blades, the willingness to squeeze the trigger is almost antagonizing. Caleb followed suit to the other officer, eyes trained on you, as if any more movement would cause you harm.

They both hesitantly raise their arms, making no move to agitate the situation further. Ben briefly wonders how you've so quickly wound your way around Caleb's finger, but then again, he'd be lying if you didn't have the same effect on him.

You offer a watery smile, fervently shaking the legs of your pants one last time, shrugging your shoulders as the two men look fixedly at you, shocked nonetheless at your stratagem.

What did nonplus you so much was that they both fired their weapons, and you watch in horror as both bodies crumble lifelessly to the ground.

Both horses, now spooked, take off in a direction that Benjamin doesn't quite care to take note of.

Something that he wishes he never saw was the look in your eyes, the panic and trepidation as if you couldn't really believe what you just saw.

"They didn't do nothin' to ya, did they?"

Caleb is first to break the stalemate, shoving his gun back into the loop on his belt, and stepping around one of the bodies to get closer to you. Smoke clearing, Ben slowly lowers his weapon, eyes impotent to leave yours and feet rooted to the dirt.

"N-no," You shuffle awkwardly, weight shifting back and forth between your feet and now unable to meet either of the men's gaze.

"M'sorry I left...you alone..."

The brunette watches the Major, then his eyes bolt back to you. He's piecing something together in his mind, and before he can say it, Benjamin beats him to it.

"We need to go."

"Ben-" Caleb starts, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, but recoils it back when he realizes the blood that splatters across it.

"Sorry." Is all that can fall from his mouth.

"I-" You swallow thickly, still staring at the ground, just shy of the two bodies.

"It's fine. Thank you.”

It's a whisper, and your gut is screaming at you to run as far away as you can from here, mind reeling at the events that unfolded so quickly yet in slow motion all at the same time.

"What are…er, what are are we gonna do now?"

Ben's silence is agonizing, so you take it upon yourself to fill the quiet.

"Maybe we should...part ways."

Caleb immediately repulses at such an idea, and when he looks to Ben once more for concurrence, he's met with the nauseating truth.

"No, not a chance in hell."

You had said it so maybe Benjamin would remove that tape from his tightly pressed lips. You were so numb to the events that you could not offer anything more than a suggestion to leave.

In reality, the disgust that was eating him up inside was the reasoning behind it all. He would never be able to wipe that look you gave him from his memory, as hard as he might try. His subconscious now had complete control of his actions, and it did nothing but render him speechless.

He wanted you to stay, with him. But articulating that after you just watched him kill a man was downright impossible. He wasn't thinking right, and that was his problem.

"y/n,"

Clearing his throat, you finally tear your gaze away from the ground, blinking up at him expectingly, and it's then he catches the glint in your eyes.

"We will take you back to camp, and you will remain in my tent until nightfall. At that time, I will then personally escort you to the camp line, and from there you will do as you wish."

Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but you purse your lips, pulling some hair away from your eyes.

"Yes, Major."

You were nothing but trouble. It was a thought that had crossed your mind while doing much more than mildly inconveniencing these men just trying to do their duties. You landed in the middle of a war, this was no time to laugh or make fast quips to bargain your time.

This whirlwind dream had just really turned into a nightmare, and for all you know, the moment you cross those camp lines, your fate was in the hands of a time you never knew to call your own.

"Now hold on just a fuckin' second."

"I just said-"

"When have you ever known me to listen? I'm the reason we're standin' right here in the first place!"

He shouts, and Ben finally holsters his flintlock, something you take notice of that he hadn't done yet. The blonde grabs his upper arm, not harshly, but enough to tug him away to whisper something in his ear.

"If you're calling me a bitch, you can do that in front of me."

You call, at long last moving away from the officers, all the while brushing runaway tears from your cheeks. It was fair enough, you in the least deserved some name-calling for the unbridled mess you unknowingly just created.

"Nah, but I won't repeat what he said, cause no lady should ever have to hear such a mouth." Caleb shoves him off.

The three of you exchange glances, and finally, you've had enough. The silent scream you release is more-so for yourself versus for effect, fierce enough that your hands ball into fists and your eyes squeeze shut.

"Y'alright?'

After a good moment, you finally nod.

"I had thought maybe it would wake me up because this isn't fun anymore. I hate being here, I hate all of this. Just please. Take me back to camp, and let me pack a fucking bag, and let me leave."

Ben falters, mouth opening then closing, words fighting to his throat but all he can offer is a noise of approval. You cross your arms, shuffling past Ben as you start off towards the shore, leaving the duo standing, jarred.

"I hope you're happy," The brunette snuffs, watching you go for a second.

"Part of this was my fault, but this is all your fault."

Caleb gives him one more shove for good measure, and starts off after you, calling your name, but you make no move to slow your pace.

If he could find his voice, he'd scream just as loud as you.

[melpomeneprose]

Ready to party like it’s 1776.

Cosplay credit to: maggie_crit on Instagram.

[amberlynnmurdock]

Captured

Pairing: Ben Tallmadge x Reader 

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, violence 

Summary: Ben thinks keeping your relationship a secret will protect you from danger until a red coat appears on camp. 

A/N: Gamble slightly might be a little out of character compared to the show. I was using how Captain Randall is portrayed in Outlander as guidance. I like to think if Starz had produced Turn, we might've seen more violence and cursing in the show, so I applied that to this fic, if that makes sense? Hopefully you all forgive me <3This was going to be my initial submission for the Valen-TURN's event but I didn't finish in time! 

WARNINGS: Kicking, slapping, violence, inappropriate language, cursing.

Archive of Our Own Link 

Six Months Earlier

It was one of those sunny afternoons where the sun always caught your eye no matter what angle you stood from.

You moved your eyes to the back of the horse you rode on to avoid the sun from hurting them, and doing so caused concern for the man who rode on the horse beside you.

“Benny’s going to be happy to see ya,” Caleb Brewster gave you a knowing smile. “It’s been a while since he’s wanted ya to come to the camp. Safer. Can keep an eye on ya.”

You scoffed in spite of yourself. He wanted to keep an eye on you, but from a distance. You looked up to meet Caleb’s playful eyes, which were just barely hidden under the rim of his hat. The horses trotted along. You heard the sound of leaves crunching under their hooves. A cold breeze passed and you shivered.

“I’m a little nervous,” you say honestly, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I’m not sure he still—“

“Quit it,” Caleb interrupts, “you’ll be staying in the quarters in the main camp, but just on the border of where the followers stay. That was the best Ben could do, so as to not be suspicious. Near Anna, too, ya know. Washington's aware of your arrival and approved your location to be so close.”

“Washington,” you repeat to yourself. “It hardly feels like a reunion if Ben and I can’t even stay in the same place together.”

“It’s more than that, __, and you know it. Unfortunately, some of the men in the camp cannot be trusted, and we don’t even know who is who. Ben can’t risk those people finding out about you and him,” Caleb states matter of factly, but you know he quotes Ben’s words because he has said the same to you. “It’s not like how it used to be.” And Caleb was right. The stakes were higher than ever for the cause.

You’ll never forget the first time you saw. He was handsome as ever, for sure, but the sight of him in uniform made the war all too real. And you worried about his life being in danger.

“Then why not just put me far in the camp hidden in a tent where I’m out of sight?” The question comes out more in anger than it does reasonably.

“Don’t be like that, __. Ben needs to have you in his sights, close enough, but far enough to not give anything away.”

