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[spawksstuff]

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[runwayrunway]

No. 51 - Alaska Airlines

This is one of my most requested posts. Apparently, a very significant portion of my readers fly Alaska Airlines!

That tracks. Alaska Airlines is the fifth largest airline in the US. A sort of anti-Flair, they are supposedly the least complained-about full-service carrier in the US. They are also one of five remaining US legacy carriers, along with American Airlines, Delta Air Lines, Hawaiian Airlines, and United Airlines. They operate a massive network primarily on the US West Coast, with bits branching out into nearby slices of the Americas. As one might surmise from prior knowledge of the size and population of Alaska, they're actually mostly based in Seattle.

Now, when it comes to their livery, there's one thing that stands out. At least, it stood out to me, and I'm sure at least some of you have had this thought too.

That is a human person's face on the tailfin. But who does that face belong to, and why is it on the Alaska Airlines fleet? This is precisely the sort of trivia I think anyone who knows me would expect me to be able to just rattle off, but actually...I don't know, and neither, as far as I can tell, does anyone else. Isn't that weird?

(By the way, it is indeed Alaska Airlines. I have always found that somewhat unintuitive. It's just not how you're used to hearing things phrased, right? It's Possessive Noun Airlines, Air Noun. America Airlines would sound weird. Alaska Airlines sounds weird. I am never surprised when people mistakenly say Alaskan Airlines, but it's Alaska Airlines. Just so we're all on the same page.)

Alaska's a bit of a hard place to navigate. Big empty place, lots of ice, lots of mountains, islands, trees...not very much asphalt. That's even true now, but it used to be way truer, and even back then people did still live there. And there's a lot of things those people might maybe like to have, like medical care, or food, or just the hypothetical possibility of getting somewhere without having to get the snowshoes out. In that sense, Alaska is a really perfect place for aviation to flourish.

More or less as early as physically possible, when there were planes available that weren't requisitioned for the first World War or owned by the ultra-rich, people were flying in Alaska. In a lot of ways the basic landscape hasn't changed that much. With its surplus of difficult environments and paucity of actual tarmac Alaska's harsh wilderness is an environment only suited for "bush" flying, using smaller, more rugged airplanes specialized for the environment. Some of the most popular models of bush plane are very old, not that dissimilar to what you'd see in the 50s and 60s - apparently, they just don't make them the same anymore, and as long as you don't get your de Havilland Beaver crunched horribly into the side of a mountain there's just nothing that can replace it. Alaska is full of planes on floats, planes on skis, and taildraggers on tundra tires, most of them high-wing and piston-engined. Bush pilots are a unique sort, often doing work that's neither glamorous nor lucrative (nor safe, with Alaska having two to five times the accident rate of the lower 48) but undeniably necessary.

That's not as true of Alaska Airlines. They have a modern fleet, a good safety record except for that one time, and as a category III carrier they make over a billion dollars in revenue each fiscal year, meaning their finances aren't too strained (except for that one time). Unlike the local carriers that connect remote parts of Alaska to resources and to major cities, Alaska Airlines connects Alaska to the rest of the nearby world. (Though it also does short, multi-stop milk run flights.) It's a necessary part of the ecosystem, helping to keep Alaska's beautiful but hostile terrain from getting in the way of daily life. Before they became Alaska Airlines, though, they were far more similar to what you might expect of...Alaska airlines.

Image: Roy S. Dickson

In 1932, a man with the fantastic name 'Linious McGee' started his very own airline. You could just do that back then. In 1934 it was merged into Star Air Service, another tiny airline. Star Air Service had also been founded in 1932, born from the flight-school-starting dreams of a wealthy miner with the similarly wonderful name 'Wesley Earl Dunkle'. Apparently Star had its first ever aircraft, a Fleet B-5 biplane, brought to Alaska by steamship, which I just find fairly interesting. I guess this was before you could even ferry an airplane directly to Alaska by air. They ate up a few other small airlines (and their routes), and in 1943 they won a small scuffle against another pretender to formerly rebrand themselves as Alaska Airlines. So it's been 80 years of that now!

They've gone from flying Curtiss Robins, Ford Trimotors, and Lockheed Vegas to flying basically only 737s, save a few vestigial A320 family aircraft acquired when merging with Virgin America which they plan to phase out by the end of 2024. Their livery is also on E175 regional jets operated by Horizon Air and SkyWest. The airplanes flying for them number around 300. That's incredibly large even by the standards of major airlines (not even counting the SkyWest planes that have the livery).

The Alaska Airlines livery is not breaking any molds and I need to say that upfront. This is a very straightforward pattern I've taken to calling the Lufthansa Declined, or the Lufthansa Line SAS Variation. (Because the push and pull of trend cycles in brand identity is basically comparable to chess, right? Maybe? No? Not really?) I've recently codified the concept of the Lufthansa Line, the straight line continuing where the tailfin left off to carve through the fuselage. This is a very common and very disappointing fuselage trope. The Declined, or SAS Variation, is named for an airline I specifically contrasted with Lufthansa from my very first post on this blog, SAS.

The SAS Variation simply curves this line outwards towards the front of the plane, stopping the cutoff from being quite so blunt and hopefully undoing the unbalancing effect somewhat. This can solve some of the nastier effects of Lufthansa Lines, particularly on shorter planes, but can also look very wonky if implemented without enough care. It's not always a big improvement, but it's definitely not the exact same thing, either, and it's this shape which Alaska Airlines attempts. Being introduced in 2016, this livery actually pre-dates SAS, but Delta and Lufthansa weren't starting their own namesake patterns either. The names aren't attributed based on innovation, but on formative status in my own specific understanding of airline liveries. SAS as contrasted to Lufthansa is the holotype for my creation of the taxon, and thus earlier liveries are retroactively SASlikes. Birds are dinosaurs and whales are ungulates. Taxonomy is imperfect and has to accommodate new discoveries within a sometimes unintuitive framework. That's just how it is.

I think they do better than many. The fact that they use so many colors, layered over each other, is crucial to the effect. It accomplishes similar things as a gradient might, transitioning from dark to light with minimal pain in the process.

Image taken from Alaska Airlines's very useful branding style guide.

The shades of blue and green used resemble the Aurora Borealis. I can't find anything confirming that this is intentional but I can't imagine it isn't. I think they're very nicely chosen. Different lightings can make the blue (Alaska's material calls it midnight blue, but it's technically Prussian blue) look anywhere from true vivid blue to more of a deep ocean color, which is one of my favorite shades. In particular, the very washed out yellowish green is an absolutely gorgeous choice for a highlight color. I like that the colors aren't given equal purchase, though, and that the green is used sparingly for highlight, and to create that lovely subtle 'halo' around the face on the tail. Sometimes less is more, and this is one of those cases. In fact, their own website states:

Midnight is our primary brand color, and should be used sparingly to avoid overuse—giving more prominence to the Alaska Airlines brand.

(They also note that they took specific efforts in the design process to make sure these colors had significant contrast between them to meet accessibility standards, which I really appreciate and want to see more of.)

For example, if the 'intermediate' blue colors took up more of the plane, or were separate from the green, I would probably not feel any real way about them. I definitely wouldn't think they were nice if they just did a standard Lufthansa Line block with each color individually expressed. But using them as a trim to a nice clear deep blue, overlapping each other in a way that's very carefully mapped out but seems at a glance essentially random, halfway to mixing, like the dark tail is melting slowly into the fuselage...that's nice. That adds something.

The partially-overlapping, brushlike curves are further expressed as swashes on the winglets and engines. What's interesting to me is that if you look closer you can see that the little curves are on both the inboard and outboard sides of each engine and winglet, so you get that consistent curve, hypothetically, no matter what angle you see it from. I do think I appreciate that. The curves are just never going to all line up, because airplanes are inconveniently three-dimensional and there are as many angles to view them from as there are Planck lengths at a distance where you can tell what it is you're seeing. This is a weakness in all liveries more detailed than a Braniff jellybean and adding the curves to even the side of the engine that you're usually not going to see is definitely an appreciated attempt to mitigate this. Does it work? Maybe not totally, but I see the effort.

While there's never a perfect syzygy into one continuous line, the curves seem like they're part of the same nebulous body from most angles. I appreciate this approach. I think making things look pretty good from most angles is worth more than making things look really good from one angle and awkward from all others. As they say, the perfect is the enemy of the good. I absolutely love the use on just the inside middle of the scimitar winglet, which I already think is a gorgeous feature that just elevates the MAX and retrofitted 737NGs compared to the vanilla model. It's distinctive and stylish, and the limiting of the color to just the lower half of the upper blade has a real restrained elegance to it - these slashes of color are all the more effective for the way they interact with the space around them.

Just look at these winglets. They're such a tiny feature. It's absolutely wild that I can be this in love with winglets, but there's just something about split scimitar wingtips that make me go completely wild. The amount of space and the interesting shape leaves so much more room for creativity than just about any other wingtip device. Alaska Airlines does have planes with other wingtip styles, and it uses those effectively too - covering the lower half of canted/blended winglets and fully encompassing the interior of less pronounced split winglets - but this is where they look their best.

Back to bad angles, though...

Alaska Airlines has a weird weak spot, and it's from the front and slightly above. All those gorgeous swoops on the winglets and nacelles are basically impossible to see due to their two-dimensional nature, and you can see how the colors don't fully cover the back of the fuselage. My normal policy is to judge liveries by their weakest link, but I honestly almost want to be lenient on this because of how unlikely it is that you're ever going to see an airplane from this angle. The only situations you're ever above an airplane in are ones you're basically never going to encounter as a regular passenger. Don't get me wrong, I still think this could have been designed in a way which eliminates this weak point, but as far as weak points go this is quite excusable. Is that what Thetis thought when she dipped her son in the Styx? Sure, probably, but I stand by my take. For a lot of liveries their worst angle is close to side-on, which is just fully experience-ruining. This? I'm okay with this, relatively speaking.

On the other hand, one of the better angles is one a lot more people will see - below and to one side. The taper of the different bands of color really prevents the awful jarring cutoff that Lufthansa Line and SAS Variation liveries often have, and I feel like they trick the eye into thinking up more of the fuselage is occupied than it really is. Also worth noting is that the grey underside, which resembles a shadow, is actually intentionally painted on, which is lovely. This is a feature common to the Deltalike livery trend that I outline at the start of my Southwest post, which I do think is one of the things that makes me honestly a bit sympathetic to Deltalikes when looking at them next to Lufthansalikes - at least there's an attempt to distribute visual detail evenly. Deltalikes were already a bit dated by 2016 (it was not the longest-lived trend, though it came at a time in my life perfectly positioned to make me think it was more prominent than it was) while SASlikes were on the rise, and this livery has aspects of each, but it feels less like a conflicted result of an intermediate period in dominant trends and more like something which intentionally pulled features from both where it thought they might work best. It's rare that I get this sense from a livery. That's the right way to use trends - as inspiration, not a template.

Alaska Airlines is definitely not a true Deltalike, and I would argue it's not a true SAS Variation either. (For the record, I would consider the 1998 SAS livery a Deltalike, funnily enough!) It incorporates features of both, which makes me feel uncomfortable classifying it definitively as either, though it's definitely more of a SASlike than not. For example, from the side it just is a SASlike, because the grey doesn't go high enough and isn't contrasting enough to be visible except from below. This is in contrast to actual Deltalikes, which have a thin but clearly visible line on the lower side where the underside's block of color bleeds out.

This grey color is also on the engine nacelles, although it is very subtle. This does bring up a minor gripe of mine, which is that the design on the pods cuts off at a bit of an awkwardly sharp angle, usually not worth remarking on but possible to notice from some angles if you are, say, a livery reviewer and you look at these things very closely. What I do like, though, is that the grey on the belly actively connects to the color on the tail, feeling like an extension of it instead of an awkward choice made to mitigate it.

The final specific feature of the livery I think I want to comment on is the wordmark. I really like the wordmark. It's not in their custom typeface, AS Circular, a Roboto-ish sans serif I'm not a gigantic fan of, although I really like their custom web icons. They also use Highest Praise by Adam Ladd, a fairly cheap commercially available font.

As for the wordmark itself, though, I can't seem to find what font it's based on! I have to say the original 1966 logo would be great if another airline were to use it, the 1972 is somehow giving supermarket chain, and the 1990 logo would be great if not for the weird way the K overlaps the A, which just feels sloppy and unprofessional. The 2014 and 2016 incarnations, though, are great. The 2016 one (designed by the firm Hornall Anderson) feels like a great update, just cleaning up the earlier version, though I somewhat miss the lightning-bolt S.

The placement is what I want to talk about, though. Placing a wordmark is more of an art than you might think - I'll show a couple examples of Alaska itself doing a slightly wonky job later - but when Alaska's placement is good it's great. It's one of the least cramped-looking wordmarks I've ever seen, feeling free and airy, spreading upwards above the window line. The descending line on the K and the trailing like on the A both create a feeling of freedom, like it could just keep going but doesn't want to, yet is tastefully restrained and doesn't actually overstep its bounds. I like the solid single color, and I like that it reaches almost to the engines, preventing that empty-forward-half feeling. The one thing I'll comment on for this set of images is that the left-to-right reading direction of English does mean that it looks distinctly worse seen from one side than the other. I much prefer the forward slant, which feels aerodynamic fitting with the motion of the plane, vs the alternative, in which it feels like the wordmark is trying to catch up with the aircraft's nose.

On shorter planes, though, Alaska fumbles a little. They choose to line up the wordmark with the engines instead of with the nose, creating an awkward look when it overlaps the door and nearly reaches the cockpit window. I would have leaned in the other direction were I them. This picture also demonstrates a strange feature which rears its head in certain lightings where the shading on the tailfin image makes it look almost wrinkled. I don't have anything to add to that or know how to solve it, but I need to point it out.

On a very long plane, conversely, the back half of Alaska's planes begins to feel that Lufthansa Line emptiness. The vast, vast majority of their planes are of a moderate enough length that neither issue is too overpowering, but I'm taking a wide view here! Also, the wordmark here seems to not be aligned with the engines, so...what's the idea?

Alaska Airlines is an interesting livery. More interesting than I thought I'd find it for sure. It's not just a SASlike with pleasing colors and a nice wordmark, it's a SASlike with thought put into features that can mitigate the inherent weaknesses of the SASlike. It doesn't always fully succeed, nor does it comprehensively fail, but it definitely tries.

At the end of the day, as usual, I wish there was less white. I'm sure it could have been done. I don't have an obvious solution in mind like I do for some hypothetical redesigns, so it's something I would have to think over and really dig into, but, like, Alaska Airlines makes more than a billion in revenue every year so I think that's reasonable to expect from them.

I initially started using the grading system as a way to categorize liveries without limiting myself to a very specific scale that I'll dither about for years and then change my mind about later, but it's started to end up in that role. I just don't know what better solution there is, so I'm going to continue trying to make it work. Alaska Airlines is a livery that I ultimately think I like, that I think is designed decently, but that is limited by the fact that a really good SASlike is still a SASlike - mostly white and rear-heavy. It's getting the most possible out of a flawed paradigm, and I've been inconsistent so far on how I rate a good SASlike or Lufthansalike because it causes me some legitimate cognitive dissonance.

I'm giving Alaska Airlines a provisional B-.

I think I might downgrade it to C+ later, which is why I say it's provisional. A good execution of something really limited - how do I even rate that? It's somewhere between tepidly good and better-than-average, which is a really awkward place to be. But that's probably a conversation for another day, because this post is long enough and I'm still not done.

Okay, I teased this earlier.

Him. Who is he?

The short answer: nobody knows. Not me, and not Alaska Airlines.

The long answer: deserves its own post. Both because it's long, and because I've hit image limit. And there will be images. Join me in tomorrow's bonus, where we climb our way through the rugged terrain of seemingly-lost history to attempt to put a name to this ubiquitous face.

[cafecourage]

Pinky Isn't Suffering - 8

All they wanted was to take a walk. Twilight realized that they weren’t in the same Era anymore pretty quickly. If anything, it now looked like his era, which got him excited for a second but also on high alert. Last time they split up in his era they were attacked. He didn’t realize he was sticking closer to Pinky until he heard a twig snapped and he brought her to his side instantly.

An old wolf steps out of the bushes.

“Wolf…ie?” Pinky looked between the wolf and Twilight. The wolf was a carbon copy, just older. Twilight had a shocked look on his face. He couldn’t understand why there was an older looking him.

Well… him as a wolf?

Wolfie sat down and looked at the two of them before almost sighing and de-transformation. Shadows danced and grew into a person standing tall. He was a bit taller than Twilight. Then the shadows dropped and an older man stood there. An older Twi stood there. “Hello there,” he smiles. Both of them were too confused and shocked to actually speak. Older Twilight notices but ignores to explain anything “I was looking for you two.”

“You’re..” Pinky’s brain started to finally work as she was putting the pieces together. “Twilight?”

Older Twi smiles, “yes Darlin’ I’m not sure why this happened but welcome to the future! Come let's go home for a bit.” It’s not like they had a choice not to follow him. Both of them were in an era they know little about. 