Your face softened. Perhaps you were being too harsh. After all, there was a war going on, and Ben was one of the most important men on the rebels' side. Which meant, he had big enemies. Maybe you were too worried about what could happen to you both when you should be focusing on the situation at hand: you were finally going to see Ben.

~~~~

Present

It was moments like this you wished you could transport yourself into a memory and stay there forever.

You never realized how peaceful the sound of a river current could be until now, too, with your hands tied behind your back tightly with rope, mouth covered by cloth. Lieutenant Gamble was tending to the horse he stole from the camp, but you knew this break from the interrogation would be short-lived. You leaned your head back on the tree you sat against, trying not to squirm against the rough and dry rope. Any slight movement stung your wrists. Your skin began to burn and cut against the rope.

You couldn’t remember quite exactly what Ben said when a red coat soldier appeared on the camp out of nowhere, but you knew now that whatever Gamble told Ben, was a lie.

The questions, the abuse, the threats… you felt as if you were half dreaming. You wanted to give out. You wanted to just let Gamble kill you right then and there because there was no way you were going to give him what he wanted.

One part of this experience felt like a nightmare, and the other felt like bliss. At least, your mind was in another place. Another reality. No, your physical body was shaking against the tree Gamble propped you on, but your mind and thoughts were elsewhere. Images flashed in your mind as you let the sound of the river current drown out Gamble’s movements. Your eyes began to flutter.

Fresh dew-covered grass. A soft, golden sunrise. Horses. A warm breeze. And a tall man, draped in blue and silver, walking towards you, a hand reaching out. Golden brown hair reflects the sunlight and deep blue eyes meet yours. The same blue eyes that never failed to make you feel safe, that say I’ve got you without uttering a sound. For a moment, it’s bliss, because you see Ben before you and a warm rush spreads throughout your chest.

You do think you are dreaming now.  

Ben’s image is gone immediately—taken from you like a toy snatched from a child’s grasp. Gamble’s heavy and dirty hand meets the side of your face with such force you fall to your side again, the nightmare taking over. Only the nightmare is actually your reality.

You keep your eyes closed, imagining Ben’s blue coat, his blue eyes, and his golden brown hair falling so perfectly around his face when it’s not tied back. You hear his words in your mind:

I will protect you. I will protect you.

You had no idea if Ben knew you were taken, though this late in the night, it was likely.

“I’m not going to ask nicely again,” Gamble snarls and grabs your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his dark eyes.

“Who are the spies that Tallmadge has set up in York City, and Long Island?” He points to a stack of books behind him, near where the fire was. You vaguely recognized them from Mr. Sackett’s tent. Your heart dropped to your stomach at the sight of them.

You looked up weakly, flinching at how close his face was to yours. You could smell the rum from his breath. You shook your head in fear, fear for your life, fear you’ll never be able to make a joke with Caleb again, or laugh with Anna, or hold Thomas, or see the one true love of your life, Ben, ever again. And if that was your fate, as you felt was 80% certain right now, you wouldn’t die selling out your friends, and your country.

“I don’t know. I swear,” you pleaded weakly, shivering at the dropping temperature. You were only in your shift when Gamble kidnapped you. “I don’t talk to Tallmadge like that,” you lied. “I just help around the camp! I do laundry and barter! I swear!” You were desperately wishing he would somehow let you go, but at this point, there was no going back. You were captured.

Gamble scoffed. He spits on the ground. His ginger hair looked red in the glow of the fire. His green eyes reminded you of a snake. He had stubble on his face. You tried to look away but his dirty hands forced you to face him again. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and you felt yourself begin to panic. Any last bit of hope you had to be saved was now fully diminished, the darker it got.

“You’re telling me Tallmadge gets you into his bed every night, fucks you like the whore you are, but he keeps his work to himself? Ay miss, either you’re dumber than I thought or Tallmadge is only using you to keep his bed warm at night and his pipe hard,” Gamble hissed in a low voice, “I didn’t capture the one weakness I know Tallmadge has just for her to not speak.”

A million possibilities are floating through your mind. How could he know about you and Ben? Did he overhear something? Did someone say something? Was it that obvious? Gamble was held hostage—you didn’t even see him until he barged into your tent and took you.

“So you planned this ambush on me just so you could get some sort of information out of me,” you say out of breath, shaking your head. “Why not capture Tallmadge himself? What am I to you?”

Gamble kneels back. The fire crackles. He squints and licks his lips. You’re anticipating his next moves, but it’s useless. You are a prisoner. His. You have no way of getting out and there’s no way Ben can save you. It’s over, as far as you’re concerned.

“I’m going after his heart to get to him. To surrender,” Gamble simply says. “But how it’s been almost a day already and he’s not here, you must mean nothing to him. That’s the only thing I’m wrong about.”

You shut your eyes tight—it’s not true what he says. It’s not. You know he’s trying to make you have a reason to give in. You shake your head and meet his eyes, an act of defiance—foolish perhaps, but you dind’t care.

“You’re wrong if you think that by the end of this, you’ll be the one alive,” you said in a low voice.

Gamble lunged towards you and roughly placed his hands around your jaw. His movements were sloppy and aggressive, likely from the rum he’s been drinking. You shrieked and sank lower toward the ground as if that would protect you in some way.

For a moment, he holds you there, staring into your eyes. He can see the fear. Feel it against his fingertips. He looks away, and when he looks back, it’s not rage you see in him, but a different hunger.

He walks slowly to the horse and where Mr. Sackett’s stolen documents are in a briefcase. You watch as Gamble flips through the pages for a few minutes until he stops at one page in particular.

And slowly, the realization hits.

Of course, he found the letter you were writing with Mr. Sackett to give to Ben. You had grown a surprisingly close kinship with Mr. Sackett, and he respected your ideas in writing. It was a silly project you and he were working on—writing a love letter to Ben completely in his own code. It was a fun idea the two of you came up with one day; something to lighten the mood for Ben. Now, the whole thing was ruined, and you choked on your tears when you remembered Mr. Sackett was no longer here to help you finish it. Twisting the knife.

You sobbed, turning away from Gamble’s harsh glare.

“You can’t lie to me, miss,” Gamble growled, holding the letter up in one hand. “I will get the truth out of you.”

~~~~

The Night Before the Kidnapping

You lay on your cot with your hands tucked on the side of your face, staring at the candle on the bedside table. You could hear soldiers outside, drunk and dancing, surely up way past bedtime, but you figured there were no rules here after dark, as long as the men showed up early for their orders.

The soft glow of the candle is the only light in your tent. You can’t sleep. You’re mesmerized by the flick of the flame, hoping that if you stare at it long enough, you’ll fall asleep. You’ve had no such luck yet.

You shiver and pull the wool blanket over your shoulders tighter. The winters in New Jersey were brutal. You found yourself longing for it to be summer—sweltering hot with cool summer nights. You hoped by summer that by some chance the war would be over and the rebels claim their victory, and you and Ben wouldn’t have to keep this a secret anymore.

“Hey,” a voice calls from your tent opening. You shoot up in bed in a panic, reaching for the dagger under your pillow. When you see the familiar silhouette in only a white shirt and white pants, you lowered your fist.

“Ben!” You shout-whisper. “You scared me half to death.” You slipped the dagger back under your pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says sheepishly with a soft grin. He walks over to you and sits on the edge of your bed. His hair is loose, falling just above his shoulders. He looks tired, and you wonder why he’s come to visit you so late.

“Are you alright?” You ask him.

He nods his head a little and looks at you with a thoughtful expression. The candlelight reflects off his face perfectly. Half of his face is in the light, the other half dark. The light makes him look vulnerable, somehow. You’re used to seeing him so poised, so in control. Tonight, he just looks like Ben. The one you knew before he wore blue and silver.

“I wanted to come to check on you,” Ben tells you. He looks around your tent thoughtfully. “To makes sure no soldiers wandered over here. And now that we’ve got two prisoners on site, everyone is riled up. I wish this tent had more security.”

“I don’t think anyone would dare come to my tent knowing thee Major Tallmadge’s tent is right down the path,” you smirked. Ben let out a soft laugh.