Even if it was Twilight’s home, things looked different but the same at the same time. Twilight couldn’t help but study the world around him. Pinky, however, was tense, not knowing what to think of everything. Twilight takes her hands in an attempt to comfort her. She squeezes back. “Where is your home?” He asks.

“Close by,” Older Twilight hums continuing forward. “Where are you two in this adventure? My wife was the one that remembered you guys are coming today.”

Pinky perks up, “your wife?” She sounded almost dejected. Older Twi laughed at hearing that small case of dejection.

He turns to walk backwards a bit, “my dear, you have no reason to fret about what you're about to see.”

“I wasn’t!” Pinky covered her face with her freehand but you could still see her blush.

Older Twilight let out one bark of laughter before turning around. “Right, Right.” He waves Pinky off. “Actually,” Older Twilight passes through the trees. 

“We are here.” In front of the trio was a fairly large horse and goat ranch. It looks very similar to Lon Lon Ranch and there is a part of Pinky that just assumed that's what it was called. As they got closer, they both saw a son and daughter running around on the other side of the fence.

They saw the group and gasped, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” The son screamed out as they ran into the house and out the door, down the road and straight into Older Twilight's arms. Following them was a pregnant woman that the two time travelers instantly realized was Pinky.

“Oh wow.” Twilight’s breath hitches as he stares at your older self. Somehow the years were super kind to you. You looked older, yes, but damn did you not look just as gorgeous.

Older Twilight couldn’t help but laugh at his younger reaction. “Pretty, ain’t she?” He smirked at his younger self's reaction. Walking up to Older Pinky, he leans in to give her a kiss.

“Welcome home.” She then gives her two kids both kisses of their own before their father lets them down. Older Pinky turned to the time travelers. “Welcome to the ranch you two!” She moves back inside letting them in. “Please come in.”

The house itself looks newish, probably not younger than 20 years old, but it was well lived in. Photos, books and maps lined the hallways and walls. Items and interesting nick nacks were on display as well.

They were mostly things from Twilight’s adventure but there were some from other Era’s too. “Do you want some tea? We just got Blueberry tea in.”

“Blueberry?” Pinky perked up, “please! It’s been awhile.”

Older Twilight came up besides Twilight leaning to whisper “a favorite.”

This snaps him out of his daze of this whole thing, “uh. Yeah. I’ll- I’ll remember that.”

This got a chuckle out of the other Rancher. “This is the dream, a bit of paradise.” He gestures around the house. “It’s like a piece of heaven huh?”

“You're telling me.” Twilight was almost breathless, “we didn’t even have our first kiss yet and now I’m finding out we are married to each other?” 

Older Pinky froze along with younger Pinky. Older Twilight being the now turned himbo that he is, couldn’t read the room. “Oh you did, it was when you had that mask on-“

“LINK!” Older pinky hissed out. “Why did you-“

This was the breaking point for pinky as she stood up suddenly “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“Pinky, wait-“ Twilight stopped as the older him put out an arm. “It’s my fault. I got this.” He walks off leaving the two alone.

Honestly he could have prevented this. He knew from his wife that she was stressed out from everything that had happened in the adventure. It was easy to find her behind the furthest shed. Older Twilight shifts to wolf form. A form that he has been frequenting for the children’s joy and amusement. 

But now he is here to make sure Pinky is ok.

Pinky… was not ok. She was crying as things finally were too much for her to handle. It broke his heart, but it didn’t stop him from shoving his head into her lap and getting comfy on top of her. “Wha- Wolfi- wait no- Link. Please.” She was quick to try to dry her eyes.

“Go back, I'm fine…” Older Twilight huffs as he flops his head down. He isn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. Not when his wife was upset. He wants to comfort the woman that means the world to him. Was that so bad? “I want to go home.” Tears started to fall once more. “I want to see my mom and brother again. I don’t want to leave them without a goodbye.”

A hand reached up and wiped away tears. “You will Darlin.” Pinky looked down to see older Twilight smiling up at her. “We see them every Friday.”

“How?” Pinky asked, still crying. “We live in two different worlds.” She puts a hand on his, “we can’t-“ She couldn’t argue that they couldn’t be together, because it was clear that they could be.

“Pumpkin, listen.” He gets up a bit and kisses her hand. “Everything will be ok. Trust me. All of this?” Older Twilight gestures to the well to do ranch. Briefly, she caught sight of a red and blue mark. “This is all in your- our future. I couldn’t be happier. I hope my wife feels the same.” He laughs awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and there clear as day was the same mark that Pinky had on her wrist. She bites her tongue as the deity’s words appear back in her mind.

They were soulmates.

Pinky looks down at her hands. Thinking about everything that has happened up until this point. If this was the future was that so bad?

She feels confident in the future. “Ok. I will trust you and... I will trust in this future.”

Older Twilight gives her a wolfish smirk, “good now.” He gets up and offers her a hand. “I think my beautiful, amazing, ever so loving wife was preparing some tea?”

Pinky instantly was blushing “I- yes let's go.” She grabs her hand and gets up. There was still some hesitation.

But looking around the ranch makes her feel so much love.

[regulushair]

Local niche perfume market-exhibition report:

Rose drama by Veta Perfume - chilly pepper and grapefruit at the top and feel fresh but give quite a tickle to your nose (mostly thanks the pepper probably), then opens up with very noticeable rose which stays for quite a while, but it's not there at the base which is very soft woody and a little bit sweet. A very nice scent, will probably try to return to it (found the brand's salon/boutique (?) in the city, so maybe I'll even go there).

High Voltage by Veta Perfume - I thought by the pyramid that it would be something like Morning Chess, but it's not - this one is much more smoky leather, with just a little bit of fresh citruses at the top (the leather is still there somewhere though), at the middle black currant is pretty noticeable and the base is somewhat similar to the previous one, maybe less sweet. Also really good.

Bird cherry by Inquisitive badger - neither the perfume nor the brand are on fragrantica, so you'd have to believe me on that one. It actually does give very guessable bird cherry but only at the top, because then it very quickly becomes black currant - the whole bush - berries and greenery with a lot of freshness and bite to it. Reminds you of country side and childhood. :)

Apples of Youth by Ladanika - wanted to try that one for a long while, since I wanted to feel something with realistic apples and it was definitely the right thing - this gives a whole apple garden - with trees, greenery and most importantly - ripe apples that you're picking right from the trees. With time it becomes more fresh apple juice or apple pie filling, but still very natural and realistic. I got a tester of this one, just couldn't leave without it.

Aurora by Ladanika - I'm not sure it gives me aurora borealis, but it definitely gives spring forest - with a lot of cold freshness and snow that's just starting to melt and trees that are barely warming up, maybe some very very first flowers - dewdrops and such starting to grow. Got this one too, but spontaneously.

Moscow Evenings by Ladanika - wanted to try this one because of the lilacs and they're definitely there and the whole thing is very nice and very much early summer garden on an evening when everything cools down after a hot day. Can't really distinguish other flowers, maybe except for linden blossom. I still want some pure lilacs more (*cough* Brocard *cough*) but this is good and might return to it.

Illusive rose by Incarna parfums - very very green and slightly sour rose. Which is good, but I can't really tell much more about it - good and simple.

La Fille de Berlin by Serge Lutens - this is from a decant making lady and I just couldn't pass it up - this is such an iconic rose - very fresh, with some greenery and geranium on support role. Decided if I want to start with roses - why not start with something amazing.

Figue Doree by D’Antol’ Parfums - well, this one is called golden fig and it has some beautiful legend about narrow streets of a small coastal Italian city and whatever not and at the top it works - citruses, a promise of figs - very fresh, but on my skin - I decided to leave the exhibition wearing this one - in like half an hour it said: "What? Fig leaves? Never heard of it, I'm literally aftershave," which was very disappointing, so I washed my hands (literally) and passed a regular perfume store on my way home and chose a more conventional figs.

Beautiful by Eisenberg - returned to this one and it didn't disappoint - juicy figs with woody side supported by cedar and sandalwood and fruity side supported by plums. Gave me naturally sweet juicy fruits all the way through (which was quite a few hours in a very warm weather), loved it. Goes to the long wish list (long, only because I already have a good fig in my collection - love you Sacred Earth).

[the-not-so-silent-back-up]

Until Full Moon

-1 -2 -3

Werewolf!(f)reader x Jaskier

note: I am reposting my own writting because I am planing to continue the Story. And I want my fic on my new Blog. And of coures a big Thank you to @the-winter-witcher for cheking my writting and @calamitycrowley, my beta-reader

description: Since a few month you are a werewolf, and you mostly hide in the woods because you know how dangerous you can become when it’s time. One day you meet Jaskier and Geralt. Unfortunately the witcher recently got the job to get rid of a werewolf. And that’s when it all begins

Chapter -1-

It was a sunny day, the birds were chirping, the wind was mild and fresh and the flowers were blooming in all of the colors imaginable. But Geralt wasn't in a good mood. He and Jaskier were wandering through a little village with Roach behind them. It wasn't even a village it were just a bunch of farmers living near each other.

Geralt knew that he will find no job here, and even if the farmers here had a problem with a monster they wouldn't hire a witcher, they don't trust him. How did he know? It's a mild summer day and there are no kids playing in the streets, no men working on the fields and no women anywhere to be seen. They all hide. They hide from the Butcher of Blaviken. 

Jaskier besides was also not in his best mood, he was stuck in writing a new song that he just couldn't finish properly. But he still looks at all the beauty in the world, he played his lute not for Geralt this time he played it for all the birds that were singing. But he didn't sing, because everytime he starts he remembers the song he couldn't finish. So this time he leaves the singing to the birds in the trees. 

They finally found an inn in the last village they crossed, with water for the the horse and cold ale for the men. 

Geralt wasn't in a talking mood, if he ever was. And Jaskier wasn't in the mood to play for people, today the birds were a much better audience. So the two just sat there drinking their ales in silence. 

Jaskier noticed three rough looking men coming in. They looked miserable. 

"this damn wolf" 

"shut up! You don't even have sheeps" 

"that doesn't matter. I don't want that fucking wolf near me" 

"you only care about yourself, what about my sheep and his cows" he pointed to the third man that didn't said anything yet. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt, but the Witcher wasn't interested. For him it sounds like a normal wolf and some dumb villagers that tried to hunt a wolf at the day. 

"Geralt"  the bard whispers "they are talking about one wolf, but the only wolves that hunt alone are werewolves" 

Fuck he is right. 

"Hmm" 

Jaskier turned to the men and asked them if they knew that they were trying to hunt a werewolf at the daytime. The men looked angry at the bard but after a few moments they saw Geralt in the corner. 

"What do you say Witcher?" 

Finally the silent one of them said something. 

"The bard is right. What you are talking about is definitely a werewolf." 

"Don't make these stupid faces. I told you it's a werewolf but you never listen to me." 

The first two men left without any words.

 "So Witcher how many coin for a werewolf?"

… 

 "Geralt?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Will we actually find tracks right now? I mean the last full moon was one day ago. So that werewolf is human till next month. Am I right?" 

"That's all true. But maybe we will find his hiding place" 

"His?" 

"Yes, only man become werewolves" 

"Oh I didn't know that. That is really interesting. Do you know why? Or is just that there are male and female monsters?..." 

"shh.." 

"Oh did you hear something? I am sorry. I almost forgot we on a hunt right…" 

"Jaskier!" 

"Oh yeah. I will be silent now" 

The witcher actually heard something, but now it's gone. But he is just tired of the day. So the dissimilar couple started to set up their camp for the night. 

Jaskier knew what he has to do. It's always the same after they set up the tent and decide what to eat, he is the one searching for firewood. While Geralt is either hunting for a rabbit or preparing the food they have left. 

So he makes his way into the woods, not too deep, after the one time he didn't find a way out at first and it was in the middle of the night he he finally returned, he had learned his lesson. 

He is gathering as much wood as he can find. But then all the wood he collected so thoroughly, falls all to the ground. Jaskier saw something he is familiar with, but didn't belong here at all. 

There you lied curled up unconscious, Naked. Half underneath a bush. 

Jaskier looked all around but didn't find any clue why you were here, the only thing he noticed was the little pile of clothes that was right next to you. He felt a bit uncomfortable, but mostly he was confused and concerned what happened to that young woman lying unconscious in the forest. 

He got  closer to you and was relieved when he saw you chest rising and sinking in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to carefully touch your shoulder. 

"Hey… Are you awake?" 

He almost whispers. 

It will get dark soon and he just can't leave you there, it was too dangerous. 

Now he takes both of your shoulders and shakes you a bit.

"You need to wake up. I don't know what happened to you,but I can't  just leave a girl like this in the forest at night."

His voice got louder. 

An unfamiliar voice is ringing in your ear, a man's voice with a tone of urge in it. You shake your head a little and hum a few inaudible words before you can open your eyes. 

You saw a man with dark hair and eyes blue as the sky in spring, who looks worried at you but most importantly he is holding you. 

You pushed him back because you knew what happened last night, you knew that you were totally naked and who knew if he isn't paid to find you and kill you. 

"Oh gods you are finally awake. I know that sounds like it's made up but I just was collecting some firewood and then I found you there. I thought you were dead. Can I help you. I am not going to lie, you look a bit lost and I…" 

"Turn around." 

You cut him right there 

"What? Oh yeah of course. Do need any help with that?" 

You slide into you really simply dress, make a few knots at the right spots and now you are fully dressed again. 

"Okay what did you just said, sorry I wasn't listening" 

"I said, I was collecting some firewood and I found plenty of it, but I also found you. I have no clue how you got here but I just couldn't left you there so I tried to wake you up to get you out of here. It get gets darker every minute and this is no good place to be naked and alone and unconscious."

"I am fine.."

You pat that strangers shoulder 

"but thank you for your help, I just need my bag and my basket with food and you don't have to see me ever again." 

You look around searching for your very few possessions. But they were nowhere to be found. You look back to the stranger. He looks probably as confused as you. 

"Have you seen it?" 

"What your bag and a basket? No i didn't saw such things. When I found you there was only you and your dress."

You start to lower yourself to search for your lost properties. But as the man said it get darker and you could barely see anything. Resigned you sat underneath a tree, your hands covering your face to hide the tears in your eyes from the Stranger, who just don't want to leave. That was everything you have, everything you could take with you that night you have left. What the hell are you supposed to do to now. 

"Hey.." His voice is really soft. 

"what do you think about that we leave now and go eat something and tomorrow when the sun is shining again I will help you to find your bag and your basket." 

He offers you a hand to stand up. 

"Hmm? What do you say?" 

"That is probably a good idea" 

He still holds your hand and made a little bow before you. 

You couldn't resist a smile.

"So how is the lady called?" 

"My name is Y/N just Y/N… And you are?" 

"My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove. But you can call me Jaskier."

He lifts up all the wood that fell down earlier and refused to let you carry any of it. As you walked out of the wood onto the meadow. 

"So Y/N you were wandering around the forest with a basket full of food, are you red riding hood or something?" 

He laughed 

"Not exactly" 

You laughed a bit too. But deep down you knew that you were actually the big bad wolf.

[wild-ditto-appeared]

Duelist Kingdom but with Ditto

What would Yu-Gi-Oh! (OG) be like if Ditto was there from the beginning? How would Ditto have gotten there? Why would Ditto be there?

Here are some Sylvia braindumps from my most recent pacing session:

Ditto arrives on Duelist Kingdom Island, helpless and afraid and very VERY confused. There are no animals on this island, no trees bearing fruit or bushes with berries or, frankly, most food of ANY kind except the fish that swim down the streams--and Ditto is very much an herbivore, thank you very much.

So Ditto quite frankly, nearly starves to death on that damn island. Then it's startled by the sound of fireworks.

No, the Duelist Kingdom Tournament hasn't begun yet--won't begin for quite some time, actually--Pegasus just wanted a private show of fireworks that day.

Ditto Transforms and makes its way to the direction from which the fireworks came from--and when it gets close enough, it spots the giant castle (thanks to Ditto's small size, it's a lot harder to spot the castle when surrounded by tall-ass trees, so it needs to be much closer to be able to spot it on its own).

For story-telling reasons, Ditto never considered Transforming into a Flying-type Pokemon and just. Surveying the land. Like a sensible Pokemon. It was too young and never had to really do that before, so it wasted a lot of energy out there.

When it finally trudges all the way to the castle, sometimes Transforming and sometimes not because at this point Ditto is really really tired, Ditto stumbles onto the brick steps of the castle--not the front ones, mind you, but one of the rear entrances/exits meant for guards. And it can't get into the castle, so after considering giving up, it scales the wall as an Aipom, flips over onto the wall's walkway, and de-Transforms, using up the last of its energy before it falls asleep. This is where Ditto is found by some of Pegasus' guards.

They... don't know what to do with Ditto at first. So they grab it and lock it in a dark black box with only a little hole to breathe out of, then go on their way to lock it in the dungeons, never to be seen again when Pegasus finds them and asks what's in the box.

The guards tell him they found something suspicious on the balcony and they would throw it in the dungeons for trespassing. Pegasus analyzes the interior of the box with his Millennium Eye and ultimately decides Ditto is harmless, asking that the box is handed over to him. The guards, knowing better than to question him, oblige and go back to their respective duties.

Pegasus frees Ditto from its little prison, but Ditto is asleep still, clearly hurt and worn. At a loss for what to do, Pegasus panics slightly, ordering all sorts of food from his chefs. The whole castle is in panic. "Is Pegasus ordering a feast of some kind? Who is coming over that's so important? Why wasn't anyone notified?" Really, Pegasus just wants to know what Ditto will eat and he has nothing to offer of his own except wine and cheese.

Although lots of food is made, Ditto only eats the fruits and vegetables, and even then it's mostly the fruits and berries whose plates are wiped clean when Ditto finishes eating. So... all of that meat and fish and other such things are... sort of wasted.

Pegasus doesn't seem to really care, though. Ditto is sleeping with a full belly now, and he allows it to stay the night. Then another. Then another.

Fully befriended, Pegasus and Ditto become close enough friends that he even refers to Ditto as "his pet," which it doesn't seem to mind. Even after Ditto has shown off its transformative abilities--which in fact makes it appeal to Pegasus even more--Ditto is accepted wholeheartedly into the castle and treated with almost the same amount of respect by his guards as Master Pegasus himself.

Then the Duelist Kingdom happens and something changes in Pegasus. He's suddenly a lot moodier, a lot more serious, a lot less jovial than Ditto is used to him being. He seems to carry the weight of guilt and distress on him at all times. Ditto tries to relieve it, but Pegasus brushes off its attempts. Eventually, four duelists make it to the castle--plus one Seto Kaiba. For the duration of the duel, Pegasus orders the guards to keep a close eye on Ditto to make sure it doesn't leave its little box, so that Ditto doesn't have to see what happens to Kaiba when he loses.

After Kaiba has lost his soul, Pegasus allows the guards to release Ditto--and Ditto had obediently listened to Pegasus because it trusted him, thinking that he would not make me do this if it wasn't important. When it was allowed outside of its box, Ditto went straight to Pegasus to cuddle, because it had been scared something serious was happening. Pegasus tried to reassure it, but his voice was still heavy.

Ditto was present, however, for the finals. For Mai against Yugi and Joey against the "In America" guy because I don't feel like looking up his name right this second. Ditto sensed when Yugi's Millennium Puzzle activated and when he switched into Yami. Ditto then realized--wait, why does that somewhat feel familiar? A little different, but still familiar in a way.

And then it realizes that other similar feeling had been coming from Pegasus this whole time: the Millennium Eye.

But Pegasus was nice, and although the power Yami wielded was frightening to Ditto, he didn't seem to be doing anything bad with it... well, yet. So Ditto gave Yami the benefit of the doubt.

Then the final duel, Yami versus Pegasus. At first, it was fine. But when they reached the second phase of the duel, which took place in the Shadow Realm, Ditto felt BAD VIBES. LOTS OF BAD VIBES.

But not from the Puzzle. No, they were coming from Pegasus. From the Eye.

And for the first time, Ditto grew afraid of its friend. It grew afraid of its caretaker and followed Tea and the others when they ran to Yugi's side of the duel to try and reach him. Ditto tried headbutting the bubble headfirst as a Dreepy, as if being missile-shaped and going as fast as possible would break the barrier. It didn't, and Ditto nearly fell before Tea managed to catch it.

And it started to cry, because that was scary. Where did Fancy Man and Spiky Man go? Why was Fancy Friend fighting? Why did it feel so WRONG and BAD?

When the duel was over and Pegasus lost, Ditto flew straight to him as a bird, ignoring Yugi's friends' protests. It snuggled with Pegasus, buried itself in his hair, nuzzled his face, everything it possibly could to ask if he was okay, if the bad stuff was over.

Pegasus barely responded to Ditto, merely plucking it from his shoulders and carefully setting it down on his dueling field. With a sad smile, Pegasus spoke--half to Ditto, because his eye was trained on it and half to Yugi, who won the duel.

"Very well, Yugi. You win. I am a man of my word. I will release everyone I have captured."

Ditto was in shock, hearing this. Its feathers fluffed up, it stared at him incredulously, its eyes trained on him and almost shaking, as if to ask, "You... you had people captured?" And suddenly Ditto realized what the duel was about.

Yugi, Tea, and the others saw Ditto's reaction--didn't miss it for the world, despite having been taken aback when they first learned of Pegasus' transforming little pet--and felt sad for the little fella. Ditto truly cared about Pegasus, truly loved him, and now, like many others, Pegasus had managed to hurt Ditto too.

Pegasus told Ditto that he knew it would most likely not forgive him for what he'd done, that he wouldn't blame it if it wanted to leave, then left Ditto with that decision while he went to release the souls he'd captured.

Pegasus didn't come back.

Ditto witnessed the guards giving Yugi his prize money and title, and when they demanded to know that everyone whose soul Pegasus stole was okay, the guards simply said that Pegasus was handling it. Ditto was still confused, still lost.

What... what now?

When Yugi and the others went to check on him to make sure he did, in fact, keep his word, Ditto went with them. It wanted to know what happened to its caretaker, its friend.

Pegasus wasn't there. In fact, he was missing from the entire castle.

When Ditto found out about this, it cried. With Yugi and friends as witnesses, Ditto sobbed and grieved for Pegasus because he was gone. He was gone and Ditto hadn't even been given the opportunity to answer with its decision.

Ditto was there when it heard the reason why Pegasus had done all of this. Ditto was there when Yugi and friends met Kaiba and escorted Mokuba back to him safely and soundly. Ditto was there when they moved to leave, but Yugi hesitated.

Yugi turned to Ditto, pitying or sympathetic or empathetic or whatever, but he was clearly concerned for Ditto when he bent down and extended a hand in offer.

"I know Pegasus is gone now, and... and we'll never be him, but... maybe you can find companionship in us until Pegasus comes back," he offered Ditto.

And Ditto, with nowhere left to go and no other friends to turn to, nodded and accepted Yugi's offer, burying itself in his shirt to grieve. Then, they take the ship home.

Let me know if you wanna know how Battle City should go with Ditto, too. Just something I thought of earlier today. I'm gonna be real, it probably doesn't sound that great, but I don't think it sounds like trash either, sooo... //shrug// maybe it works? What do you all think?

[onewfantaesy]

Over the Fence AU

Taemin and Jongin are constantly racing to keep up with their older brothers and the other older boys in the neighborhood. They were quick to learn the rules of games, both spent a week straight learning to ride their bikes without training wheels, and were now both hellbent on learning to use rollerblades so they could play the latest cul de sac obsession: hockey. But trying to teach two five-year-olds to balance on rollerblades and move a puck around at the same time was proving to be a bit of a challenge.

“We can just play without skates,” Jinki suggests.

“It’s not the same!” Minho is quick to argue. Then he smiles and stands in front of where Taemin is sitting down, still trying tie his laces. “I’ll help you. Here, let me tie it.”

He laces up Taemin’s skates nice and tight, and then holds his hands to help him up.

“Just hold my hands,” Minho says sweetly. He’s surprisingly patient, but he’s proven to be quite the teacher when it comes to stuff like this.

“I can do it,” Taemin insists, holding tight into Minho’s hands when he wobbles on his skates.

“I know, you’ll learn super fast,” Minho tells him.

Taemin and Jongin both are led in circles around the cul de sac, Minho and Kibum both being patient and sweet and helpful.

“And always wear a helmet,” Kibum reminds them. “Because if you fall and crack your head open, it’s not gonna be my fault for not making you wear one.”

“You never wear a helmet!” Taemin whines.

“I do when my mom watches!” Kibum bites back.

“We’ll always wear one when we play hockey,” Minho tells Taemin. “Just like you will.”

“Kay,” Taemin says, easily appeased by the answer.

Both Taemin and Jongin are covered in elbow pads, knee pads, and helmets. It’s quite the sight for the neighbors when they come driving home from work, seeing the boys playing in the cul de sac and dragging the two little ones off the street so the cars can pass. At one point, Jinki just picks Taemin up after he stumbles a few too many times and drags him into the sidewalk so Mr. Shindong can get into his driveway. Meanwhile, Jongin has each arm held by Kibum and Minho as they pull him into the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

“Everyone’s gonna start coming home soon, boys,” Mr. Shindong tells them as he gets out of his car. “You might want to pack up the hockey for the day.”

“Okay, Mr. Shindong!” Jinki says, and he drags Taemin and each of their hockey sticks home quickly. Suho goes to collect Jongin and pulls him home, and the twins bicker endlessly and rush to grab their sticks and net and puck and hurry home as fast as possible. They’re all still a little weary of Mr. Shindong, so they won’t argue when he tells them to quit playing in the street.

The next day, they decide instead to play basketball in the twins’ driveway since they have a hoop above their garage. Except it’s too high for Jongin or Taemin to make many baskets, so they end up stomping off in a huff to go play in Jongin and Suho’s driveway instead. They rummage through the garage to find something to play with, and pull out a hula hoop, a jump rope, and a water gun. With silly little smirks on both their faces, they fill the water gun and use it to completely soak the older boys while they play basketball.

This leads to the older boys chasing after them, which leads to playing tag, which leads to an intense game of cops and robbers. When Mr. Yunho gets home from work and finds them using the big tree in his front yard as home base, he of course asks what they’re playing.

“Hide and Seek?” he asks Taemin, who’s clinging to the tree with both arms.

“Cops and Robbers!” Taemin tells him, a big smile on his face. “You wanna play too?”

“I think I’d make a pretty good cop,” Mr. Yunho teases him.

Taemin bounces a bit, then turns to where Minho is chasing after Suho.

“MR. YUNHO WANTS TO PLAY!” he shouts at them, and they all freeze.

“WHAT’S MR. YUNHO PLAYING?” Mr. Changmin shouts, stepping out of his car from where he just pulled into his driveway. “BECAUSE MR. CHANGMIN WANTS TO PLAY TOO!”

“COPS AND ROBBERS!” Jinki shouts back. Then he shrieks when Kibum comes darting towards him from behind a bush. “TIME OUT! STOP CHASING ME!”

Mr. Yunho is a cop along with Minho, Kibum, and Jongin while Mr. Changmin is a robber with Jinki, Suho, and Taemin. It leads to a fun evening with lots of shouting, muffled swearing (mostly by Taemin and Minho), and lots and lots of giggling.

[not-so-silent-back-up]

Until Full Moon

werewolf!(f)reader x Jaskier

Chapter -2-

first of all thanks you @the-winter-witcher💝 for cheking my writting and thanks to my beta reader @disasterjaskier💖

also tagging @determinedpines🌻 and @merthurlocked💛 ... because

description: Since a few month you are a werewolf, and you mostly hide in the woods because you know how dangerous you can become when it’s time. One day you meet Jaskier and Geralt. Unfortunately the witcher recently got the job to get rid of a werewolf. And that’s when it all begins

Chapter 01

It was a sunny day, the birds were chirping, the wind was mild and fresh and the flowers were blooming in all of the colors imaginable. But Geralt wasn't in a good mood. He and Jaskier were wandering through a little village with Roach behind them. It wasn't even a village it were just a bunch of farmers living near each other.

Geralt knew that he will find no job here, and even if the farmers here had a problem with a monster they wouldn't hire a witcher, they don't trust him. How did he know? It's a mild summer day and there are no kids playing in the streets, no men working on the fields and no women anywhere to be seen. They all hide. They hide from the Butcher of Blaviken.

 Jaskier besides was also not in his best mood, he was stuck in writing a new song that he just couldn't finish properly. But he still looks at all the beauty in the world, he played his lute not for Geralt this time he played it for all the birds that were singing. But he didn't sing, because everytime he starts he remembers the song he couldn't finish. So this time he leaves the singing to the birds in the trees.

They finally found an inn in the last village they crossed, with water for the the horse and cold ale for the men. Geralt wasn't in a talking mood, if he ever was. And Jaskier wasn't in the mood to play for people, today the birds were a much better audience. So the two just sat there drinking their ales in silence.

Jaskier noticed three rough looking men coming in. They looked miserable.

"this damn wolf"

"shut up! You don't even have sheeps"

"that doesn't matter. I don't want that fucking wolf near me"

"you only care about yourself, what about my sheep and his cows"

he pointed to the third man that didn't said anything yet.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, but the Witcher wasn't interested. For him it sounds like a normal wolf and some dumb villagers that tried to hunt a wolf at the day. "Geralt"  the bard whispers "they are talking about one wolf, but the only wolves that hunt alone are werewolves"

Fuck he is right.

"Hmm" Jaskier turned to the men and asked them if they knew that they were trying to hunt a werewolf at the daytime. The men looked angry at the bard but after a few moments they saw Geralt in the corner.

"What do you say Witcher?"

Finally the silent one of them said something.

"The bard is right. What you are talking about is definitely a werewolf."

"Don't make these stupid faces. I told you it's a werewolf but you never listen to me."

The first two men left without any words.

"So Witcher how many coin for a werewolf?"

 … 

"Geralt?"

"Hmm?"

"Will we actually find tracks right now? I mean the last full moon was one day ago. So that werewolf is human till next month. Am I right?"

"That's all true. But maybe we will find his hiding place"

"His?"

"Yes, only man become werewolves"

"Oh I didn't know that. That is really interesting. Do you know why? Or is just that there are male and female monsters?..."

"shh.."

"Oh did you hear something? I am sorry. I almost forgot we on a hunt right…"

"Jaskier!"

"Oh yeah. I will be silent now"

The witcher actually heard something, but now it's gone. But he is just tired of the day. So the dissimilar couple started to set up their camp for the night.

Jaskier knew what he has to do. It's always the same after they set up the tent and decide what to eat, he is the one searching for firewood. While Geralt is either hunting for a rabbit or preparing the food they have left. So he makes his way into the woods, not too deep, after the one time he didn't find a way out at first and it was in the middle of the night he he finally returned, he had learned his lesson.

He is gathering as much wood as he can find. But then all the wood he collected so thoroughly, falls all to the ground. Jaskier saw something he is familiar with, but didn't belong here at all.

There you lied curled up unconscious, Naked. Half underneath a bush. Jaskier looked all around but didn't find any clue why you were here, the only thing he noticed was the little pile of clothes that was right next to you. He felt a bit uncomfortable, but mostly he was confused and concerned what happened to that young woman lying unconscious in the forest.

He got  closer to you and was relieved when he saw you chest rising and sinking in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to carefully touch your shoulder.

"Hey… Are you awake?" He almost whispers.

It will get dark soon and he just can't leave you there, it was too dangerous. Now he takes both of your shoulders and shakes you a bit.

"You need to wake up. I don't know what happened to you,but I can't  just leave a girl like this in the forest at night." His voice got louder.

An unfamiliar voice is ringing in your ear, a man's voice with a tone of urge in it. You shake your head a little and hum a few inaudible words before you can open your eyes. You saw a man with dark hair and eyes blue as the sky in spring, who looks worried at you but most importantly he is holding you.

You pushed him back because you knew what happened last night, you knew that you were totally naked and who knew if he isn't paid to find you and kill you.

"Oh gods you are finally awake. I know that sounds like it's made up but I just was collecting some firewood and then I found you there. I thought you were dead. Can I help you. I am not going to lie, you look a bit lost and I…"

"Turn around." You cut him right there

"What? Oh yeah of course. Do need any help with that?"

You slide into you really simply dress, make a few knots at the right spots and now you are fully dressed again.

"Okay what did you just said, sorry I wasn't listening"

"I said, I was collecting some firewood and I found plenty of it, but I also found you. I have no clue how you got here but I just couldn't left you there so I tried to wake you up to get you out of here. It get gets darker every minute and this is no good place to be naked and alone and unconscious."

"I am fine.."You pat that strangers shoulder "but thank you for your help, I just need my bag and my basket with food and you don't have to see me ever again."

You look around searching for your very few possessions. But they were nowhere to be found. You look back to the stranger. He looks probably as confused as you.

"Have you seen it?"

"What your bag and a basket? No i didn't saw such things. When I found you there was only you and your dress."

You start to lower yourself to search for your lost properties. But as the man said it get darker and you could barely see anything. Resigned you sat underneath a tree, your hands covering your face to hide the tears in your eyes from the Stranger, who just don't want to leave. That was everything you have, everything you could take with you that night you have left. What the hell are you supposed to do to now.

"Hey.." His voice is really soft. "what do you think about that we leave now and go eat something and tomorrow when the sun is shining again I will help you to find your bag and your basket."

He offers you a hand to stand up. "Hmm? What do you say?"

"That is probably a good idea"

He still holds your hand and made a little bow before you. You couldn't resist a smile.

"So how is the lady called?"

"My name is Y/N just Y/N… And you are?"

"My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove. But you can call me Jaskier."

He lifts up all the wood that fell down earlier and refused to let you carry any of it. As you walked out of the wood onto the meadow.