“It makes me feel better to see you in bed safe.”

“I’d rather much be in yours,” you tell him, reaching up and twirling a piece of his hair before you place the palm of your hand on his cheek. He closes his eyes and turns into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and holds you for a moment.

“I know,” he says lowering your hand to his right thigh, “eventually.” The way he said the last word with caution annoyed you a bit—like he was just saying it to keep you strung along.

“Eventually,” you repeat, taking your hand away from him. He looks at you like you’ve just snatched a prized possession from him, concern immediately filling his blue eyes. To be a soldier was to be reactive, and sometimes you hated how much of an effect you had on Ben. He was so quick to your emotions—and normally you appreciated it, but other times, like tonight, you wish he would stop pretending he didn’t know the reason why you got upset when you’d bring up your…situation.

His concern about something he could easily fix was getting under your skin.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks, furrowing his brows.

“What’s wrong is, every time you ask me that question, I give you the same answer, and you still ask me the same God-forsaken question thinking I’ll give you a different answer,” you say, exasperated. “Sometimes it just feels like you’d rather it be this way.”

Ben turns more so he’s facing you. Worry is etched all over his face, and confusion. His blue eyes grew wider and he parted his lips. He had a disoriented look on his face, completely surprised by where the conversation was going.  

“I—you think I want this? To pretend that I barely know you, that I don’t love you and would lay down my life for you? I don’t want this. I keep you here to protect you. Protect you from the enemy, whether it be in this camp or out there. I told you I will always protect you no matter what that may mean,” Ben pleads, grabbing your hands and kissing your knuckles. “Sometimes, we have to make sacrifices we don’t like to make sure everything goes to plan,” Ben, trying to reason with you, tried to touch your hands but you jerked away from him to his affliction.

“And am I just another player in your plan?” You ask quietly, doubtful as you look at your hands. You feel a rage grow in your chest, perhaps one you’ve been burying deep inside for too long, and it’s moments like this you can’t help but unleash it.

“I don’t know what you say to other people, other women when you are out there in Philadelphia and… and York City. I don't know. You have no problem being out in public with the socialites of those cities, with them at your arm, at a dance, but with me, I have to be tucked away in a tent at the bottom of the map!”

“That’s not—”

“It’s true, isn’t it? You have to play the part with them but what part do you play with me? Am I another piece in your chess game? You tell lies to everybody, how do I know you're not telling lies to me?”

“Because—I love you! Christ, __, what have I done to make you think otherwise? Do you think I want this for you, for us? You believe I want to have you in this tent away from me not in my arms every night? You think I don’t wish to have you on my arm when I have to go to those parties?” Ben could feel his heart pounding against his chest, anxious he upset you in some way, and hurt by your reaction to all this.

“Parties that I am obliged to attend, might I add, to ensure the protection of His Excellency. Do you think it’s easy for me to make these decisions, or that I even want to?” Ben stood up from your bed now, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes, knowing you’d unleashed a tidal wave of emotion from the both of you, and there was no stopping it. It was your fault. Your eyes felt heavy with tears—Ben needed to leave you be.

Ben cursed to himself, rubbing his hand on his jaw like he always did when he was frustrated and things weren’t going his way—when things were out of his control. Ben was doing all he could, and still, all he could wasn’t enough.

Ben turns around to see you wiping your tears away. He sighs deeply. Arguing with you wasn’t worth it. He whispers your name.

“You have to understand—I do this to protect you—“

“I don’t need your protection tonight,” you cut him off, meeting his glassy blue eyes. “I need sleep.”

As painful as it was to leave you like this, it was clear you didn’t want him around right now. Ben took one last look at you as you got under the covers and closed your eyes.

He left—but not before tying an extra knot on your tent.

~~~~

The next afternoon

If there is one thing anyone should know about Ben, it’s that he is always in control of everything he promises. He is Washington’s eyes and ears. He ensures the safety of messages being passed between the Culper Ring. Ben takes care of everything that is assigned to him, and the satisfaction of a plan going accordingly is what keeps him sane.

But this. This was not supposed to happen.

At first, Ben was in disbelief. And then the cold wave of reality hit him so hard in the face, he couldn’t help but feel nauseated at the sight of your empty bed.

After he found Mr. Sackett with his throat cut open, Ben thought it best to make sure you were secure in your tent and to stay there until the perimeters of the camp were searched. It would be hard to break the news to you, but the sooner you knew, the better.

As he rushed down the path toward your tent, Ben had an odd feeling grow in his chest. But for what? He knew there was no way you had even left your tent yet because your shift at the cart didn’t start for another hour, and any doubt that ever crossed his mind was quickly put to rest because Ben was good at planning, and there was no need to worry. He would never let anything happen to you and his plans would never cause you to be in such a situation.

But still—there was always that tiny feeling of doubt.

He specifically put you in this tent to be safe from the ongoings in the camp. He specifically had you at the border of where the followers stayed to blend in. This was absolutely not part of his plan, and it disproved how this was all supposed to happen.  Your bed was as empty as the most reasonable explanation Ben could come up with.

Gamble had gone to be interrogated by Mr. Sackett, and unfortunately, it was too late to stop him and arrest Gamble. It was too late to catch Gamble…

It was too late. Ben was too late.

“No…no….,” Ben softly whispered, brows furrowed, mouth parted open as he touches your empty, cold bed. Sweat forms on his forehead. “No… it’s not possible.” His heartbeat was in his ears and Ben could feel his hands cramping with anxiety. Sweat began to trickle down his chest as he rubbed his jaw with his hand. Suddenly, everything felt too hot and too cold all at once.

He felt as if he was walking in slow motion around your tent. Your books were on the ground–a sure sign of struggle. Your shoes were left here. Your dress was still hung up to be worn. Looking under your bed, the gun he gave you to protect yourself was still in its compartment. Your dagger was half under your pillow like you tried to reach for it but were too late.

No, this can’t be. No.

“Ben,” the sound of Caleb’s voice pulled Ben from his thoughts. “Ben—oh shite, ‘e got her.” Caleb walked over to his friend, knowing he was drowning in his thoughts. He patted Ben’s cheek in a brotherly way.

“C’mon, Tallboy, no time to self-loathe!” Caleb exclaimed. “We’ve got to find her! One follower saw ‘im exit south with her—he stole a horse!”

Caleb was right—while Ben was coming up with every reason under the sun why he shouldn’t have let this happen, how wrong he was for bringing you to this camp for his own selfish reasons, and how upset he had made you the night before—there was no time to waste. He needed to find you.

He needed to find you.

~~~~

Gamble wasn’t letting up on swigging rum, and he wasn’t letting up on you yet. In his drunken state, he tied the rope on your hands even tighter, which ripped your skin open and caused your skin to crack and bleed. Your shoulders began to ache from being tied behind you for so long. And his tactics were getting more violent the more he drank.

“Seems like you like to be kicked,” Gamble spat on the ground next to you. His words slurred. You were out of breath from the blow he just gave to your stomach. You coughed uncontrollably, dirt rubbing into your cheek.

“Please—stop,” You managed to say between coughs. Gamble laughed and mimicked your voice. He bent over his knees, holding the bottle from its neck.

“If ya don’t talk, the next rope I tie will be ‘round your neck,” Gamble growled in a low voice. “And if you still don’t speak then, perhaps the methods Tallmadge uses on you will get you to speak. Or scream, at least.”

You were too dazed to understand his meaning. Your head pounded, and your stomach felt tight from bracing yourself from his hits. Suddenly, you were being pulled up by his dirty hands. He shoves you so hard against the tree you feel sharp pieces of wood dig into your back. He grabs your jaw with his right hand.

“Look at me!”  Gamble shouted in your face.