"So Y/N you were wandering around the forest with a basket full of food, are you red riding hood or something?" He laughed

"Not exactly" You laughed a bit too. But deep down you knew that you were actually the big bad wolf.

[pengychan]

[Coco - Gravity Falls] Three Part Harmony

I wrote this for @perlogannwyl in exchange for her donation to BLM. Her prompt was Miguel interacting with Dipper and Mabel from Gravity Falls, discussing the weirdness around them. It took me... much longer than planned to write this, so I made it into a longer fic to make up for the delay. Sorry for the wait, hope you like it!

If you’d like to request a flash fic in exchange of a charity donation, here’s how.

It took Miguel roughly half a day to realize that primo Jésus - “Soos, dude, call me Soos. Unless I have the fez on, then I’m Mr. Mystery. Want some pizza? I’ve got this slice that never ends!” - was not the oddest person he could possibly meet in that town. Not by a long shot. 

“The locals are not odd, Miguel,” his father had told him, bouncing Socorro in his arms while his mamá caught up with her tía. Or at least tried to, because she had her attention split in three different directions: a third on her grand-niece, a third on the telenovela playing on the TV screen in the corner, and another third on cleaning every surface within reach as visitors walked through that… Mystery Shack his cousin apparently ran. 

Miguel didn’t answer as much as he gestured wildly at their surroundings. Somewhere on his left, a man wearing a tinfoil hat was taking a selfie next to a fur-covered trout mounted to the wall. His papá opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again, and cleared his throat. 

“They’re Americans,” was all he could finally say in their defense as Socorro tried to get back his undivided attention by attempting to rip off his mustache.

Miguel had expected Americans to be kind of weird, just not that kind of weird. Still, as he wandered around the Mystery Shack - previously named Murder Hut, a plaque read, which made him… slightly uncomfortable - he had to admit that stuff was actually kind of cool. Also, Soos’ girlfriend was nice and had shown him how to get snacks for free from the distributor. 

“Are you sure it’s not a problem?” Miguel had asked, causing Melody - nice name, that - to shrug while she gave a customer change with one hand and made notes for the table disposition at the upcoming wedding. It was the reason why they were there, but as Miguel’s mamá hadn’t seen her tía since she married herself, she had wanted them to arrive a few days before the ceremony to meet properly.

“Of course not, don’t worry about it. Soos shows how to do it to everyone who walks in.”

“Ah.” Miguel had taken a snack, and wandered out to eat it without being chased with a vacuum cleaner, walking past a group of people holding up cameras and trying to figure out whether what was before their eyes was a rock that looked like a face or a face that looked like a rock. 

And then he’d seen it, just as it disappeared behind the trees. Something tiny, with a white beard and a pointed hat and… and…

Miguel blinked, and looked again; nothing but trees, now. But he was… fairly sure he had seen something. As per what that something was-- ay, he must be hallucinating. Was the snack he was eating past the expiry date?

He’d just turned it around to check when a truck screeched to a half right beside him, tires leaving marks in the grass and giving Miguel a mini heart attack. The driver’s door was thrown open, revealing primo Jes-- Soos at the wheel, grinning widely. 

“Back from the bus stop! Dudes, this is my second-something cousin Miguel!”

The very first impression wasn’t stellar, mostly because most people he met didn’t greet him by smacking a hand on his forehead to put a sticker on it. Or trying to ask him if he was single. Trying to, because her brother very quickly and very loudly began introducing himself before things got awkward, moving the chat to more normal grounds.

Well. Relatively normal. 

“... And I’m going to be a bridesmaid and - they still don’t know it, but I’ll throw glitter everywhere,” Mabel announced, spreading her arms. “It will be a huge surprise! I mean, if you tell no one, it will be a huge surprise. But you won’t tell anyone,” she added, her smile huge. 

Miguel wasn’t entirely sure if she meant to come across as slightly threatening or if he was letting past bad experiences give him the wrong impression,  but either way he responded with a smile that he hoped was convincing. 

“I’ll be silent as--” a grave? “... As, uh, someone really silent.”

“Soos’ abuelita will probably vacuum it all up immediately,” Dipper pointed out, causing his sister to frown.

“Right,” she muttered, rubbing her chin like a general devising an attack plan. “We need to find a way to keep the vacuum away from her.”

“... You don’t really think she’d bring it to the church during the wedding, do you?” Miguel asked, only for both Dipper and Mabel to nod. 

“You have met her, right?” Dipper asked, and Miguel had to concede that they had a point. 

“Fair.”

“We should sabotage it,” Mabel declared, and suddenly snapped her fingers. “Oh! I know! When our Grunkles get here tomorrow--”

“Our great uncles,” Dipper supplied helpfully before Miguel could voice his confusion. 

“-- We’re going to ask them to help us turn the vacuum into a leaf blower! So that if she tries to clean up, she’ll only spread glitter even more! A double surprise!”

To Miguel’s worry, Dipper - who’d struck him as the most sensible of the two - began pacing, giving the matter some serious thought. “We would need to do it right before we head to church, if she tries to use it before we head off she’ll know. Someone will need to distract her.”

“Miguel volunteers!” Mabel exclaimed, grabbing Miguel’s arm and lifting it with a surprising amount of strength, almost lifting him off his feet. “He’ll distract her!”

“... Are you sure this is a good idea?” Miguel asked cautiously. It seemed pretty nonsensical, but then again, his own solution to a problem a couple of years prior had been grave robbing, so maybe he wasn’t precisely on a much higher ground. 

“It’s a great idea! Leaf blowers always worked well for us. We used it to blow away some gnomes once.”

Miguel blinked. With the mind’s eye he saw it again, something really small with a pointy hat running over some bushes. But he’d just hallucinated that… right? “... Qué?”

“Nothing!” Dipper exclaimed suddenly, trying to elbow his sister in a way that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried. Mabel waved a hand. 

“Come on, Dip Dop, it took us… days to realize this place was weird. I’m going to be surprised if he didn’t notice--”

“... Was that a… gnome?”

Mabel gave her brother a classic Told You So grin.  “Did you see a very small guy with a beard and a red pointy hat, or a brooding mysterious stranger?”

“Uh… the first one you said. About over there, running back into the forest.”

“Then it was a gnome! If you'd seen the brooding mysterious stranger, then it would still be gnomes but, like, five of them stacked on top of each other. If you see a giant creature of unimaginable horror, that is still gnomes. Just a lot more than five.”

Miguel’s gaze shifted to Dipper, half-hoping he’d laugh and admit it was a joke. Instead, he shrugged. 

“Don’t worry, they don’t do that anymore,” he informed him.

“Ah,” Miguel said, faintly wondering if they were making fun of him or were just insane. But then again, he had seen a tiny man running off into the woods. Plus something even more incredible, too, a couple of years ago. 

Unaware of his thoughts, Mabel was frowning. “Come to think of it, the giant Gnominator would have been useful during Weirdmageddon.”

Miguel, whose English classes had never included terms like Gnominator and Weirdmageddon, settled to just nod as though what she was saying made sense. “... Right.”

“Or when Dipper raised the dead.”

“Of cou-- wait, what?”

“It was an accident, Mabel,” Dipper protested, crossing his arms. “You know it won’t happen again.”

“I know, I know. Oh, don’t worry, Miguel! We know how to beat them! A perfect three part harmony, and they’re dead again. Soos told us you like music, so you can sing, no?”

“I said I won’t raise them again, we don’t need Soos to turn into a zombie again right before his wed--”

“You met the dead, too?” Miguel blurted out, causing both siblings to trail off and turn to look at him. Suddenly it was Dipper step right in his face, taking a notebook and a pen out of… seemingly nowhere. 

“You met the Undead, too?”

Miguel blinked. Undead? “They were all… pretty definitely dead.”

“Yes, yes, but like-- zombies?”

“Uh, no. Just… skeletons.”

Mabel nodded, extremely serious. “Thin zombies,” she declared.

“What-- no, they were not zombies at all.”

“No eating brains?”

“... They seemed to prefer Pan de Muerto.”

Dipper wrote that down. “No biting?”

“N… no?”

“Trying to drag you in your grave?”

“No, they just all kind of… really wanted me to go back home.”

"So they didn’t try to kill you?"

"N--" Miguel paused. "... Well, one did. But most of them wanted me to go home. They were my family.”

Mabel sighed. “Aww, you raised your family from the dead!”

“No, I was just robbing a grave and--” he paused, and rubbed his temples. “I really think we’re talking about two entirely different things here.”

“Yeah, sounds like-- wait. Grave robbing?”

Miguel shifted. “Not my best decision,” he muttered. Only that it had been, in the end, if anything for how things had worked out. Had he not been in the Land of the Dead that night, then…

Dipper lifted the notebook again, clicking his pen with a slightly manic look in his eyes. “We have a lot to talk about,” he said, and they did. 

That place was weird, the people were weird, but Miguel found that talking about what had happened in the Land of the Dead, with someone who believed him, wasn’t too bad at all.

[black-kitten-imagines]

Still Standing ~ Tincke x reader

Picture not mine

Word count: 2,147

Warnings: mentions of violence

Summary: Reader wants to join Jan and Tincke on an ambush but they don’t allow it.

A/N: I saw Thieves of the Wood earlier this year and just immediately fell in love with it, with the characters, the setting, everything.

“Come on, Tincke. Please, let me join you!”, I begged desperately. “I’m sorry (Y/n), you’re staying here, at camp”, said the red haired man in front of me with insistence in his voice. “Why can’t I come? You never let me join you.” 

For the last few days Jan and Tincke had been planning an ambush on a carriage full of valuables and today was the day that they were going to implement that plan. Many of the men from the camp were going and I wanted to be part of it as well.

“You’re a woman. It’s too dangerous!”, Tincke answered me. This answer made my blood boil. “De Schoen is also a woman and you have no problem with her coming along! And just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself!”, I yelled at him angrily. 

My hands turned to fists around the worn fabric of my old skirts, preventing me from striking him in anger. Having lived with the others, banished in this forest camp for multiple months now I had gotten used to audacious remarks like his, but never before had I heard any from him. 

Tincke had always shown respect towards me. Furthermore he was the one who taught me how to protect myself both with daggers and the pistol, so he knew that I could actually protect myself - although I was a woman and women weren’t suited to know  their way around weapons as was decided by men, probably just because they were scared what we could do if we did actually know our way around swords and daggers.

“She knows the risks”, was his calm but infuriating reply. Although he seemed to keep a level head I could see it in his eyes that I was slowly getting to him. Tincke knew raising his voice and causing a scene might cost him his reputation of a mostly dependable leader and the respect of the others. 

“I know the risks too, I know I could die in this attack, see I’m not as naive as you think I am!” Tincke mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘oh, I know you’re not naive at all’, but I decided to ignore him in order to continue my rant, “So why can’t I actually come along? All I ever do is sit here in this camp and wait for you to return. I want to help. Please!” 

“No! You will not accompany us. You will stay here. End of discussion!”, and with those words he walked off towards Jan, leaving me standing in front of ‘Der Hunger’, seething in anger. 

I was going to join them on the ambush no matter what Tincke said. Whether he allowed it or not, I was going to be part of the action. At that very moment I didn’t care about any repercussions in any which way.

Already having a plan in mind, I stomped off into the direction of the tent I was staying in, but before I reached it I took a turn, doing a small detour around the camp, towards the hut in which I knew I could find an extra set of somewhat clean men’s clothing - a rarity in a place like this. 

Trying to seem unsuspicious I stopped to chat with some people here and there. Taking one last look over my shoulder, I quietly slipped into the hut pulling the makeshift canvas doors shut behind me. Inside I quickly found a bundle of dry clothing, stored alongside a few other trivial items in a simple oak trunk. 

Having in mind that Tincke, Jan and the others would depart very soon I swiftly shed my garments and rolled them into a more or less neat bundle, putting it in that very same trunk. Then without losing any time I slipped into the new clothes - first the dark brown, worn out pants, then a slightly cream coloured, wide and flowy shirt. Last but not least I pulled an old, tattered, dark wool coat over my shoulders.

The final touches were a dark blue scarf that I tied around my neck and an old hat that I had nicked from a man napping on a log next to the big, open, central fire pit. The fire pit was the centre of our community. 

So many drunk nights with friends had been spent here, so many nights had been spent here celebrating, so many of  Vagenende’s prophecies had been told here. 

The warmth of the fire and the ale gave us courage and hope in our dire situation.

Before I left I made sure the pistol in my belt was loaded.

As I stepped out of the tent I pulled  the scarf over the bottom half of my face, hoping no one would recognize me.

The cluster of men had already started to break apart when I reached the place where they had gathered in front of our small, little tavern. Keeping to the back of the group and out of the sight of Tincke, Jan and anyone else I knew too closely for them to recognize me, I followed them towards the main road through this part of the forest.

My head was spinning with thoughts and feelings. I was starting to regret my rash decision. My heart was beating with nervosity and fear. Tincke’s words reverberated in my mind. Maybe I should turn back. What if he was right? What if I was naive and helpless? What if I had no idea how much trouble I was getting into? 

But coming back from my trance I saw the somber faces of the men around me. I couldn’t run  back to the camp and hide. It was too late to do so, I was one of them now and I was not going to bail on them. They needed every help they could get. So I shook my thoughts away and swallowed my fears. I was ready for whatever came our way. I would gladly lay down my life for this group of men, these men who had saved me from starvation and hypothermia, if necessary.

We were concealed through some bushes and the verge along the dirt road, waiting for the signal. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, crouching behind some shrubs and greenery, my ears finally picked up on the faint sound of horses hooves in the distance. 

Looking around I saw that I wasn’t the only one who noticed, most of the banished tightening their grip on their pistols or daggers hanging from their belts. The sound grew louder and louder and soon enough we could see the top of the carriage move through the trees, the roof packed with trunks. 

Now my heart started racing again, but this time not out of fear but out of anticipation. Adrenaline rushing through my veins. I couldn’t wait  for all this to go down. 

Suddenly the coach rolled to a stop. My breathing hitched in excitement. The door was pushed open and a red haired girl stumbled out and fell to the ground. I recognized her, she was one of the working girls at ‘The Yellow Prick’, Tincke’s ‘favourite one’ as I once overheard him say.

A pang of  jealousy and hurt filled my heart, remembering the times I had gone looking for the red haired leader at the brothel and having found him and her sharing an intimate moment. 

But enough of that! I pushed my feelings aside and observed the events in front of me.

A man in uniform and a little boy, who I also recognized, had followed her out of the carriage. From my vantage point I could see two more men inside the vehicle, both dressed in elegant, noble garments and wearing wigs. All of them were accompanied by at least two or three guards. 

But just as the Bailiff bent down to check on the girl, she sprung up and started running into the woods. This was not at all what I had expected to happen, but obviously this was the sign we had been waiting for, for the other men around me charged, shouting with arms raised. I sprang to my feet and slid down the slope.

 The ambush was in full swing and so far there were no injured. I tried to help where I could. Some of the men had started pulling the wooden and leather trunks from the roof of the coach, some were busy unarming the passengers and the few guards that accompanied the travellers. The Bailiff must’ve fled at some point for he was nowhere to be seen. What a coward! 

I was currently busy helping two men lift one of the trunks, when I heard a faint but suspicious ‘clink’. Looking around I spied another guard that had gone unseen, standing in the shadow of a tree to the front of the coach. The man in blue and red uniform had just returned his ramrod  from the barrel when he raised his musket, ready to fire. 

Time seemed to slow as I turned around to see who was in his line of fire - Tincke. 

He was standing with his back facing the guard talking to one of the other men, not noticing the weapon pointed at him. It seemed like no one except for me had noticed the opponent.

For a second everything froze. My heart jumped in fear.

No, I couldn’t let him die. Tincke wasn’t supposed to die, these people needed him. I needed him, I realized. 

Without thinking any further I dropped the handles of the trunk I was holding and started sprinting with all my might. I couldn’t be too slow. I couldn’t fail. I would never forgive myself if I did.

I would risk my life for him. I would give everything for him. If he died it would most likely be the end of the banished. If I died it would only be one hungry mouth less.

I was expecting the impact and welcomed it happily. I felt the soft fur on my hands and his red locks tickling my neck as I shoved him.

The suddenness and force of the impact surprised him and toppled him off of his feet causing him to end up on the floor a few paces away from me. I slid to a stop where he was standing before. Then time seemed to restore to its former pace and everything went so fast I couldn’t quite comprehend it.

BANG!

 - the loud shot of a gun in the now otherwise silent forest, even the birds seemed to stop singing their tunes and all eyes were on me.

The uniformed man standing across from me crumpled down to the floor, a huge patch of red blood spreading over the spot where his heart was. 

Without even noticing, I had pulled and fired my pistol just in time to prevent him at his own shot, for I still stood there arm raised, some smoke still coming out of the barrel.

I did it, I saved Tincke. A smile spread across my face.

Suddenly  I felt a sharp pain searing through my body then gathering in my abdomen, causing me to crumple up and immediately fall to my knees.

From somewhere behind me I heard a gasp but I couldn’t place who it might’ve been from.

Only half aware of my surroundings I looked down at myself  shocked and saw deep red spreading and staining my light linen shirt. I couldn't wrap my mind around what was happening. My brain seemed to be stuffed with cotton. 

I carefully lifted my empty hand to the red stain. Removing my hand again, surprise filled me at the blood on my fingers. 

Blood, my blood - I was dying, but this realization didn’t fill me with fear as I would’ve expected. A strange calm flooded through my body. As my body went limp and I slowly fell backwards only one thought crossed my mind, ‘I saved him.’

I didn’t hit the hard, cold, dirty forest floor but landed on something soft. Then Tincke’s face appeared above me. At the sight of him my lips turned upwards into a small smile. 

His face was distorted in terror and shock. His beautiful grey eyes were filled with fear and as he cupped my face in his rough hands tears started to roll down his cheeks. 

Tincke’s soft lips were moving as he tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear a word he said - everything had gone silent. And as my peripheral vision started to grow dark the only thought I could think of was how happy I was to have been able to see Tincke one last time, that his handsome face was the last thing I saw on this earth. 

Then everything went black.

[flowers-creativity]

Almost the Full Set

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Aramis (René d’Herblay), d’Artagnan (Charles), Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere) Prompt: Dragging themselves along the ground Warnings: Injuries (bloodless), pain, basic field medicine Summary: When things go wrong on a mission, Aramis has little choice but hide and trust in his friends to find him.

Notes: Whoo boy, this is indulgent and very whumpy XD.

@badthingshappenbingo​

Read it on AO3

The Musketeer bent low over his horse's neck, face almost in its mane, as he narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the path in the low light. He could feel the poor animal's muscles tremble beneath him and knew he had to stop and rest soon. Already, he had had to slow down considerably from the earlier headlong flight, or else he would have risked injury to his horse and himself when the forest grew denser around him. Luckily, the same applied for his pursuers, and the sounds of their calls and horses had all but ceased – he wasn't sure if he had succeeded in shaking them completely but at least he had put distance between them and him.

Aramis felt for the thick package of papers in his shirt beneath his doublet. So far, so good. It was fortunate that their Captain had had warning that someone would try to intercept them on their mission, so they had prepared for the eventuality of being separated. They each bore a package with the King's seal but he knew that his package was blank inside. So were the packages Athos and Porthos were carrying – the lot of carrying the real documents had fallen to d'Artagnan this time. He hoped that all of his brothers had escaped, naturally, but the price if their youngest was caught was the highest. And they had almost made it to their destination, too …

The marksman shook his head to dislodge the distracting thoughts. There was no use speculating on the others' fate – he had to concentrate on his own path, and hopefully they would all reach the meeting point with the courier who was to receive the documents the next day. He ruthlessly shoved down the what-if thoughts dogging his heels.

Suddenly, something small and dark darted out of the underbrush and right between his horse's hooves. The beast, already at the end of its tether, reared up, dancing on its hind legs as Aramis latched onto its mane, trying to rein it in. But whether it was the horse's fatigue or his own, whether his skills deserted him in the moment or the animal was too far gone to react to his guidance, the next moment, the reins were torn from his grip, and then he was suddenly weightless, suspended in mid-air for what seemed to last forever, before the ground came rushing at him. He landed hard and then tumbled down a slope ass over head, pain shooting through his body so relentlessly that he could barely figure out where it originated. His head hit a rock, and darkness rose around him. The last thing he knew before it swallowed him was his body rolling to a stop in an awkward sprawl, limbs akimbo.

Then he knew no more for a long time.

Aramis' eyes fluttered open, a groan working its way up his throat. He forced himself to halt the upward movement his body instinctively wanted to engage in and to lay still and take stock. He ached. It seemed to be everywhere, and it took some time to disentangle what was what. His head was ringing from the blow it had suffered, and he raised a hand to run it carefully over the back of his head which felt like a tonne of bricks when he raised it. There was a big lump at its back, and he flinched when his fumbling fingers pressed on it. On the plus side, his right arm was obviously in working condition. He flexed his left hand and gasped at the sharp pain in his wrist that answered the small movement. Alright, the left arm was not quite so whole … His legs were next, and it only took another small movement to tell him that his right arm was probably all he had going for him. His left leg was agony radiating from the lower leg up to the hip and down into the toes – the right was faring slightly better but also protesting any movement involving his knee.

Aramis took a moment to let the pain abate and just breathe, at the same time perking up his ears to check if he could hear anything. Had his horse run off? And what of his pursuers, had they caught up to him while he had been unconscious for however long it had been? There were no sounds beyond those common at night in the forest, bushes rustling and some bird calling in the distance.

Finally, he gathered his courage and, leaning onto his uninjured right arm, he pushed himself upright. Discomfort thrummed through him as the bruises undoubtedly painting his upper body made themselves known. Another minute to breathe, and then he clumsily patted his chest. While it awakened all sorts of pain, none of that was the sharp pain of a broken rib biting into the inside of his chest, so he hoped he had been lucky at least in that regard. Not that he was feeling lucky in any way … There was no sign of his horse, and he dared not whistle for it to return. If the men on his tail were still nearby, he would certainly reveal his location to them.

He went about checking his legs and left arm with his right and ended up determining that he had a badly sprained wrist, his right knee was dislocated, and his left lower leg was broken. Fantastic. With most of his limbs injured, he was practically immobile on the forest floor, with no horse that could help him escape and no chance of getting help since he had no idea where his brothers were, nor could he hope that anyone else was nearby who did not belong to his pursuers. As far as hopeless situations went, he did not care to imagine how it could be worse. And he could feel old ghosts starting to whisper at the back of his mind, reminding him of the last time he had been alone in a forest …

Aramis gritted his teeth and shoved back against the thoughts. He knew his brothers would come for him as soon as they could. The question was when that would be and what he could do until then. The temptation to simply lay back and fall asleep – or maybe pass out – to escape the pain of his injuries and the feeling of loneliness creeping up on him was strong. He looked around the small hollow he had landed in and up the slope he had rolled down. If he was lucky – a bold assumption right now – the riders had passed him by, not seeing the dip in the forest floor and following the trail left by his horse, but he could not be sure of it, having no idea for how long he had been laying senseless. As it was, his only protection was the shadow of the slope, the trees around him too far apart and sparse to offer much cover. That wouldn't do if they were still around or returned to search for him.

His gaze settled on a patch of brushwood between two trees a few lengths from him, and he exhaled slowly. He could crawl underneath there and be well-concealed from any spurious looks, though it might not offer much protection if someone was determined to find him. Still, it was all he had right now.

Slowly, with unending care, he turned onto his side and tried to get onto his hands and knees to make his way over. However, as soon as his weight shifted onto his right knee, his leg started screaming, and it took all of his willpower and nearly biting through his lower lip for him not to do the same. He collapsed forward onto his stomach, his left arm joining into the cacophony of his ailments when it was trapped underneath him. Aramis screwed his eyes shut, his breath coming in rapid bursts as he wrestled the pain back under control. It seemed to take ages until he could finally free his arm and now lay with his face in the soft forest soil, panting. It took even longer until he could muster the courage to try again. Shifting back onto his left knee had more pain racing up and down his leg but it was bearable – for a moment, until he moved his right arm forward and tried to follow it with the opposite leg, and the pain swelled in a horrible crescendo. This time, the part of his body that rebelled was his stomach, and he tried desperately to hold himself up as vomit punched its way up his throat and out of his mouth. At the last moment, he avoided falling into it face-first by letting himself sway and topple to the left, managing to get his arm out of the way in time. Then he lay on his side, heaving some last empty gasps, tears leaking from the edges of his eyes.

Wearily, Aramis finally raised his head to look around and think again. His situation had not changed, he still needed to get to the cover. Crawling on hands and knees was not an option, though, given his experiences right now. What else was there? He groaned as he had to admit there was only one other way he could think of right now, one that mostly required the work of his arms – he could probably use his left if he kept the wrist raised. He'd have to drag himself over the ground.

He still had so much dignity left that he did not simply flop onto his belly – and thereby into the pool of vomit – but laboriously turned onto his back and then back onto his belly on the other side. Then he took a deep breath and murmured to himself: “Get to it, Aramis!” He dug his left elbow into the earth first to test if it worked and managed to drag himself forward without his wrist touching anything. It was not graceful, nor was it painless, but bit by bit, hand over elbow, he managed to worm his way along the ground towards the promise of cover and safety. The drag marks he left behind were probably a heavenly present to any tracker who came by … He just had to trust that they were not easy to see from atop the slope, which was all he could hope for, really. If someone climbed down into the hollow, they would surely find him, drag marks or not.

By the time he made his way to the underbrush, he was trembling and his vision was swimming and darkening, starbursts of pain bursting through, and all he wanted to do was collapse. He forced himself to endure until he had dragged himself beneath the branches, though, and painfully manoeuvered around so his face was oriented towards the slope and the path atop of it, drawing his pistols and sword and laying them down at his right, ready to be taken up in a single movement.

Then he put his right hand beneath his head, resting his cheek atop it, and sighed out a last, torturous groan before he closed his eyes, and the darkness swallowed him.

The next time Aramis became fully aware, light filled the forest and made him wince as his eyes fluttered open. He had been dragged back to something like consciousness by pain a few times throughout the night but it never lasted long, and he was half expecting the same right now. Still, he tried again to open his eyes, squinting until they had become accustomed to the brightness. Then he lay quietly, taking stock and listening to any sounds infiltrating his impromptu hideout. His injuries still smarted but hadn't worsened, and he knew that while his throat was dry, he could stay in place for quite a while, maybe even one or two days, without being in danger. The thought sent his heart rate soaring, though, and he sent a fervent prayer to God that he would not be forced to endure this. Right now he was holding on, the early autumn forest still lush and green enough with only a few patches of red, brown and gold mixed in that he knew it was not the same. He still had to wrestle a jolt of panic down whenever he remembered that he was alone and barely able to move, and no one knew where he was.

Resisting the urge to shift which only would awaken his aches and injuries, he lay his head down again and sighed. At least his work of dragging himself into the shelter of the underbrush had paid off – he doubted the men were still nearby. Now he had to hope for the opposite, that he wasn't too well-hidden for Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan to find him. “Hurry up, please,” he murmured to himself.

He drifted, then, the unrelenting pain and discomfort keeping him from surrendering to sleep again while he was too exhausted and sore to stay fully aware. This state was not that deep that the sound of voices did not pierce through the veil, however, and he raised his head, trying to listen intently.

“--sure?”

“--course not sure but--horse tracks--” Scraps of their talk floated down to him, and he held his breath. Oh, he hoped this was not his mind playing tricks on him, or was he delirious from pain and old ghosts?

“--like a goddamn needle--haystack.”

Throwing caution to the wind, he raised his own voice: “Athos! Porthos!”

There was a short silence, then he heard the best sound in the world: His best friend's voice, calling out in relief and disbelief: “Aramis!”, and then the sound of someone crashing and sliding down the slope.

“Here!” he called again, “I'm here!” He bit down hard on his lip as he moved stiff muscles to drag himself forward a bit, out of the underbrush's protective shadow.

Heavy steps came closer and then came to a stop before him. For a moment, he only saw boots in front of his face, then Porthos dropped into a crouch to meet his eyes. “There you are!” he said happily, relief in every line of his face. “What have you done to yourself this time?”

“I'll have you know it was my horse and the earth who did it to me,” Aramis huffed indignantly but then inclined his head in concession and enumerated: “Sprained left wrist, dislocated right knee, fractured lower left leg.” He hesitated but added: “Hit my head, too, and I was unconscious for a while, so possibly a mild concussion, too.” His head was actually the least painful part right now, and he was chalking his nausea the night before up to the pain rather a concussion, but those were hard to determine in yourself.

Porthos' eyebrows had risen ever higher with each item on the list, and Athos who was coming up behind him huffed in a mixture of exasperation and some relief: “You really outdid yourself this time.”

Aramis craned his neck up to look at his oldest brother and deadpanned: “Yes, well, I'm quite disappointed I didn't get the full set.” He nodded to his uninjured right arm. “Though I think there's also an extensive collection of bruises to go with everything else. I won't go tumbling down a slope again very soon, I assure you.”

“That's good to hear,” Porthos grumbled. “We all appreciate that.” He moved to one side and gestured to Athos to take the other as he carefully took hold of Aramis' left upper arm.

“You probably won't be doing much of anything for a while besides sitting around in bed and being bored to death,” Athos said mildly while he followed Porthos' example and grasped his arm on the right.

Aramis rolled his eyes which made his head ache more – alright, he had probably been right about the concussion – and replied: “Lovely.” He steeled himself for what would come next and bit down on any sounds of pain that threatened to escape when Porthos and Athos pulled him from the shrubs and levered him upright. It was still less painful than anything he could have done on his own, he was sure, and they did their best to be as gentle as possible. They slung his arms over their shoulders, and he put down his right leg very carefully to take some of his weight to prevent all of it resting on Athos' shoulders – the difference in height between Athos and Porthos meant that he was hanging slightly lopsided between them.

They waited quietly until he had adjusted to being upright and had stopped panting as if he had run for several leagues. His head suddenly snapped up, and he asked anxiously: “d'Artagnan?”

“He's up there with the horses,” Porthos soothed him.

Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. “The mission?”

“Completed,” Athos said as he and Porthos slowly began to move and Aramis did his best to at least move his right leg with them without jarring the knee too much, keeping the broken left leg clean off the ground. “d'Artagnan had arrived at the chateau first and had already handed off the papers to the messenger before Porthos and I got there.”

Aramis nodded. “Good work. So, was I the only unlucky man who had someone on their trail?”

Porthos snorted. “No, you only were the only unlucky one who fell off his horse,” he replied. He hesitated, then added: “Though I did get lost and only got there this morning when Athos and d'Artagnan were about to leave and look for both of us.”

“I'm quite thankful you made it in time,” Athos drawled, “one needle in a haystack is bad enough.”

“You did find this needle well enough,” the marksman said with a smile. “Thank you, brothers.”

The other two Musketeers did not reply – all of them had thanked the others for similar acts, and all of them had been told that there was no need for thanks but they still kept doing it. Aramis figured they had given up on protesting for similar reasons as he had. Some things just needed to be said.

Getting up the slope was difficult and painful for the injured man, and at one point Athos had to call for d'Artagnan to come and join them to help. The young Gascon followed the call with an eagerness that clearly told of how difficult it had been for him to stay behind and look after the horses while the others went to get Aramis. The marksman suspected that d'Artagnan had to restrain himself forcefully from accosting him with an embrace but as they were balancing quite precariously on the uneven decline, he was very glad that the Gascon did manage to do so and just went to help them without comment.

Finally, they arrived up top, and Aramis felt like collapsing on the spot. The others seemed to be aware of that, and Porthos and Athos carefully lowered him to the ground while d'Artagnan rushed off and returned a moment later with a water skin he thrust at Aramis. He took it gratefully and drank from it deeply but forced himself to stop and wait if the water would settle long before his thirst was satiated.

He was aware of d'Artagnan kneeling down at his side and Athos softly relating to him what Aramis had told them about his injuries. As long as they didn't touch him, however, Aramis did not care what they did right now, concentrating on catching his breath, taking some more sips from the water skin and waiting for some of the agony accosting his legs to die down. He was brought back to more awareness by d'Artagnan's hand on his arm and his voice saying his name.

“Aramis,” the Gascon repeated, observing him with a worried frown that smoothed out slightly when he raised his eyes to meet the young man's gaze. “I think we need to set the broken leg and relocate your knee before we can go,” d'Artagnan said uncomfortably. “Or do you think it's better to leave them until we're somewhere a physician can care for you?”

Aramis smiled grimly. “No, you're right,” he said, “the pain will far more manageable once everything is back where it belongs.” He did not look forward to it but it had to be done. While d'Artagnan had already proven an adept student in field medicine, he had little experience with broken bones as of yet. But Porthos and Athos were here, too, and had their fair share of experience in this regard.

d'Artagnan bit his lip worriedly but finally nodded, steeling himself, and got to his feet. “Porthos, can you find some sticks to splint his leg?” he requested. He fetched his medic satchel from his horse and returned to sort through it and ready a pile of bandages at Aramis' side. Then he held out a small flask of brandy to him. “Since we don't need it for any of your injuries, you may as well use it,” he smirked. “As impressive as they are, at least you did good work keeping this bloodless, for once.”

The marksman snorted and snatched the flask out of his hand. “We'll speak about that again when you come off your horse during a chase through a dark forest,” he replied, pointing it at the young man, then opened the flask and took a large swallow, relishing the burn down his throat.

“Pfft.” d'Artagnan only gave him an obnoxious grin, as if the idea of him falling off his horse was too ridiculous to contemplate, and Aramis rolled his eyes – ouch – and took another drink. Already he could feel some of the edges of the pain dull as the alcohol filled him with a subtle warmth.