There was no point in his interrogation— you were convinced that in his drunken state, he was only doing this to scare you, and perhaps he was enjoying his power. You made it clear by taking the abuse and intimidation you were not going to give him any answers he wanted. What was his purpose now? When would this madness stop? When was he going to take you to the enemy camp?

You suddenly felt like your situation was catching up to you—the dehydration, the pain, the unsettling realization you may never see any of your friends ever again—a sudden shock rippled through your body—you were shaking from the cold, and then you became rigid in his grasp. Your heart started pounding in your chest, and suddenly you felt numb from the pain. A ringing sound filled your head. You watched as Gamble fell to the ground.

Something had happened but you watched in slow motion as you fell to your side, unable to move.

Gamble clumsily stood up, dropping the bottle of rum.

A man with a beard and dark hat was holding a gun—you couldn’t make out his face from your angle, and you couldn’t move your head. And then suddenly, another man appeared—tall, in a blue and silver coat. You could only see both their silhouettes. He attacked—no, he lunged for Gamble, throwing him to the ground. The man began to furiously punch Gamble in the face, so much you saw his own knuckles start to bleed. The man in the hat pulled the man off of Gamble.

“Enough! She needs you!” He shouts.

Caleb shoots Gamble directly in the head.

Ben falls to his knees. His bloody hands are trembling with rage. He’s breathing heavily as he rushes to your side.

You are still numb, laying on your side, shaking. You feel a warm hand at the small of your back as you are gently moved to lay on your back. You immediately lock eyes with Ben. He’s hovering over you. A tear from his eyes falls on your cheek.

“Benjamin,” your voice quivers, “Ben—” your whispers come out in huffs. You felt a heavy blanket being wrapped around you as Ben assisted you in sitting up.

“Shh,” Ben cooed, wrapping the blanket snugly around your torso. He made attempts to stretch out your legs that had been stuck like you were in a fetal position.

“She’s in shock and she’s freezin’ out here,” Caleb spoke to Ben. Ben kept his concerned eyes on you, a spurn look on his face. He nodded in response.

“Keep looking at me,” Ben softly spoke to you, following your gaze. You met his eyes and slowly began to nod with him. “You’re with me. I have you.”

Your eyes grew heavy all of the sudden, and your breathing slowed, as your world turned black.

~~~~

The first thing you felt when you woke up was a cramping pain in your abdomen. With your eyes still closed, you squirmed in discomfort. You smelt something fresh in the air—something minty and eucalyptus. You shrieked in the cot you lay in as you put a protective hand over your stomach. That’s when you felt a cold washcloth on your head, and your eyes flew open.

At first, you thought you were in the infirmary, but by the size of the tent you were in, and the lack of other cots in the tent, you were wrong. It surely wasn’t your own tent—you didn’t have that desk across from you and your cot was supposed to be tucked in the left corner of the tent. This cot was on the right side, and the cot itself was much bigger than yours.

You looked down at your stomach. You were in a clean white shift, but through the fabric, you could see bandages on your stomach, and bandages wrapped around both your wrists. You groaned at the sudden movement. You wanted to take the washcloth off your head, but when you moved your arms, you hissed in pain at how sore they were.

“You’re awake,” a light, airy voice gasped. Startled, you turned your head to see Anna rushing to your side with a hot kettle. She sat the kettle down on the table next to the cot you were on. Anna smiled, but her eyes looked sad. She took the washcloth off your forehead and placed the back of her hand on your cheek.

“Your fever’s going down, I think,” she simply stated. “How do you feel?”

“Achy…all over,” you answered slowly. “Tired. Where am I? This isn’t my cot.”

Anna sighed, looking down at you. “It’s Ben’s.”

“Ben?” you looked around making sense of your surroundings.

Suddenly, Anna perked, “Speaking of, he said to alert him as soon as you woke. Let me get him.”

Before you could answer, Anna was already on her way out. You started to get nervous, looking around Ben’s tent. It was dark outside. How long have you been out? Why did Ben put you here? The more questions you came up with, the more your heart beat faster.

Ben opened the flaps of his tent, ducking inside before standing up more straight. He was wearing his uniform—all clad in blue and silver. His hair was tied back with a few pieces loose in the front. He looked anxious as he rushed to your side. He knelt at the side of the cot and took your bandaged right hand in his.

Your eyes began to swell with tears when he held your hand to his head, putting his head down, and said a prayer under his breath. His hands were cut up and bruised, and flashes of Ben punching him in the face came to your mind. When Ben was done, he kissed your hand and opened his eyes.

For a moment, there is silence. Ben keeps hold of your hand in between both of his and caresses your knuckles, running his thumb over them. His deep blue eyes looked tense at you. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Ben finally spoke, his voice sounding like it strained to speak. “I am so, so sorry.” He laid your hand back down to rest. When he did so, you drew your breath in quickly from pain. Ben jumped at the reaction feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. You should have never been hurt. It should have been him, was all he could think.

“It’s not your fault,” you argued, “there’s no discussion about that.” You whispered. You barely had time to process what had happened, including how your capture even happened.

“Mr. Sackett…” you trailed off as tears rolled down your cheeks. Ben wiped them away with a his thumbs. He nodded in understanding.

“I know, darling,” Ben murmured, “it's terrible. It’s my fault. I should have been the one to—“ looking at your bandaged stomach and hands, Ben cut himself off. This was no time to talk about the things that happened out of his control. What truly mattered was that you were here, in his bed, safe and sound. He nearly lost you and he was never going to let that happen again.

“How do you feel?” Ben asked instead.

“I…” you didn’t know how you felt. All you knew was that you were thankful to be alive and with Ben again. “I thought he was going to kill me, Ben.”

Ben clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment before looking at you again.

“I thought I’d never see you again," you confessed. “And to leave like that, what happened the night before, Ben, I’m sorry—“

“Shh,” Ben hushed, running his fingers down the length of your jaw, over your collarbone, and down your arm. He laced his fingers with yours. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”

He whispered your name, “I felt hollow when I saw you were missing. I felt… I don’t ever want to feel that emotion again when I saw you weren’t in your tent. Christ, I was—I was sick about it. Thinking of what he—never mind. I wasn’t going to stop until I found you.”

You didn’t want to talk about the pain and the hurt anymore. It was obvious this situation hurt both of you, physically and mentally. What was the use of dwelling? What mattered was you were safe back in camp with Ben. He was right here, looking longingly at you, holding your hand.

“Ben, why am I not at the infirmary? Or my own tent?” You asked him, curious.

“There’s no point in being afraid of risk,” Ben simply stated, “I thought I was protecting you by keeping us a secret, by keeping you tucked away—and I was wrong. When you were captured, it made me realize that our time is precious, and I can’t control the unpredictable. I failed you. I did,” Ben turned away, taking another deep breath.

You knew he was using all his strength to not break down right there. “I can’t control the unpredictable, but I can do better, and go onward. I want you to stay with me here. It wasn’t right I kept you separate. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, to make you think I don’t care about us. I love you, my darling. And I’m done keeping it a secret.”

Ben moved closer to you, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Before I was afraid of people finding out about us, and then when you were captured, I had a new fear that they’d never even know about us. And that scared me more,” Ben sighed. “I couldn’t lose you before we could even start our life together. There’s no reason for us to put it off. I want to start our life together here, now. In this camp. In this war.”

Ben looked at you earnestly with his eyebrows raised. You smiled in spite of yourself. You nodded, feeling a weight lift from your chest.

“Yes, let’s start it now.”

Ben smiled in return, a single tear falling down his cheek. He leaned over you and slowly descend his lips to yours. His soft lips felt like a cloud. His nose brushed on your cheek and he leaned his forehead on yours as he pulled back.

He changed out of his uniform and soon joined you in his cot—no, the cot you now shared—and tucked his head in the crook of your neck, carefully placing his arm across your chest to avoid any of your wounds. Finally, you were in his arms.

[calebbrewsterr]

So, I'm teaching my 8th and 12th graders poetry, and I always mess around with the formats I ask them to use, on my own first and I came up with a little Ben central/Tallster poem.

The TURN fandom is dead AF but oh well, I'm offering it shitty poetry anyway. I took lines from Washington and Brewster's actual letters to make the last bit.

Tallboy,

Prince of blue, prince of gold,

God’s son, who cradles a new kingdom in his hand.

Son of a preacher, a man called Nathan.

He loves a wild one, a whaler. 

And all the children of this liberation.

Who feels, who FEELS. 

Who feels incapable, desperate, reckless in the face of this

war.

Who needs, who NEEDS.

The touch of a feral one. A creature,

borne down at the hands of his wildness. 

Born again, but

Christ’s no more.

Dragoon no more.

No more death. No more killing at his hands

meant to rest. Meant to bolster

a country and it’s new freedom.

He gives his body, his mind, he gives his heart,

to independence. A new nation.

A dreadful shining new nation.

He cannot fathom the crimes it has yet to commit.

And the fear he fears…

A broken body in the field.

Splattered with blood, covered by well-worn leather

and the joy that is the last thing on the whaler’s face.

Losing. If they lose. If he loses

…. a noose around his neck.

Like Hale.

The one that came before.

The one they’ll worship three hundred years to come.

Namelesness.

He prays.

And prays, he’ll live long enough to see

the whaler’s face on his pillow,

slack in slumber.

The whaler’s face on his pillow,

tensed in pleasure.

The whaler’s face on his pillow,

smiling without the shadow of war.

And he’s moved away now.

These years later.

Left a war behind for a public servant's retirement,

A warrior turned politician.

Dear Tallmadge...

Dear Tallboy,

Sir, your letter of yesterday came safe to my hand. I have returned from the island this day…

To see you home.

[enbylestat]

They Build Coffins: The Whumps of March 2024

They Build Cofiins

the beginning.

Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/an original character of mine, Lestat de Lioncourt/an original character of mine (implied), Nathan Hale & Benjamin Tallmadge (mentioned), The Culper Ring and Benjamin Tallmadge & George Washington.

Rating: E - explicit. standard reminder to read tags and if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Major character death warning!

Summary: Hurt no comfort/whump, America loses the war for independence, and the debt is paid back in blood.

Excerpt: Benjamin Tallmadge – John Bolton or 721 , if you like knew precisely what he was doing. It was one of the rare instances he possessed a semblance of self-assuredness. The cause, the social and political revolution that had started in 1775 at Lexington and Concord was losing. Tallmadge had gone to New Orleans for help. There’d been trouble on the road, a blonde dandy named Lestat and Benjamin had come to blows – they’d narrowly avoided murdering each other at pistol point. At least de Lioncourt had let him go.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Playlist.