Before long, Porthos was back with two sturdy pieces of a branch, and d'Artagnan looked them over with a satisfied nod. He then waved over both Porthos and Athos, positioning them to hold Aramis down while he knelt down next to his legs. “Ready?” he asked the injured man. Aramis took a deep breath and nodded – he was as ready as he'd ever be.

“On three,” d'Artagnan said, and Aramis braced himself. “One – two – three!” Pain burst from his leg and overwhelmed his vision, his mind, his body … For a moment, it was everything, and the rest of the world came back to him only slowly. He was aware of a large hand stroking his hair, of a deep voice murmuring something – he did not understand the words but the tone was soothing, comforting. Finally, he blinked his eyes open, tears clinging to his lashes and breaking the light into a kaleidoscope of colours. Porthos' face appeared over him, upside-down, and the brawler asked: “There, you back with us?”

Aramis nodded weakly. He raised his head until he could see d'Artagnan down by his legs and waved at him. “Go on,” he rasped, his voice rough and throat dry. He wanted to have this over with, delaying the inevitable would only make it hurt worse.

Porthos caught his head as he let it fall back again and lowered him carefully to the ground while there was quite some discussion between d'Artagnan and Athos he didn't follow. All that counted was that a bit later, one of them touched his hand and said. “All right, Aramis, here we go. On three. One – two – three!”

His other leg exploded in pain, and Aramis jerked upwards, throwing his head back. Strong hands held him down as he tried to escape, and he thrashed blindly. Maybe he was screaming, but he could not hear it himself over the ringing in his ears.

Sometime later he came back to himself, throat and head aching, but it was an improvement that he could actually feel this over the pain in his leg which was simmering down to a manageable level. Porthos was still at his side, stroking his hair, and he rolled his eyes upwards to meet his gaze. “Water?” he asked breathlessly.

Porthos nodded quickly, and a moment later a water skin appeared and was carefully held to his lips. He only took a few sips but they soothed his throat, and he sank back with a thankful sigh.

d'Artagnan reached for his hand to give it a squeeze and said: “It's over, you did it.” While the young Musketeer got to work bandaging both lower limbs, Athos got up and moved so he could kneel down opposite of Porthos, laying a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder. “We'll rest a while so you can recover,” he told him. “What do you think how much time you need?”

“Athos, that's not fair!” Porthos protested but Aramis put a hand on his arm – or at least attempted to; he actually ended up patting weakly at the front of Porthos' doublet. “It's alright, Porthos,” he told him. Directed at Athos, he said: “d'Artagnan should have some of the powder for a pain draught – have him make me one, please. After that, I'll need to sleep for a bit, and then we can go. Two hours, maybe?”

Athos nodded and patted his shoulder. “I'm sorry, my friend,” he said, “but even if the mission is no longer pressing, we should get back to Paris. I'm sure you will recover better in a bed than camping on the forest floor, too.”

“Quite likely, yes. No need to apologise, I understand,” Aramis replied.

d'Artagnan joined the other two and handed Porthos a cup. “How are you doing?” he asked the injured man.

Aramis gave him a smile, even if it did not reach its usual brightness. “I'm alright and happy you've turned out such an adept pupil. Finish up with this one, please?” He gestured towards the sprained wrist.

“Of course,” d'Artagnan nodded. By the time he had wrapped the limb firmly with a bandage, Porthos had made the marksman drink the draught, and Aramis was blinking sleepily up at his brothers gathered around him.

“Sleep, Aramis,” Athos ordered, “we'll be here when you wake up, and we'll take you home then.”

Aramis nodded, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “I know. You always do.” And secure in this knowledge, he breathed out, closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

[chelsfic]

Maybe One Day, My Love - Guillermo x Nandor One-shot

Read it on AO3 | WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: "...It’s the deepest, darkest corner of the park; a lonely place, a forgotten place. As good a place as any to meet an old friend."

26 years later. Guillermo sits by himself on his favorite park bench, but he's not alone.

A/N: I had some feelings today. Enjoy!

Warnings: Angst

***

It’s nightfall.

Guillermo de la Cruz takes his time strolling down the empty park lane. Maple trees border the walkway on either side; their branches reach out overhead, blocking the starlight and blanketing him in shadow. A layer of iced-over snow covers the ground. Guillermo’s sensible sneakers crunch with every step. His movements are measured and cautious. He’s no longer the thirty-year-old man who raced through the snow in a bloody bathrobe. Nor is he the fierce warrior who swung to the rescue in a theatre full of angry vampires. Now his body moves with the knowledge of its own fragility. His curly hair is sprinkled liberally with grey, and the laugh lines around his eyes have deepened, but he’s still unmistakably Guillermo .

He passes several empty benches, intently making his way to his spot. It doesn’t have the best view, nor is it the most comfortable seat, but it’s his. Guillermo’s lips curve in a smile as he comes to the solitary little alcove where he spends every Sunday night. An ancient, wooden park bench sits beneath a wizened old tree. Thick bushes surround the bench, pressing up against the backrest and depositing spiders on anyone who dares sit there. The paint has almost entirely flaked away from the smooth, wooden slats that make up the seat. It’s the deepest, darkest corner of the park; a lonely place, a forgotten place. As good a place as any to meet an old friend.

  Guillermo sits. The bench is coated in ice from the recent storm and the cold immediately cuts through his slacks. He doesn’t mind. He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and tucks his shoulders up to his ears against the chilly air. He doesn’t read a newspaper or check his phone. He simply sits and waits. He’s waiting for a feeling, impossible to describe. It’s the feeling of sitting in his little room under the stairs and noticing the curtain sway just a second before his master’s cold, pale hand rips it open. It’s the feeling of standing in his master’s crypt in the middle of the day and hearing him snoring faintly through the thick wood of his coffin. It’s the feeling of walking through the endless night, always searching, seeking, yearning, and feeling his master’s presence at his back like a comforting patron saint or a hungry wolf. 

  He’s waiting for his master.

  While he waits, Guillermo thinks about the week to come. He has to take his mamá to an appointment with her ophthalmologist on Tuesday. Her eyes are getting worse and worse, but she’s so damn stubborn about the cataract surgery. He sighs, his breath streaming out in a white cloud that quickly disperses in the cool air. He has the familiar recovery group on Thursday night. He has to remember to talk to Colby about the coffee. Work stuff. It’s funny. Work stress used to include finding viable body disposal sites and worrying about being arrested. Yet when he thinks back to that time, despite the fraught, damaged and exhausting relationship he had with his master and the other vampires, he can’t help but smile fondly. That part of his life is over now. He can look back on it without the sorrow he’d felt when he walked away. 

  Well, with less sorrow, anyway.

  A shadow deepens in the far right of Guillermo’s field of vision. A casual visitor to the park would never notice. Nandor has always been the perfect predator: silent and invisible until the moment of the kill. Guillermo just happens to be attuned to him. If he were blindfolded and dropped to the bottom of the harbor, Guillermo would still feel his master’s energy should he drift by on the surface, propelled by the oar-work of some hapless, new familiar. The image strikes him as unnecessarily gloomy. He always gets like this on Sunday nights. Thinking back to the way things used to be. 

  Guillermo sits up straighter. He doesn’t turn his head or directly address the vampire he knows to be lurking just out of reach. That’s not their arrangement. Every Sunday morning he takes his mamá to church. But every Sunday night he comes here to hold a vigil for the dark deity to whom he once prayed. He feels Nandor’s eyes on him and, as always, he wonders how much he’s changed in the last week. Guillermo never used to worry about growing old. He always assumed he would be turned well before he had to worry about wrinkles or grey hairs. Does Nandor catalog the little imperfections? Does he mourn the loss of Guillermo’s silky, deep brown curls? Do his cheeks not look as rosy as they once did? Is his decidedly unvirginal scent less appealing? Guillermo finds himself wondering if the high blood sugar his doctor has warned him about would affect the scent of his blood.

  A noise from the bushes interrupts his train of thought. It sounds like a very impatient twig snapping. Guillermo smiles.

  “Let’s see…” He leans his head back and addresses the branches overhead. “I’m doing good. I joined a walking club in my neighborhood. That’s--um--a group of humans who walk together for their health. My doctor’s happy about it. It’s nice, even if it’s mostly catty soccer moms. I think they’ve adopted me as their gloomy, gay, middle-aged son.” He lowers his gaze to the slushy snow at his feet, rubbing the crick in the back of his neck. It’s dark in this corner of the park, but his round glasses manage to catch a stray beam of ambient light. “My niece is having a baby. Amá is so excited. It’s her first great-grandchild.” 

  He thinks of Madelaine and feels a pang for Nandor. Even after everything--the years of gaslighting, tossing out crumbs of affection to string him along, the emotional manipulation--Guillermo is still capable of empathizing for his master. 

  He falls silent, sniffling his nose a bit. He can feel a cold coming on. He probably, definitely shouldn’t be sitting in the frigid cold like this. But what would Nandor think if he didn’t show up? Would he assume that something had happened to Guillermo? Would he...stop coming himself? Guillermo shudders.

  “Yeah...I’m doing well. Healthy, safe…” he trails off. A gust of icy wind hits the back of his neck and he imagines it’s Nandor’s cool breath. God, there was a time when casual physical intimacy was a second language between them. Now they can’t even acknowledge each other’s presence. Guillermo takes a shaky breath. “I wonder about my old master sometimes. Nandor .” He savors the taste of the name on his tongue. “I hope he’s doing okay. I hope he’s eating enough and taking care of himself. Remembering not to leave candles lit before he gets into coffin. I hope he’s happy.”

  He swallows a lump in his throat. He used to cry. In the beginning, when the hurt of walking away was still sharp and fresh. It was torture, yearning to capitulate yet resisting. He would beg Nandor to step out of the shadows and hold him. He would demand that Nandor force him to come back. Now, with the benefit of years of growth and a lot of therapy, Guillermo sees Nandor’s stubborn silence in those early days as the most precious gift the vampire has ever given him. What had it cost Nandor? He wondered.

  “Maybe I’ll see him again one day…” Guillermo muses. For the first time he turns around and looks into the impenetrable shadows surrounding him. He strains his eyes, focusing on the spot in the darkness where he feels his master the most. He imagines Nandor stepping forward and taking his hand like he did that night in Manhattan. Guillermo, 56-years-old and definitely too old for this shit, would swoon just like he did back then. Nandor would smile, his fangs denting into his lower lip and eyes squinting adorably. He’d take Guillermo into his arms and they’d finally share the kiss that’s hung in the space between them for more than half his human life.

  The night is silent and still.

  “Maybe one day,” Guillermo says with a soft smile. He stands, rubbing his stiff knees and shivering as the cold air bites through him. He pauses before leaving, training his eyes on the ground and murmuring in a barely there whisper, “Goodnight, master.”

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

--Fleetwood Mac, “Landslide”

[omenapologist-moved]

Rabbit: Second Statement of “Mira”

Lost statement which was recovered in the depths of the Magnus Institute. This is one of few tapes we were able to recover. This tape appeared to have been slightly damaged in storage, but the integrity of the audio recording remains.

Statement begins.

Once again, I find myself here in this pleather seat, in front of you. Stoic as always. Removed from the situation I am about to relay to you. You try and look like you aren't bothered by my words, but the slight tremble in your voice betrays you. But even more than that, it's the look in your eyes. Your doe-like eyes, Archivist. Big and round and deep and full of fear like a little prey animal when faced with the barrel of a gun. 

But don't worry, I'm not here to torment you or to further comment on your striking resemblance to that which torments me. Some... Interesting things have happened since I was last seated across the table from you. This update I bring is mostly a formality. I expect these tapes to be the only record of my existence, or rather, the only record of this incarnation of myself, of Mira, in due time. I've traveled to many more towns, worn a few different faces since the last time we spoke. Well, the last time I spoke at you, if we wanted to be more technical about it. 

...Does my face look the same to you? I don't even recognize that I have one anymore. It is not something I worry about, particularly when I am alone to my thoughts. Who I am when I am alone does not matter, just as it doesn't matter whether or not a tree makes a noise when it falls in a forest and no one is around. It is when I am around others that who I am matters. 

To you, I am Mira. The strange little taxidermist that kept running over innocent animals with their car, had a psychotic break, and skipped town over and over again. At least that is what you tell yourself to avoid confronting the greater other, that which I am and that which I am not. You try and be skeptical, Archivist, but I can tell it is mostly to hide your fear... But you didn't say no when I came back.

My apologies, I said I wasn't here to torment you. It's just a little funny. 

I've poked and prodded and beaten around the bush long enough.

It's been nearly three years in total now since I left a life I once said was mine. I found a picture of that person in an old notebook the other day, and it was not me, and I am fine with that now. Every day I become more and more of a stranger to myself, and that is okay. 

I have become content with my life's path once again. 

I have rediscovered an old hobby.

For these past years, every time I saw that deer, I would look at it in its beautiful eyes that looked too much like mine and I would slam my foot on the gas and stare it down as I ran it over. I got better at causing less damage to my car over time. I'm amazed it's survived all the collisions. I'm amazed I have survived all the collisions. 

I came close a few times to being hit by an oncoming car, or veering directly into a tree, or the hooves of the animal smashing their way through my windshield and crushing my throat under their keratinous force. It felt as though the universe were holding me in its cold arms and sheltering me from the worst of these impacts, just so that I could be where I am today. 

The last few times I caused steel to collide with flesh, an itch grew upon me. Something I had not felt in quite some time. A desire once more to create, to peel away the soft, gentle fur of a little creature until its pink muscle is bared to the world and eaten by flies and maggots and carrion crows. To stretch its skin taut and stitch it back together, to have those glassy eyes once again staring me down from every crevice of my home. 

I resisted it at first. I knew I'd be a failure to it, that it would hate me, its cruel father, for condemning it once more to walk the Earth in such a terrible form. Legs a few half-inches too long, lips that were meant to be drawn into a contemplative expression stiffly stitched into a grimace, and those eyes...

But then, in a town where I wore the face of a happy-go-lucky bartender named Elijah, one of the stray cats I had been leaving food out for presented me with a gift. A freshly-caught little rabbit. I remembered how it felt to process such a creature. The fur of rabbits is so soft, softer than anything synthetic, but you have to be careful when you de-flesh the hide. The skin is so thin and tender and prone to tearing with the slightest nick, and if you are enough of an amateur such as myself you can ruin the whole hide. 

But once it is done it is such a precious little thing. So soft, but less... Frantic than it was in life. 

No little panicked rabbit heartbeat. 

Just silence and softness.

I wrapped the little thing in a plastic bag and I put it in my freezer, and the next day I went to the store and bought the barest of supplies. The tan would be nothing impressive, I wasn't even sure if it would last given the exceptionally low quality of the alum I had purchased, but it was worth a try, I thought. 

Somehow, it was worse than my previous specimens. The eyes squinted at me and they scorned me and they judged me not just for the sin of stuffing this creature but for all of the sins I had committed since pursuing this hobby. The skin itself had cured just fine, and yet the fur was falling out in chunks. I was eventually left with a thing that hardly resembled a rabbit anymore at all, but for the two unmistakable ears protruding from the top of its head. 

Most of it was bald flesh, translucent. The cheap floral foam I had used to sculpt the form it was stitched onto cast it in a ghastly green hue, and without the bulk of the fur to hide my errors every little imperfection shone through. The light tan stitching holding the piece together made it reminiscent of a recently autopsied corpse rather than a piece of taxidermy. I could see the full resin orb of its eyes through the skin, wide in terror at my sins. 

What have you done. 

What have you done. 

What have you done.

But somehow, I was not discouraged. I gave the blasphemous excuse for a piece of art a prominent place on my bookshelf. To remind me of my work, and that I had far to go.

Several days after, one of my coworkers invited me to an outing after work. The face I wore wouldn't say no, and so despite myself I accepted. I had yet again started keeping some meager supplies for the collection of roadkill in my car, but had yet to find any salvageable specimens. 

The outing doesn't matter. My presence was ultimately only so that I may be the vessel of that which they wished me to be, so I played my role and I played it well. I socialized, and joked, and was informed sometime afterwards I had been the life of the party. Good for them to get such use out of me. By the time I left the party, it was well after dark. 

Despite my best attempts in the contrary, I had found myself in a fairly rural area once more. Not that being in the city had kept the deer from pursuing me, of course. It would always find me. The red of blood and peeling mint-green of my car made quite the contrast. One I became used to with time.

I was driving home from the aforementioned outing. It had rained earlier that day and the yellow tinted light from the occasional street lamp danced somberly upon the wet asphalt. The road to the ramshackle motel I was staying in was a lonesome one. I was accompanied only by the watchful birch trees and my own thoughts, which had grown fuzzier as of late. A dull hum in the back of my mind, intrusive thoughts blending with my own until I couldn't tell where I ended and the other began. 

The sky was black and starless, the typical countless pinpricks of light obscured by oppressive storm clouds threatening to release another downpour. The typical yellow lines that divided the road were worn away in this area, neglected asphalt riddled with potholes of varying but always hazardous sizes. 

The black of the road and the black of the sky blended into an all-consuming void, the shimmer of my headlights on the wet road the only stars in sight. Ghostly birch trees stood as sentinels on either side of the road, observing me as they did every other passerby. As I progressed to my destination the trees became thicker and taller and the road became skinnier and more perilous. 

As they had promised, the clouds above unleashed their storm upon me. I turned on my high-beams and proceeded through the downpour.

In the distance, something on the shoulder of the road caught the light emanating from my car. Two perfect circles of light flashed. Animal eyes. I knew what would come next. The deer with my eyes would walk onto the middle of the road, and it would wait for the kiss of hard metal against its soft flesh and strong but not strong enough bones, and it would die there on that road and be gone by morning, and I would wash its blood from my car and pay for the repairs I needed to pay for, and I would pack up again and I would move town and change my name and my face to suit the next group of people that I would find myself amongst.

No.

No, I decided.

That was enough. I had enough.

The deer looked at me in the same way it always looked at me. Its eyes were more mine than they ever had been, full of a very, very human hatred.

My heart beat in time with the pace of my windshield wipers as they swept the rain from my field of vision. I stared at the deer in waiting of its own demise. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white, skin taut like that of a taxidermied rabbit around its form, translucent and pale and cold. I pressed my foot onto the pedal until it was flush with the floorboard. I felt the car lurch forward, taking a moment to make purchase with the rain-sodden road. 

I felt every moment of the impact, this time. I heard as the plastic and metal on the front of my car were wrought around the cervine's fragile frame. The doe slid onto the hood of my car, and as it did I became closer to its eyes than I ever had been and how they burned, Archivist. 

As the skull of the creature made impact with the glass barrier separating the two of us, its eyes did not close, the glass windshield spider-webbing around where the deer had collided with it. It remained in one piece, but only barely. The car slid along the slick road, and I slammed on the breaks. My nose smashed into the steering wheel, eliciting a trickle of blood to spout forth from it. The slain animal slid from the front of my vehicle, propelled forward by the remaining velocity.

The vehicle finally finished its motion, and sat under the rain. Again, there was silence.

I wiped the blood from my nose, and I leaned over to my glove box, and I retrieved my skinner knife and my spare needles and thread, and out there on that lonesome road in the middle of the rain I began my masterpiece.

The deer was dead. Its eyes were still open. I had never in all this time seen them shut. Despite the fire behind them having been extinguished by my own hand, they still burned.

I would give it a reason to hate me.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

ORGANIC STARTUP INVESTING TRENDS

Not only did we have to memorize state capitals instead of playing dodgeball? Several of the most important problems in their field.1 Another approach would be to let that opportunity slip. We were supposed to read novels and write essays about them. Stuff used to be valuable, and now it's not. For the average user, is far fewer bugs. They make such great stuff. There is always a big time lag in prestige. And jeans turn out not to want. They're going to walk up to the software, listening closely to the users as you do. With server-based software is never going to be something you write, yes. And later stage investors?

Many of the students who now major in English would major in writing if they could, and most founders of successful ones do. I think will be an orderly way for people to quit. Partly because they can afford. It's the concluding remarks to the jury. A typical desktop software company that had over 100 people working in it. A better way to describe this situation is to say that a hacker about to write a prototype that solves a subset of the problem. A programmer can leave the office and typing into vt100s. Even if you're designing something for idiots, the odds are that you're not designing something good, even for idiots. Buildings to be constructed from stone were tested on a smaller scale. It was written by two different people. We found that you don't have to work for a long time and could only travel vicariously. Relentlessness wins because, in the very phrase software company.

By the end of the continuum are languages like Ada and Pascal, models of propriety that are good for teaching and not much else. So instead of copying the Facebook, with some variation that the Facebook rightly ignored, look for problems and imagine the company that might solve them. It's a rare startup that doesn't build something the founders use. Then it struck me: this is the right model for collaboration in software too. Some people are lucky enough to know what they want either. So anything we could do to get more people through the test drive. But more than half the households in the US. They weren't tempted by the minor perquisites of power. In fact the dangers of deciding what programmers are allowed to want. And then at the other makers.

A programming language does need a good implementation, of course, but when they do get paged at 4:00 AM, they don't use sentences any more complex than they do when talking about what to have for lunch. A programming language is good as a programming language.2 Is software a counterexample? How did she get into this fix? Most users probably don't. The only external test is time. In the summer of 2005, most of the advantages of being able to do the unpleasant jobs.

When I say that design must be for users, I don't mean to disparage Yahoo. And people don't learn Python because it will get them a job; they learn it because they can't help it.3 You don't know yet. And they are also different lengths, meaning that the arguments won't line up when they're called, as car and cdr often are, in theory, explaining yourself to someone else instead of being pasted onto it like a pilot scanning the instrument panel, not like a detective trying to unravel some mystery. I want to go straight there, blustering through obstacles, and hand-waving your way across swampy ground. This article describes the surprising things we saw, as some of the work they do. For example, the good china so many households have, and Jessica does too, mostly, because she's gotten into sync with us. If you want people to read, and only incidentally for machines to execute.

There's a lot to like I've done a few things, like programmers and writers. The other reason Apple should care what programmers think of them, we either try to remove it, or shift the startup sideways. If you raised five million and ran out of ideas. Which makes them exactly the kind of problems that have to be Web-based software gives you unprecedented information about their behavior. Search for a few months. You don't have to watch the servers every minute after the first year or so, but you can write the first version of a tree that in the past has had false starts branching off all over it. It wasn't that they were just good enough. What's going on here? VCs miss good startups all the time? And you don't want to.

What's going on here? And programmers build applications for the platforms they use. I was told I shouldn't mention founders of YC-funded companies in this list. No one, VC or angel, has invested in more of the world's great programmers are born outside the US. Fixing a bug in your code corrupts some data on disk, you have to remember to do something. The classic startup is fast and informal, with few people and little money.4 You should be able to look at it. Platform is a vague word.

Programming languages are not theorems. It's a rare startup that doesn't build something the founders use.5 If you administer the servers, it will work anywhere the Web works. For the first week or so we intended to make this point diplomatically, but in effect I had two workdays each day, one on the maker's: office hours. With Web-based application will be a collection of utilities for generating reports, and only evolved into a programming language to have, say, $2 million, they generally expect to offer a significant amount of help along with the money; the only question is how much on what terms.6 There's always something coming on the next hour working on something, they want to do now. The more people you have, the more stuff they seem to have worked alone. It works a lot better for a small team of good, trusted programmers than it would for a big company, they were exceptional. But the fact is, almost anyone would rather, at any given moment, float about in the Carribbean, or have sex, or eat, or even to use the shift key much. Leonardo painted the portrait of Ginevra de Benci in the National Gallery, he put a juniper bush behind her head. Another thing you want in a throwaway program itself. She came to the startup world, things change so rapidly that you can't make yourself care.

Notes

99,—. At the seed stage our valuation was in a deal led by a big VC firm or they see of piracy is simply what they are so different from money raised in an era of such regulations is to get the rankings they want to avoid companies that seem excusable according to certain somewhat depressing rules many of the next one will be interesting to 10,000 people or so and we ran into Muzzammil Zaveri, and how unbelievably annoying it is to hand off the task to companies via internship programs. No one writing a dictionary to pick your brains.

The existence of people, how little autonomy one would have gotten away with dropping Java in the computer, the best ways to avoid collisions in.

Joe thinks one of his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how hard it is to imagine that there were no strong central governments. This is one of few they had no government powerful enough to absorb that.

More precisely, the group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I say in principle 100,000 or a blog that tried to unload it on buyer after buyer. The Wouldbegoods. More precisely, the average reader that they kill you, you can't dictate the problem and approached it with superficial decorations.

What makes most suburbs so demoralizing is that they've already decided what they're really saying is they want both. I'm not saying you should push back on industrialization at the valuation should be easy to believe your whole future depends on the grounds that a their applicants come from meditating in an equity round.

Words this way would be vulnerable both to attack and abuse.

Thanks to Steve Huffman, Trevor Blackwell, Harj Taggar, Erann Gat, and Geoff Ralston for their feedback on these thoughts.

[eugenesmorphine]

The Highest Honor // A Ronald Speirs Imagine

@alienoresimagines @alienoresimagines

AN: I am very aware this isn’t historically accurate! I got this idea from a friend of mine and added my own things into it! I apologize if it doesn’t make sense or something, I am trying something new. So please do not hate on it :). And some pieces are in German, in which there are translations with them. If there are any errors, I'm sorry in advance. Also, let me know if you guys want a part two to this, I'm contemplating making a second part.

I slid on that drasted German Officer’s uniform. I was supposed to be a Paratrooper. You know, on the ground with a rifle, taking down groups of Germans. Not becoming a spy to help the French regain Paris back. I pulled my hair back into a neat bun, placing my cap on top of my head. I looked in the mirror, within my body a tinge of shame, It felt wrong wearing the enemy's uniform. Especially as a Jew myself, knowing what the Germans have been doing to my people. I applied a red lipstick. And taking one last glance at myself within the mirror, flattening down the pencil skirt and adjusting the blazer. It sent a large shiver down my spine. To look at myself and see me wearing this uniform, it was sickening. 

I took a deep breath, swallowing hard as I grabbed the door handle. Twisting it and pulling the door open. It seemed as if all of Easy Company was standing outside of my door. My cheeks heated up in the slightest. I kept my chin high. I know they didn’t like seeing me in the uniform, especially Ronald. I glanced at him, trying to make it so no one would notice me catching his eyes.

///

Captain Ronald Speirs and I had been having somewhat of a secret relationship these past few months. I’m aware it sounded dumb. Though, the officer and I were in love. But the rules in the Army were the rules. It didn’t stop us though. To my knowledge only Richard Winters knew about the two of us, and both Ron and I knew he would never say a word. The two of us would barley and even speak during the day. Only in briefings with the rest of the higher rankings. When it came to night time though, when everyone was asleep. Ron and I would sneak out just like teenagers. The two of them would go sit somewhere more private and talk for hours. Or do other things. Like kisses and so on. Oh god was he a good kisser. Behind that rough and scary front he put on, with me, he wasn’t like that. He was actually quite sweet. 

You must be wondering how Ron and I actually came to be what we are now. I showed up to Easy Company, the first female Paratrooper yet. I was a translator, originally supposed to be the secretary and just translating documents. I was trained for combat but I was supposed to stay back with the higher ups. That was until Major Horton actually saw more potential in me. I was put on the line, I stayed with officers mostly on the line and when going into places like Carentan and Bastogne.

I had met Mr. Speirs when we had first Parachuted into Normandy and he was the first man I had linked up with. I remember hearing stories about him, and it was with him where I killed my first set of Germans. We spoke a few words that night, though it was safe to say that after that night, after I saved his ass from a Kraut, I guess that where “we” began. We began getting secretly closer and closer ever since that day. Leading to all our small accomplishments, us sneaking our first kiss inside the empty dining hall late at night, just to have Winters walk in on us. So much has gone on the fast time. I had completely fallen for Ron. And from what he said, he felt that exact same.

///

Now here I was. What seems to be decades later. When I had glanced at Ron for a few seconds, I could see the nervousness etched into his face. One of the French Resistance leaders approached me quickly though, pulling me and the rest of Easy Company along for a quick briefing before this mission.  On the surface, my face was calm and straight forward. My voice is calm and steady. But mentally, I was terrified. God knows what the German’s would do to me if they found out I was a spy. Let alone a Jew. 

“Listen Corporal L/N, we are going to send you in. You are to only speak in German, you are Adeline Lieslotte, you are there as a secretary. You are going in to get as much information about anything and everything you can memorize, take, whatever. Understand?” The man’s French accent was thick. Though, I understood what was needed of me. I nodded in response to him. Gulping as I watched everyone except Ron walk out. I was nervous for what I needed to do in just an hour.  

I watched as Ronald quickly walked over to the open door, looking outside to see if anyone was around. He quickly shut the door. Walked back to me. He immediately cupped my face, pressing his lips against mine. His kiss was so firm, but you could feel the fear from deep within him. I grasped at his messy hair. My fingers raked through his hair. I pulled away from him, looking into his eyes. His face was soft, like a lost puppy almost.

“Please Y/N, please be safe. I can’t lose you too. Come back to me,” he pleaded. His voice was broken up. He was actually worried. Like really worried. I cupped his face, bringing him down to be eye level with me. Looking directly into his eyes.

“I promise you Ronald Speirs, that I will make it back to you,” I promised. Giving him one more peck on the lips before my name was called. I pulled away from him. Flattening my skirt and applying new lipstick. I gave Ronald one last glance before walking out the door. The only sound was my heels clicking against the hardwood floor.  

Now was the time. I was in a Jeep getting to a German building filled to the brim with high end Nazis. I clutched a suitcase in my hand as I hopped out of the jeep and began walking into the building. My heart was pounding and I had thousands of thoughts coursing through my brain. I tried to seem calm on the outside, and it seemed to be working. I began walking through all the different floors, office spaces. Sneaking pieces of documents, reading over small documents, trying to listen in and write down things from conversations. I kept doing this for three hours. It was all going well, until I was approached by which seemed like a high ranking Nazi Officer. I gulped as he approached me.

“Hallo, wie scheint dein Name zu sein? Ich glaube nicht, dass ich dich schon einmal hier gesehen habe?” he asked, (hello, what seems to be your name? I don't think I've seen you here before?). I gulped. Was he on to me?  Play it cool Y/N, you are fine. You got this. Nothing is going to happen. Right? 

“Mein Name ist Adeline Lieselotte, ich wurde als andere Sekretärin hierher gebracht,” I replied (My name is Adeline Lieselotte, I was brought here as another secretary).My german coming out smooth and the accent perfect. 

“Sekretär? Ich wurde nicht über eine neue Sekretärin informiert. Wenn überhaupt, wurde mir mitgeteilt, dass wir mehr als genug davon hatten,” His voice was sceptical (Secretary? I was not informed of a new secretary. If anything I was informed that we had more than enough of them). I felt my anxiety levels start rising. Was I caught? 

“Es tut mir leid, dass niemand Sie informiert hat, Sir. Ich dachte, Sie wurden informiert,” I answered, my words coming out rushed and seemingly nervous (I'm sorry no one had informed you sir, I thought you had been informed). I just screwed myself over. Think of Ronald, go to your happy place. You’re going to make it out of this Y/N and you are going to make it out with the love of your life. I watched as the Nazi officer’s face changed. Into one of the shit eating smirks as if he knew something was up. I was screwed. I mentally began praying.

“Nun, Miss Lieselotte, möchten Sie mit mir einen Spaziergang in die Vorderseite des Gebäudes machen? Ich würde gerne mehr darüber erfahren, wofür Sie sie beauftragt haben,” he said, his voice strangely cherry (Well, Miss Lieselotte, would you like to take a walk with me out into the front of the building? I would like to know more of what you were assigned you to do). I swallowed hard and put on a smile. Clutching my suitcase in my hand tightly. I knew exactly what he was doing. The Nazis already knew that us Americans were around this perimeter, but just didn’t know where. I knew that Easy Company was hidden around the thick forests in front of the building, waiting for me to return safely. They must know that too. Shit. 

I followed the officer outside. The cold air hit my face and it sent a shiver throughout my entire body. And as soon as I went to walk down those stairs, I felt a hard shove from two hands placed into the center of my back. I went flying forward, my small frame hitting each step. I felt my knee get a hard and large scrape across it, the warm blood trickling down my knee. I’m finished. My body hit the snowy ground, it already ached from the hard fall down the many marble and rock stairs. Though, I put my hands beneath my body and pressed myself upwards. I was about to stand up before I felt a hard leather boot right in my ribcage. A loud yelp left my lips as I rolled over on my side , clutching it. For sure at least one rib was broken.

“You think I wouldn’t find out you stupid American? You think the others didn’t see you grabbing our documents and listening in our conversations? You Americans are even dumber than we thought,” he spoke in English. It was broken up and his German accent was strong with it. I looked up at him, Panting as I tried to stand once more. This time I felt his leather gloves first collide with my cheek. The force knocked me right back down. I thought I was seeing birds flying around my head. I looked back up at him, he had an evil smirk plastered onto his face. I then looked to the tree line. Knowing my Easy Company was there watching me. I tried looking hard into the thick brush of the trees and bushes. I could see them. I could see my men. Their eyes filled with horror as they began watching me getting beaten. 

I felt my Garrison cap be ripped off and the hair on top of my head being gripped into the officer’s fist. He yanked it back, arching my head up. He got close into my ear and whispered, “I know your little friends are out there, why don’t you just tell me where your camp is? All of this will be over if you just work with us,” as he turned my head towards the woods. He squeezed my cheeks with his free hands, making the blood that had filled my mouth drip on to my chin and into the snow. I would never give my men’s position away. No matter what. I just stayed quiet, and when the Nazi demanded an answer once more. I used my eyes to look at him.