Link of links.

Archive of our own.

[melpomeneprose]

… presented with minimal comment.

Ben and Caleb, early season one (for @morticia-mia)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losing anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinking, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fucking suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

[darkpeacemusic]

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕪𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤: 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤

Jeff the Killer - Jeffrey "Jeff" Alan Dan Woods

Homicidal Liu - Liuis "Liu" Victoria Woods

Sully - Sullivan "Sully" Akira Woods

Randy - Randall "Randy" Allen Warren

Keith - Keith Harvey Davis-Green

Troy - Troy John Green

Ben Drowned - Benjamin "Ben" Scott Lawman

Jane - Jane Todd Richardson-Vaughn

Mary - Mary Annabelle Vaughn

Ticci Toby - Tobias "Toby" Erin Rogers

Masky - Timothy "Tim" Buck Wright

Hoodie - Brian Hunter Thomas

Skully - Jay Gabriel Merrick

Kate the Chaser - Kate Eleanor Milens-Hayes

Charlie - Charles Matheson Jr.

Laughing Jack - Laughing Jack in a Box

Eyeless Jack - Jackson "Jack" Nicky Nyras

Slenderman - Simon (middle and last name unknown) (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Splendorman - Jim (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Trenderman - Beau (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Tenderman - Cedric (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Sally - Sally Maryam Dawn (formerly Williams)

Dr Smiley - Azerael Jesse Smiley

Nurse Ann - Annie "Ann" Lusen Mia

Nina - Nina Selene Hopkins

Candy Pop - Unknown

Candy Cane - Unknown

April Fools - Unknown

Jason the Toymaker - Jason Caleb Meyer

The Puppeteer - Jonathan Cole Blake

Clockwork - Natalie Priscilla Ouellette

Rouge - Heather Bridget Marshall

Wilson - Wilson Liam Marshall (neé Jones)

Zalgo - Z͠a̛'l͘ga̶t҉ot̡h

Queen Blackheart (oc) - Elizabeth Cindy Phillips (name prior to death)

Lazari - Lazari Natalie Swann

Stripes - Eloise Sarah Bellarose (name prior to her death)

Nathan - Nathan Maxwell Lux

Bloody Painter - Helen Delilah Otis

Kagekao - Unknown

Laughing Jill - Laughing Jill in a Box

Sadie - Sadie Marie Bennett

Hobo Heart - Unknown

Cat Hunter - Rodrigo Milo Ortiz

Chris the Revenant - Christine "Chris" Wendy Meyers

X-Virus - Cody Larkin Drake

Dollmaker - Erina Jezebel Kerenzalys

Frankie the Undead - Frankie Hades Asher (his real name prior to his death)

Judge Angels - Dina Angela Clark

Lifeless Lucy - Lucy Ava Jones

Lost Silver - Ethan Kin Fuji (his real name before his death)

Glitchy Red - Red (his real name remains a mystery)

Strangled Red - Steven Garrett Stoughton

Dr. Locklear - Evander Agnar Locklear

Lulu - Lucille "Lulu" Tiffany Greatfeil

Killing Kate - Katherine "Kate" Evelyn Knight

Screaming Dawn (oc) - Dawn Evelyn Woods

Will Grossman - William "Will" Gordon Grossman

Lulling Lauren - Lauren Robyn Ross (neé Evans)

CR - Carl Morton Ross

Emra - Emra Amelia Blake (neé Albridge)

Zero - Alice Marie Jackson

Slendrina - Charlotte (first name prior to death/experimentation)

Lily - Lily May Kennett

Nightmare Ally - Adeline "Ally" Ashley Abendroth

Zachary the Proxy - Zachary Julius Gibson

Oliver - Oliver Gorgon Henderson

Alex Kralie - Alexander "Alex" Joseph Kralie

Amy - Amy Callie Walters

Jessica - Jessica Ellie Locke

Seth - Seth Apollo Reid-Wilson (neé Wilson)

Sarah - Sarah Cassie Reid-Wilson (neé Ried)

Third Base - Richard "Doby" Vincent Doggers

Vailly - Vailly Suki Evans

[elenavr13]

Darkiplier/Damien Playlist (Updated)

172 songs

Evermore- Dan Stevens

Everybody Wants To Tule the World- Lorde

Control- Halsey

Gasoline- Halsey

Dynasty- MIIA

Judas- Lady Gaga

Take Me To Church- Hozier

Castle- Halsey

Sing To Me- MISSIO

Kamikazee- MISSIO

Panic Room- Au/Ra

Isolate- Sub Urban

Elastic Heart (Rock Cover)- Written by Wolves

Crossfire- Stephen

Dead!- My Chemical Romance

Stressed Out- Twenty One Pilots

Look What You Made Me Do- Taylor Swift

Smooth Criminal- Michael Jackson

The Voice of Darkiplier- Markiplier

I’ll Be Good- Jaymes Young

I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

Do I Wanna Know- Arctic Monkeys

In His Eyes- Jekyll & Hyde (musical)

Can You Feel My Heart- Bring Me to the Horizon

Feeling Good- Michael Buble

Can You Feel My Heart x Favorite Dress (slowed)- Miro remix

My Demons- Starset

Achilles Come Down- Gang of Youth

Monster- Skillet

What’s the Use of Feeling Blue- Caleb Hyles

Where I Want to Be- Chess in Concert

Can’t Help Falling In Love- Ice Nine Kills

The American Nightmare- Ice Nine Kills

A Grave Mistake- Ice Nine Kills

Left Behind- DAGames

Farewell II Flesh- Ice Nine Kills

Below the Surface- Griffinilla

The Wrecked and the Worried- NateWantsToBattle

You Can’t Take Me Anywhere- NateWantsToBattle

Goner- Twenty One Pilots

You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid- The Offspring

Fake You Out- Twenty One Pilots

Miss You- Corpse

Epoch- The Living Tombstone

In the End- Linkin Park

Me, Myself & Hyde- Ice Nine Kills

The World In My Hands- Ice Nine Kills

Popular Monster- Falling In Reverse

Monster- Imagine Dragons

What I Could Have Been- Sting

Hushh- AViVA

Phantom of the Opera

Darkside- NEONI

Broken- DNMO & Sub Urban

Killer In the Mirror- Set It Off

Doubt- Twenty One Pilots

I’m Not Okay- My Chemical Romance

Friends on the Other Side- Princess and the Frog

Poison- WE ARE THE FURY

Apologize- One Republic

My Lullaby (metal cover)- Jonathan Young

I See Red (slowed)- Everybody Loves an Outlaw

Tear In My Heart- Twenty One Pilots

I Hate Everything About You- Three Days Grace

F.L.Y- Ice Nine Kills

Migraine- Twenty One Pilots

Car Radio- Twenty One Pilots

Demons- MISSIO

Snakes- PVRIS & MIYAVI

Villain- KDA

Royalty- Egzod & Maestro Chives ft. Neoni

The Red Means I Love You- Madds Buckley

Loser- Neoni

Not Ready To Die- Avenged Sevenfold

I Want You- Mitski

Poltergeist- Corpse

Life Waster- Corpse

All Of Me (slowed)- John Legend

Young And Beautiful- Lana Del Rey

Dark Paradise (slowed)- Lana Del Rey

How Villains Are Made- Madalen Duke

Love and War- Fluerie

Dark Things- Adona

Wicked Game- Ursine Vulpine

Neptune- Sleeping At Last

Enemy- Tommee Profitt

Far From Home (The Raven)- Sam Tinnesz

City Of The Dead- Eurielle

Throne- Saint Mesa

Paint it, Black- Ciara cover

Man Or A Monster- Sam Tinnesz

Dark On Me- Starset

Hell’s Comin’ With Me- Poor Mans Poison

Wires- The Neighbourhood

Liquid Smooth- Mitski

Little Dark Age- MGMT

Devil In Disguise- Elvis (LLusion)

Toxic- 2WEI

Dark Room- Foreign Figures & EJ Michels

Heathens- Twenty One Pilots

Dance With The Devil- Breaking Benjamin

Black Out Days- Phantogram

Somewhere Only We Know- Keane

Monsters- Ruelle

Whispers In The Dark- Skillet

Salvaged- NateWantsToBattle

Saint Bernard- Lincoln

F*ck You- Silent Child

I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead- Thomas Borchert, Brandi Burkhardt

Broken Inside- Broken Iris

Sweet Dreams- Besomorph

EVIL- AViVA

Saints- Echos

Screaming Bloody Murder- Sum 41

Dandelions (slowed)- Ruth B

Master Mirror- Ashley Serena

Everyday A Little Death- The Count of Monte Cristo

FREAK- Jordan Friction

Broken (slowed)- lovelytheband

Michelle- Sir Chloe

Like A Villain- BAD OMENS

If It’s Vengeance You Want- Unlike Pluto

Monster- Fight The Fade

Listen Before I Go- Billie Eilish

Mary On a Cross (slowed)- Ghost

R.I.F.P.- MOTHICA

Nervous- Lola Blanc

Unravel- Johnathan Young

Lost In Paradise- Evanescence

Lies- Evanescence

Haunted- Laura Les

Dread- Unlike Pluto

Monsters- Shinedown

Black Soul- Shinedown

Sorrow- Sleeping At Last

Seeing Red- Saint Chaos

Villain- Bella Poarch

Lithium- Nirvana

Smells Like Teen Spirit- Nirvana

Down With The Sickness- Disturbed

Animal I Have Become- Three Day Grace

Greed- Godsmack

One of Us is the Killer- The Dillinger Escape Plan

All The King’s Horses- Karmina

Gilded Lily- Cults

Haunted & Unwanted- NateWantsToBattle

Symbol of My Regret- NateWantsToBattle

In My Head- NateWantsToBattle

Vendetta- Unsecret & Krigare

Nothing To Me- NateWantsToBattle

Chasing Cars- Sleeping At Last

Villain- MISSIO

Used to the Darkness- Des Rocs

Unforgiven- Ghost Nation

Monster- Starset

Eight- Sleeping At Last

Already Gone- Sleeping At Last

Devilish- The Phantoms

Motherland- Reach

Falling Away From Me- Korn

Just a Man- Jorge Rivera-Herrans & EPIC Ensemble

Something Wicked- Starset

Darkness in Me- Fight The Fade

I Would Die for You- In This Moment

Eye For An Eye- Rina Sawayama

Psycho in my Head- Skillet

Done With Everything- Line So Thin

Monster- Besomorph

Twisted Games- Night Panda, Krigarè

Killer Inside of Me- Willyecho

King For A Day- Pierce The Veil ft. Kellin Quinn

someone i’m not- Layto

[queerquaintrelle]

I am so sorry…

Ok, so i was rewatching Spy Kids with my younger cousins and I was wondering: What If Turn: Washington’s Spies somehow teleported to the future and they witnessed the pure nostalgia that is Spy Kids 1 and 2? it would be so chaotic lmao

I’d unironically read a fic like that lmao

WAIT WHAT IF THEY WITNESSED SPY X FAMILY OR LITERALLY ANY OTHER SPY RELATED MEDIA ??

i just realized i just described feeding them propaganda from the future lmao

[knowltonsrangers]

theoretically pt.6

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x F!reader

[ part one , part two , part three , part four , part five ]

Throughout the night, Ben remained still as a tomb in the desk chair, chin resting in his hand as he stares distractedly at the cot. Watching as you wrapped yourself up in the thin sheet to attempt to seek heat amongst the brimming snowstorm outside.

He couldn’t stop himself, the thoughts spinning around in his mind wouldn’t allow him sleep, lest not anytime soon. The feeling of guilt ate him away, the waking thought that the General had left this decision to him, such a heavy responsibility terrified him. While he was eager to please his superior, he wanted do right by you, for whatever the purpose may be.

And what that meant, he wasn’t entirely sure. Subconsciously, he knew he could never just toss you into town when it came time to move camp. With how confused you were, he couldn’t bear the thought of you wandering aimlessly in streets you didn’t call home.

Why were his thoughts so loud in his head? Typically, on nights like these, he’s happy to welcome the opportunity to sleep, blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. Tonight, it seemed he’s not going to get much rest, if any.

“Hm,”

He ponders aloud, shifting uncomfortably in the wooden furniture. Ben hated to make rash decisions, he relished in the safety of careful and calculated moves, and yet, here he didn’t have that luxury, to make one that would hold your fate in his hands.

Hastily, he turns back to his desk, beginning to draw up a proper course of action, something he can slip Caleb without having to exchange any verbal words amongst the camp.

He needed a second opinion on this, and it wasn’t going to come from you.

“I like yer pants, y/n. Where’d ya find ‘em?”

Somehow, you ended up a shivering mess in the middle of the woods, hands running along your upper arms to try and regain some warmth. Ben and the newly met Caleb had been chattering about what to do, and their conversation seemingly ended as the brunette turns to you.

“Oh? Um—“

You turn around to try and see where the logo was, forgetting yourself for the moment.

“They’re probably from Aerie—oh. You don’t know what that is. Right.”

Ben gives Caleb a look as if to say: ‘I told you so!’ And the shorter man replies with a face of dumbfounded curiosity.

“Don’t ya know what you have here, Ben?”

He exclaims excitedly, shuffling a step closer to you as your teeth begin to chatter.

“And what might that be?”

“If you say someone who can help you win the war, it’s a hard no.”

Caleb visibly deflates, spinning around to give you the saddest look you’ve ever seen on a man, his bottom lip actually jutting out slightly.

“Aw, why the hell not?”

“‘Cause I don’t know anything about the American Revolution. I know enough to skate by an Early American History class, but not enough tiny details.”

You shrug.

“And besides. Not really a good idea to mess with the black hole I probably fell out of.”

“Wassat?”

“Oh, forget it, will you? I asked you for help, not to turn this into some sort of solution to the war.”

Ben interjects, white snow beginning to scatter around the fallen leaves and dirt.

“Can I please get a jacket, I am going to freeze my butt off.”

Caleb chuckles, immediately shrugging off his outer leather coat before Ben can properly react. He tosses the material around your body, your shoulders basically melting at how warm the heavy black jacket felt.

“O-oh, I didn’t mean—“

“S’alright. Ye looked like a leaf.”

Smiling in thanks, you happily sink a little deeper into the article of clothing.

“That problem being solved, what am I to do when camp is set to move in a few days?”

Ben’s hands come to his hips, almost impatiently.

“Washington wishes for a solution by tonight. Think you can get out of here for the time being?”

Caleb bobs his head, mulling the question over before giving a hum of approval.

“Yeah, I think so. Where do ya have in mind?”

“Wait, I’m leaving?”

A slight ring of worry laces your words, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Just for now, y/n. I haven’t quite decided what I am to do with you, but I need the General to think you’ve left.”

“Why’s that?”

“If I keep you here any longer—“

“Yer going to raise some eyebrows, miss.”

Caleb finishes.

“Oh? In a good way or a bad way?”

Ben, unamused, becomes even more so as Caleb throws his head back in a belt of laughter.

“I like ‘er! I wouldn’t mind a bit takin’ you across the sound for the night.”

“I like you too,”

Offering Caleb a small smile, you then swallow thickly.

“I know I don’t have a say.”

You next turn to Ben, watching the way his eyes read you inquisitively.

“But I trust you. And if you trust Caleb, and think it’s best, then I have to trust your decision.”

“y/n.”

The blonde sighs, hands falling from his hips as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“I trust Caleb with my life. But please, don’t think I’m doing this because I want to. I’m doing it because I don’t have any other options.”

You sniffle, looking up at him from under thick lashes.

“Fresh outta those?”

It makes your heart leap for joy when he finally gets one of your jokes.

“Yes. So it would seem.”

Caleb looks between the two of you, smiling to nobody but himself as he begins to outline his plan.

“I’ll keep her safe, Benny,”

He needn’t to ask, but it reassured him nonetheless.

“I’ll likely see you tomorrow night then, y/n. Be well.”

It’s the bitter air that was full of hesitation and fear, but you decided it was best to make the move on your own volition.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”

You joke breathlessly, a slight skip in your step as you walk over to the Major, just as he turned to leave.

“That’s hardly any advice, I—“

He’s stunned speechless as you wrangle him into the quickest side hug you’ve ever given, squeezing him tight before letting him go.

Ben, unfairly, never had any time to respond.

“Ahem. That’s not very good advice, y/n. I would never do anything you would do.”

With an amused smile twitching on his lips, he bids you and Caleb farewell before heading back through the woods, likely to the General.

“Ready to go, y/n?”

Caleb asks from beside you, a slight tremor in your voice as you watch the Major until he disappears behind some trees.

“Yeah. Ready.”

[amberlynnmurdock]

Interlaced

Pairing: Ben Tallmadge x Reader

Genre: FLUFFFFF 

Summary: This is my submission for the Valenturn’s Day event! by @viola-ophelia​ I’ve never done an event on here so I am happy to contribute! I went with “setting: by the water” and “letter writing.” These were not the original blocks I chose but I randomly got inspired one day and wrote this. I know I am late LOL but life is crazy. There’s not really a plot to this but I hope this is something anyone can enjoy <3

I also made this header on Canva LOL I can’t wait for the next Turn event!!! 

WARNING: it’s really cheesy im sorry i mean what can i say it’s valentine’s day likeeee!!!! 

Ao3 Link 

Benjamin Tallmadge sat quietly at his desk, quill in one hand, a piece of your lace dress in the other. You had cut a corner of your dress for him, a piece of you for him to take on his long journey. Ben smiled at the memory that happened not too long ago in his tent.

“Open your hand and close your eyes,” you whispered next to him on his cot. Ben gave you a suspicious smile, mischief in his deep blue eyes, and listened. He leaned on his elbow and opened his left hand.

You place something soft in the palm of his hand. You closed his fingers around it, making a fist. For a moment, you don’t say anything. You look at his knuckles—lightly bruised. It perplexed you how such hands could face battle and violence but in moments like this, be soft and gentle. You imagined his hands in battle: shaking, hard, his finger on the trigger of a musket, knuckles bloody from hitting an enemy. And at the same time, these were the same hands that caressed your face lovingly, the same fingers that brushed your bottom lip, the same ones that always found their way between your legs…

You tried not to ponder it too much. You didn’t want to get this emotional—especially on the eve of his departure.

“You may open,” you tell him.

Ben opens his eyes to find a soft piece of white lace perfectly cut like a long ribbon. Ben looked quizzical at it at first, and you laughed at his confusion.

“It’s a piece of my dress,” you explain, “think of it as a piece of me to take with you on your long journey.”

Your words were slowly tearing his heart apart. It was unfair you had to fall in love this way, in the middle of a war. Or maybe, this was just what the two of you needed. But still—no sentiment could change the fact that you both had no idea what the future held for your love.

“Thank you,” was all he could say at the moment.

And now, Ben sat at his table, his bed still messy from how you both laid. You only left about an hour ago, when the camp was at its most quiet, and Ben had you leave from the back.

He carefully laid the lace down on his desk, you at the forefront of his mind. He wanted to leave you with something while he was gone, and what better than a love letter, he thought. A surprise message, left at your tent, for you to come back to.

————

The morning of his departure, Ben carefully tied the piece of lace around one of the buttons on his waistcoat, cleverly hidden underneath his blue uniform.

He was ready.

————

It had been two weeks since Ben left with the dragoons. And with each day that passed, dealing with his absence didn’t get easier. You had no way of knowing if he was okay, unwounded, or even alive. It was hard to think of that but it was true: this was the reality the two of you lived in. Unknown territory.

As you folded the laundry in Anna’s tent, you remembered his last words to you.

“I promise I will come back to you,” Ben kissed your knuckles before wishing you goodnight. “I don’t break promises.”

And then, the next morning, you saw an envelope at the foot of your tent.

You haven’t opened it yet.

Deep in thought, you hadn’t realized how aggressively you were folding the clothes. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Ben and the anticipation was starting to become unbearable if it wasn’t already.