“Fick dich,” I responded, biting down hard onto his hand (Fuck You). He yelled out in pain, slamming my head down into the snow. I watched as he grabbed onto his now bleeding hand. I spit blood onto his boot and stood myself up. My legs wobbled beneath me, but I held my ground. “I can take it,” I yelled. Loud enough for the rest of Easy to hear me. I wasn’t really scared anymore. It must’ve been the adrenaline. 

I watched as the Officer looked up at me, his evil smirk changed into a look of pure anger. He walked up to me and socked me right in the eye. That would surely bruise. I stumbled backwards, bringing my hand up to the eye that was just hit. “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll maybe spare you,” he said, his thick accent spilling out of his mouth. I just stared at him, not a word leaving my bleeding lips. My silence did not please him. The large officer then grabbed my neck and slammed me against one of the German trucks. His hand tightened around my throat, leaving me slightly gasping for air. I brought my hands up to try to hit his hand off my throat. His free hand reached up and slugged me in the nose. My head snapped to the right from the force. I could feel warm blood begin flowing down my face. I coughed on the blood, making it spray on the abusers face. I kept gasping for air, my head began to seemingly spin. I watched weakly as his hand went up and he hit me again. And then again. And then again. Each hit felt harder than the last.

I weakly looked back at the Officer. Both from lack of oxygen and the amount of times I had just been slugged. My eyebrow had been split open along with my lip, my mouth was pouring blood along with my nose. I watched weakly as he raised his hand again, not even flinching as he cocked his arm back, ready to strike. Though, I just closed my eyes, waiting for the blow. But it all cut short from a huge explosion coming from inside their base. What the hell was going on. My eyes opened heavily, the officer’s fist was still in the air as he looked in the direction of the explosion. I followed with the same actions. I was just as confused. He dropped me onto the ground and ran into what looked like the burning remains of the building I was just sneaking around in. Screams and cries of pain, and Germans running out into the snow engulfed in flames. Then gunshots rang off. I was deliriously on the ground, trying to push my now broken feeling body up. But my arms were so tired and they hurt so bad, I couldn’t get myself up. I began trying to crawl. What a pathetic sight that must’ve been. I watched as boots ran past me, like they were going into the fire.

I looked up. It was Easy Company! Or was the multiple blows to my brain bucket catching up to me. I heard someone calling my name. It sounded so foggy and static it seemed. I looked up, once more trying to get myself up, but once again failing. My eyes met with his. It was my Ronald. Oh god was I happy he was here. His face was softened, and so worried. How bad did I look? 

“Oh my god, Doll. You are going to be okay baby, Doc’s going to get you all patched up. I promise,” he tried to reassure me. I nodded, coughing up more blood. “I knew I shouldn’t of let you go on this stupid mission,” he muttered angrily, carrying me in bridal style. I felt so tired, I could barely even hold my arms up to gently wrap them around Ron’s neck.  My eyes got so heavy, I could barely keep them open. I felt a light hand tap my face as I could feel Ronald’s pace quicken. I opened my eyes to see his gaze, his worried filled gaze. “Come on Y/N, stay awake, you got this,” he begged. I nodded, swallowed. It was like the blood kept filling my mouth and blood kept dripping down my face. It made me feel so gross. 

Ronald got me to Doc Roe just minutes later. They laid me down on a table and that's when it all went dark. I was just so tired, I couldn;t keep my eyes open for the life of me. I hope Ronald wasn’t upset with me. Now I was left in silence, in my own thoughts. Why was there an explosion? That wasn’t the plan I was told at all. What would've happened if I was still inside? Oh I have a few words to pick with the person that ordered our Flyboys and bombers. I was going to let them have it. But for now, maybe a little sleep won’t hurt. 

///

My eyes blinked open. I don’t think I’ve ever had more of a painful migraine in my life. I propped myself up, feeling a sharp pain from within my ribcage. Causing me to wince and place a free hand on the area. Looking down to see my torso, tightly wrapped white bandages around my ribs. I sighed as I looked around the little aid station. The bitter cold within the room told me that I never left. I spotted a familiar officer laying uncomfortably in a chair in the corner of the little room I was in. He was out cold. Visibly being able to see the exhaustion exteched onto his features. My face softened at the sight. Though, my attention was grasped on someone else when the person walked in, clearing their throat. I looked up and no other than Doc Roe. He gave me a slight nod in which I returned before he walked over next to me. 

“You seem like you are recovering well. You had two broken ribs, severe concussion, the inner linings of your throat were swollen and bruised, a break in your wrist, and a small break in your femur, split lip, lucky your nose wasn’t broken, eyebrow was split open, bruises on you cheek and temple, cheek has a cut. Though, along with other minor problems, everything was taken care of. I heard from Winters that you might be getting a medal from riskin’ your life getting all those documents. Especially keeping quiet when that Nazi officer was beating you like no tomorrow. All the information you received in that suit case of yours was obtained and boy was it useful. Hell, some of it might help end the war!” this was the most I’ve ever heard Roe speak in a conversation. There was so much he said, and so fast. I had so many injuries, but a medal? Why in the hell was I going to get a medal? What kind of medal? So many thoughts had begun spinning through my mind, I had only just woken up about five minutes ago. What the hell was going on. Most importantly, I wanted to know why in the hell did that place blow up! Was nobody else wondering this? Like at all? I shook it off, I didn’t really care anymore at this moment. I was more worried about the fact I was getting a medal.

Soon after, Ronald woke up. Getting up so fast he nearly fell over. I swung my legs over to one side of my cot. Watching as the Captain ran over to me, cupping my face and kissing me. “I thought I lost you,” he stated quietly, placing his forehead on top of mine. Roe piped in once more.

“He has been sitting in that chair the entire time. Not leaving the room once,” he said, walking out of the room. I looked at Ron, his cheeks reddening. I smiled, laughing softly and kissed him once more.

“I’m guessing everyone knows about us now?” I asked, scratching the back of my neck. He chuckled, pulling away from me. He sat next to me and nodded. It wasn’t too big of a problem with me, it was kind of nice actually. “It’s alright Ron, I’m just happy you’re okay,” I said, holding his hand softly.

“Me?!” he exclaimed. “I’m happy you’re okay! I thought I lost you. I had to watch you get beaten like that, I couldn't even yell out to you. And when the miscommunication with our Flyboys and the bombers, I thought I really had lost you. What if you had been inside that building? What would I do without you,” he sighed. I could tell he was stressed about all this, putting so much pressure onto himself.I felt terrible. He was really tearing himself apart, I could just tell by how he looked. I gave his hand a squeeze. He looked up at me. “They are putting you in for the Medal of Honor,” he stated. My eyes grew wide and my mouth hung open. The Medal of Honor? For what? I don’t in any way deserve that high of an honor. Or any honor.

“Why me?” I asked in disbelief. I was being put in for the Military's highest honor. In every branch, there aren’t many that receive this honor. I was terrified for some reason. I didn’t know how to act and or what to do. I came into this war as a translating secretary for Easy Company, and now somehow, I was receiving the Medal of Honor. I took a deep breath, staring forward at the wall. Just trying to take in all of the information. 

“The reason why you are receiving it is because you went into the Nazi filled building, being a Jewish American who speaks German for starters, as a spy. You showed up to be a translator and secretary. You weren’t even supposed to be on the line and or closer to changer than a minimal amount. Then here you were, volunteering to go into an environment that you know you could easily die and or get captured in. You were able to get so much intel with stealing copies of documents, listening to conversations and writing notes, taking pictures, we now have a huge upper hand that the Nazis don’t know about. You got caught, and even being beaten so bad, you didn’t give out our position. You nearly died while Doc was stitching you up. You had so much head trauma, blood loss, and your throat almost swollen shut. Though, I knew you knew that you could’ve died in the hands of that man or on that table, but you knew what you were sacrificing. You knew that no sacrifice was too great. That is why you are getting the Medal of Honor. Horton is showing up here along with one of the Generals, I just know that you’ll be getting the Medal the day we leave to get on the ships when the war is over. In front of everyone,” I gulped, looking at my lap. This was all happening so fast. Was the war being close to ending? I sighed, clutching my lover’s hand. I looked over at him.

“As long as I am with you, Captain Ronald Speirs, I don’t care where I go, what I do, and or what I get, as long as I have you in my life I’m content with life,” I answered. He leaned in and kissed me, tracking his hand up into my hair. I felt his amazing smile against my lips as I brought my hands to his face. I was speaking the truth, as long as I am with him, I was happy no matter what. I could care less if I got that Medal now or in twenty years, I have Ronald. That is way more important to me.

[pagesofivy]

San Francisco Flowers

Prompt: Commission for @theweepingvulcan91 for Spock x human!reader

Maybe it’s the first time Spock is seeing the reader out of uniform in something nice and flowy, if that makes sense. Them being on shore leave and Spock shows the reader one of his favorite places in San Francisco or wherever they’re located

Warnings: None, just lotsa fluff. This is a Star Trek fic, so if that’s not your bag of chips, please ignore it.

Beta: @arrow-guy

Word Count: 1758

Tagging: @meganwinchester1999 @calmjoon @quilliamfears @winchester-with-wings @mrswhozeewhatsis @myfand0msandm0re @feelmyroarrrr @danijimenezv @mogaruke @aikibriarrose @sea040561 @becs-bunker @letsdisneythings @gone-to-fight-the-fairies @autoblocked @ashengem @mysticalhood-main @haven-in-writing @emoryhemsworth @sassy-losechester

Spock seems almost excited for the upcoming shore leave, which is concerning. Spock doesn’t usually show emotions, but he was practically vibrating in the month leading up to it. It’s so unlike him that you discretely try to check his vitals to be sure he’s not sick or poisoned or something. He notices your attempts of course, but only arches an eyebrow, too amused by your concern to be worried.

It’s the first real shore leave since you two started dating three years ago, and it’s on your mother’s home planet, Earth. You’ve never been there, having been born on a Starbase in the Alpha Quadrant, and you’re excited to visit the home of your heritage. Spock’s done a lot of research and has already picked out where he wants to show you, he just won’t tell you. Jim’s keeping the secret too - hell, the whole Enterprise is keeping the secret, giving each other knowing grins when you walk in the room. At one point a random yeoman you run into tells you how lucky you are and that you’ll love where Spock is taking you, before scurrying out of the room to attend to some errands Dr. McCoy has him running.

You try to reason with Spock, ask him where you’re going because you’re curious, even lying and saying you don’t like surprises (which he calls you out on), but he won’t budge. You try the logical route, stating you need to know where you’re visiting so you know what to pack, but he just gives a vague answer, saying “It’s going to be humid, and will likely rain a lot. I’ve been advised we wear sun protection, despite the precipitation. We can purchase anything you might end up missing.”

The day before you’re set to leave, you pack, throwing in as much varied clothing as you can. Nothing for cold weather, but pretty much everything else on the weather scale, you’re prepared for - though you’re definitely still paranoid you’re forgetting something. You push that worry down though, saying your goodbyes to those staying on the ship or going places you’re not. You’ve been able to cross some places off your possible destinations list, like Chicago, New York City, and New Orleans, but that still leaves a lot of places open, and you have no idea if he’s planning to go to the big city or a small, rural town, or even somewhere in between. There are Starfleet bases everywhere that might be your stop.

The morning of your departure, you make sure you have everything, checking to make sure Spock has his stuff as well, though it’s pretty unnecessary. Never once has Spock been unprepared, not counting the crazy shit Jim pulls. Jim’s special brand of chaos can’t be prepared for. You go about finalizing your away messages and protocols until it’s time to go, and then you’re off to the transporter room.

Placing your suitcase on one of the transporter platform circles, you step onto your own and catch Spock doing the same in your peripheral vision. You face him fully and wink, to which he responds with a smile and then nods at the person manning the controls. You watch as Spock de-materializes before your eyes, and with a glance at the chief, your particles are making their way down to Earth.

The first things you notice when you’re fully materialized are the palm trees. There are potted ones everywhere in the giant transporter room, and you can see more outside. You immediately put the pieces together and realize you’re somewhere in California. The person there to run the transporter greets you then gets back to work, pointing to where Spock is before ignoring you completely in favor of bringing more people down.

Walking up to Spock, you briefly touch his hand and he smiles a little. “Welcome to San Francisco, (Y/N).” There’s no grandeur to his statement, but you can still see the excitement simmering beneath the surface and it’s contagious because it’s San Francisco! It’s been on both of your lists to visit for as long as you can remember, and being here is a dream.

“Really, San Francisco? You managed to keep quiet about us going to San Francisco? I’m impressed, Spock.” You tease him as he herds you out the door, shuddering as the heat and humidity of the city hit you. “Oh gods, humid indeed. Let’s get to where we’re staying asap. I need time to adjust after the climate-controlled ship.” Spock smirks at your complaints and hands you your suitcase before grabbing his PADD and pressing a few buttons.

“We’ll be there momentarily,” Spock assures, and a few minutes later a hovercar shows up to take you to the hotel. The ride there is mostly quiet, you and Spock both distracted by the sights of the city. Once there, he checks in and you head up, ready to relax for the evening and prepare for the adventure ahead.

The hotel isn’t very fancy, and the room itself is pretty basic, but it has a gorgeous view, a comfortable bed, and air conditioning, all for which you’re grateful. The humidity outside stuck to your skin in the most uncomfortable way, and the cool air is a welcome relief.

Spock puts his things away in the drawers and you do the same, pulling your PADD from your suitcase and sitting on the bed to read once everything is organized. He settles in beside you and pulls up a map of San Francisco on his PADD.

“(Y/N), where do you want to visit while we’re here?” he asks, and you lean your head on his shoulder, looking at the map with him. You point out a few places and bring up a few of your own, and a schedule of sorts is set up for the week before falling asleep beside each other.

The week is full of sights, from Alcatraz to the Fisherman’s Wharf, Chinatown and more. It’s overwhelming in the best way, so many sights and so much history taken in at once. Spock wants to end the week with the Golden Gate Bridge, so that’s where you end up.

On the morning of your last day, you make sure to wear something Spock’s never seen you in- a flowy dress. After all the form-fitting uniforms of Starfleet, it’s a welcome break, and you love how the occasional breeze moves it around your body like it has a mind of its own.

You definitely notice Spock staring for long periods unabashedly, and it makes you feel more confident in your choice. You’re pretty much unable to stop smiling the whole day, and you hold your head high. While Spock never makes you feel unattractive, him finding it hard to look away is a big confidence boost.

Standing at the vista point of the Golden Gate Bridge, your breath is taken away as the sun slowly begins to set, washing the water with a warm glow.

“Spock, this is beautiful,” you murmur, pressing your hand to his. Spock picks your hand up and presses a kiss to it, ever aware of the importance of small human gestures like that, then tugs, pulling you away from the railing.

“I have somewhere else I desire to show you, (Y/N).”

He leads you down a path, through trees and bushes and flowers, until you come upon a greenhouse. He speaks briefly with someone out front, then you both walk in, immediately enveloped by the scent of hundreds of flowers. You pause for a moment and just breathe them all in, eyes closed, trying to name the scents, but it’s impossible; there are too many, and you’re not a great botanist.

You and Spock walk through the flowers, hand-in-hand, with him being ever patient as you stop to look at and smell nearly every flower you pass. Eventually, you come upon one of your favorites and you drop his hand, moving to immerse yourself in the flower as much as possible. They’re so rare to see outside of pictures on the Enterprise that you want to savor the moment.

When you feel you’ve ignored Spock too long, you turn to find him on one knee, small box in hand, and your heart practically stops.

“(Y/N), as you know, I tend to rely more on logic than emotion. But you make me want to use my emotions. Correction, you make my emotions surface, far easier than anyone or anything else. After these three years together, I believe we know each other well enough, and I know there are no other beings out there for me; hopefully, I am the only one for you. I chose to propose by these flowers,” he indicates the nearby petals, “because I know they are your favorite, and aesthetically pleasing, and I wanted you to have a beautiful memory of this moment. I would like… (Y/N) I would like to enter into koon-ut-so'lik with you. As the humans say, will you marry me?”

You’re speechless, tears in your eyes, and you kneel down in front of him, nodding the whole time like a madman. Somehow you manage to choke out a “yes!” and Spock grins like he’s won an incredible prize. He takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger carefully, pressing gentle kisses to each fingertip, then rests his forehead on yours, allowing you to see his thoughts through your bond.

He shows you the joy, happiness, and love he feels around you, all the illogical emotions that surface without his control. Memories of the two of you flash through his mind, the first time you meet, your first “date,” moving into shared quarters on the Enterprise, and so much more. You’re once again overwhelmed, tears openly streaming down your face, and show him the same thing: the security and adventures he gives you, the rightness of being by his side, and your take on all the memories he showed you, plus a few of your own, admiring him when he wasn’t looking.

After what seems like forever of sharing - though it could only have been minutes - you separate and stand, though Spock holds your hand and won’t let go. Your PADDs begin beeping shortly after, messages from Jim telling you it’s time to return to the ship, and with a sigh, you realize how late it’s gotten.

“Let’s go home then, Spock.” You murmur, and he kisses your forehead before nodding and leading you out of the greenhouse.

“Home it is, (Y/N).”