“Are you all right?” Anna’s voice called your name from afar. Startled, you stopped what you were doing. Anna came to your side and placed a loving hand on your arm.

“I’m fine,” you lie, straight through your teeth.

Anna sighs. She knows better, and you know it too. But you weren’t one to spill your feelings, even to your friends… there were bigger issues in the world, for Christ’s sake! There are men putting their lives on the line every day for the cause, and here you were, moping, upset like a little girl because you missed Ben.

“You know, it’s all right to be vulnerable every now and then,” Anna spoke after a pause.

“No! I can’t! It’s not my place to be vulnerable, especially on this camp,” you couldn’t help but break down right in front of Anna, covering your face with your hands. She moves you to sit down, and as she helps you lower, Anna notices the corner of the envelope in your front dress pocket.

“What’s that?” Anna asks, pointing to it. Bleary-eyed, you shake your head and push it further down your pocket.

“It’s a letter from Ben. He left it at my tent opening. He must’ve dropped it either right after I saw him or right before he left.”

“Have you read it? Maybe it’s something to soothe your worries?” Anna asks with sincerity. Her big brown eyes were filled with worry as she looked at you in distraught.

You shook your head, wiping tears away. “No. I haven’t mustered the strength.”

Anna let out a deep sigh. “Well, you aren’t going to get any better until you read his letter,” she soothed, placing a hand on your knee. You nodded your head. You knew she was right.

“It’s just—I’ve put it off because I don’t want this to be the last I have of him. I honestly didn’t want to read it until he was back. I don’t know. I’m scared of all this uncertainty. I shouldn’t have come here,” you confess to Anna, pulling the letter out of your pocket and flipping it in your hands. It was sealed with blue wax. The corners of the envelope began to crinkle. You’ve carried it with you every day since you got it, but you haven’t opened it yet. It was tempting every day, but you felt held back. Because after you’ve opened and read it, then what?

“I think it’s time to read it,” Anna told you, “you need fresh air, not to be surrounded by other people’s clothes. Take a walk by the river, and read his letter. He wrote it for you for it to be read.”

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes. You knew Anna was right. You nodded your head and recomposed yourself, tucking the letter back safely in your pocket.

“I guess I will do that.”

————

It was late in the afternoon. The sun was almost ready to set. You could hear Ben’s voice in the back of your mind; “If I’m not on the camp, make sure to be back in your tent before it gets dark.” You smiled, thinking of how worried he looked when he said this, blue eyes wide and so serious. He was always serious when talking about your safety. It made you smile.

You found a spot right next to the river. You crossed your legs as you sat on the grass. For a moment, you watch the river flow. A small breeze passed and you shivered as the temperature began to drop. You took a deep breath before pulling the envelope out.

Slowly opening the wax seal, you pull out the pages of his letter, and you are surprised by the amount that’s in there. About eight pages were folded together. You opened your mouth in disbelief—it looked like he wrote a short story. He must’ve wasted so much ink just for you.

Dear __,

After spending a lovely night with you, and receiving such a touching gift to take with me, I felt compelled to leave you with something as well. I can’t give you what you deserve—a bouquet of roses, a tailored dress, jewelry—but I can give you my words. I know these next few weeks will be tough for us both and I will miss you terribly. I wish I could make things different but I can’t—not yet. But just know that every day I am out in the field I am fighting for our country, for us. And I make it my mission to come back to you every time. I won’t fail you, ever. And if I do, then you can curse my name that I ever was the reason to cause you heartache.

I’ve written a message for every day that I am gone, that you can read in order, to fill my absence. A message for you every day from me. Please don’t look ahead at the dates, I don’t want the messages to be spoiled. I want you to be surprised every day. I wrote these as if I was writing them the day of.

I love you and can’t wait to return to you.

You let out a short gasp at his words—how idiotic of you, to put off reading these damned messages! You scrambled to go onto the next page. Attached was a smaller rectangular piece of paper, assumed to be used to cover the dates’ messages so as to not be spoiled. Tears formed in your eyes, how thoughtful of Ben.

You devoured the first few messages. They started very simple and light-hearted, and he always signed it as Yours Truly, Ben.

Day 3:

I hope you are taking care of yourself, my love. And please remember to be aware of what’s around you. I hope today you have a good day. Please tell Anna I said hello. I am glad you have each other when Caleb and I aren’t around.

Please know you are always in my thoughts. I miss you desperately. I wish I could have you in my arms right now.

The messages following were in the same light: Ben hoped you were having a good day, he can’t wait to see you again… but the messages for the more recent days had a different tone.

Day 10:

I want you to picture something for me. Picture a large white house with large windows. And blue window sills. Picture a large front yard. I always wonder what flowers you would want to grow. I always picture you on the porch, reading.

I imagine this life with you all the time. We won’t be separated for long.

I promised you I would always come back to you.

Day 14:

I want you to know that no matter what I do out here, you are always at the center of my mind. I know this isn’t easy—the risk of it all, the secrecy. But for me, it’s worth it—it’s got to be worth it, if one day I imagine us on our own land, together, not in secrecy. This is my other promise to you, my love—that I will give you the life you deserve.

You devoured every word he wrote, every message. You laughed at some, and with a message like this, you cried. It felt liberating to finally read them and you kicked yourself for not opening them sooner. What were you so afraid of?

After a short while, you folded the papers back and carefully placed them in the envelope. It was getting darker by the second. You placed the envelope in your lap and closed your eyes for a bit, taking in the sounds of nature and thinking about how you couldn’t wait to see Ben.

Ruffling.

You tense in your seat and open your eyes. On edge, you remember Ben’s words, to get back in your tent before it’s dark. You gather yourself quickly and place the envelope in your pocket and stand up.

Turning around, you let out a scream when your eyes fall on a certain soldier in blue.

Ben stood less than five feet before you. Oh, you’re shaking from the cold now—uncontrollably. The sight of him in his tattered blue jacket, silver tassels shining in the moonlight, was so overwhelmingly unexpected you didn’t know what to do. From the look on his face, you could see he was tired. His deep blue eyes looked half-closed and his smile was faint. His normally kept-up hair was falling loose from his braid—concern stirred in you all at once—did he fight today? His hand fell lazily on his sword at his side and the other loosely held his helmet. His yellow pants were covered in dirt.

He takes in the sight of you and softly smiles. He whispers your name.

When he sees you walking toward him, he drops his helmet to the ground and immediately embraces you with strong arms. You cry into his shoulder, holding him tight against you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, hushing you.

“It’s too late for you to be here alone. Anna told me I’d find you here,” Ben speaks aloud.

You don’t answer. You cry into his shoulder.

“Shh,” Ben whispers, “it’s all right, now.” Ben nuzzles his cold nose on your temple and kisses you softly there.

When you pull back, you meet his eyes and smile in relief. It had been too long since you’d been this close to Ben. He rests his forehead against yours. You touch his uniform, not caring it’s covered in dirt. When you place your hands on his chest, underneath his blue jacket, you feel something familiar under your fingertips.

Realizing that it was the piece of lace you gave him, that you nearly forgot about, you gasp.

“I wrapped it there the night I left you,” Ben stated, “it stayed on me the whole time.”

You smile in return, kissing his jaw. Ben places a comforting hand on the small of your back, the other grazing his fingers along your cheek.

“Did you read my letters?” He asks you earnestly.

“All of them,” you nod, “just now,” you admit to him. He furrows a brow, confused.

“I couldn’t muster the strength. I didn’t want it to be the last I had of you, God forbid anything happened. I wanted to save them for as long as I could,” you confess, feeling guilty for putting them off for so long. Ben shakes his head and hushes you again.

“It’s okay,” he tells you. Ben’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say, because he knows how much his absence has hurt you, has hurt him, and the best he could do was pre-write letters to you. And you deserved so much more than that.

But the only thing you could promise each other was the lace you gave him and the letters he wrote you. They mean much more than what they are—a premonition of the future. Interlaced by something stronger than wax and being tied together—love.

[melpomeneprose]

♫— I come over, quarter past two, love in my eyes. Blinded by you, just to get a taste of heaven, I'm on my knees…