#go easy on me for that please

[cashless-art]

Current progress on the mask for my spamton cosplay. I might change up the hair a bit, but so far I think it’s good

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Your heart was in the right place. Don't blame your earnestness and efforts for their lack of understanding—the right people will appreciate your heart."

EDIT: i mention this in the tags already, but please don't copy my vent tags in your reblogs. thanks for understanding.

[midbam]

"But the lock has always been bolted, and Buck resigned himself to the fact that he’s not an indoors creature—places like hearts and homes have never been meant for him."

- i love you like a dog on ao3

@shitouttabuck .... soo I might have read the 'I love you like a dog' series and become a lil obsessed with the whole thing. I never usually draw fanart, much less post it but I just couldn't help myself. So I hope this isn't weird and maybe you enjoy it. I just felt I had to let you know how very lovely I think your writing is <3

[futuristicdoormats789]

this happened right

[heymacy]

IAN GALLAGHER + his journey with bipolar disorder

╰┈➤ “At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of." - Carrie Fisher

[nordidia]

having a very rough night so raph doodles needed to be made

when in need, mash two interests together

[dodorimo]

I finally finally made these lines work, so here's Raphael acknowledging that you broke into his house but didn't steal the hammer (both variations depending on whether you made a deal or not)

(Those lines are currently impossible to get in the game because setting off the alarm in his house will automatically trigger his boss fight).

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Headcanon that for a few months, or maybe even years after the portal incident, Stanley would have to go sit in his car to cool off when he felt big emotions like panic or anger or sadness because for 10 years his car was his safe space and home

Headcanon that a few days a week at the very beginning he still slept in his car no matter how buried in snow it was, just because he wasn't used to sleeping in a bed in a house and part of him believed he didn't deserve that comfort

Are you guys hearing me?

[ckducky]

Learning to say "I love you" in each others language 

[xoxoemynn]

For OFMD Tumblr friends who want a S3 and are scared of Twitter

First, no judgment from me. I very much get it. I resisted Twitter for a long time, and even though I'm now a bit more comfortable on it, it's still not my Fandom Home. There are a TON of valid reasons not to be on Twitter, but if you REALLY want to keep OFMD visible right now and help its chances of returning for a third season, Twitter is the best place to do it. Like it or not, Twitter is still the best social media platform for raising awareness and for instant news updates.

Tumblr posts don't make headlines. Topics that have been trending on Twitter do. And if we want this show to come back, we need to make OFMD impossible to ignore.

By now you've probably seen just how close we came to a S3, and if you're like me, you are RAGING and donning your battle jacket. But I get it can be intimidating to get on Twitter for the first time, so I thought I'd address some common anxieties I see. I'll put below a cut because this got a bit long, but I promise it's a quick read.

I don't know what to say! Where do I even start? That's okay! You don't have to create your own tweets (although it's great if you do). Amplifying other people's posts is also important. Go ahead and like/retweet/reply to other people's posts. This may also help you get an idea of what you may like to say in your own tweets.

Hashtags...yes? Yes! Although don't use too many or you may get flagged as a bot. The biggest one that seems to be emerging is #SaveOFMD. Other popular ones are #RenewAsACrew, #RenewOurFlagMeansDeath, and of course, #OFMD and #OurFlagMeansDeath.

Should I just be tagging all the streaming services? Per @renewasacrew, no. It's counterproductive. You'll want to tag one streamer at a time and be specific. Below is an example of a tweet I made the other day -- use specific reasons why that that particular streamer may benefit from picking up OFMD.

I'm scared. People are mean. Yeah, people are mean. But I will say the vibes over at OFMD Twitter are currently the best I've ever seen them. People seem to have united for the greater good and are being overwhelmingly positive and just trying to do whatever we can to save the show. (That said, again, I already had a pretty curated feed, and was very liberal with blocking users/terms I didn't want to see, but I've been able to spend so much more time in the For You tab than I ever have without being jump scared by something.)

But I don't know anyone there! Wouldn't I just be shouting into the void? Not if you use the hashtags! Fans are being really good about following those and engaging with the tweets. Plus, [Stede voice], I'm your friend. I'm xoxoemynn over there as well, I'll follow you back and engage with any of your posts that I see. Plus, what's been REALLY lovely to see is that SO many lurkers have come out of lurkerdom to support the efforts, and they are being welcomed with open arms, so you will not be alone. Again, I am telling you, vibes? Best I've ever seen them.

I can't get sucked into another social media platform, I don't have the time. The beauty here is you don't need to spend a lot of time. I've been on Twitter more in the past week than I have in the entire year I've had an account, and I'm still only on for maybe an hour total the entire day? I open the app, I check a couple accounts, I engage with a handful of posts, and I close the app. It takes all of five minutes. It's an extremely small lift that can have a very big impact.

My bet is on Zaslav expecting us to be upset, and that there may be a day or two of outrage, but then we'd move on. I'm sure right now he's trying to convince everyone that this is a fluke, and that it'll blow over soon. Don't let him win. Keep OFMD in the news. Be loud (but polite) and make Max and other streamers take note of what a passionate, loyal fan base this show has. Make their stocks continue to drop. Make it clear this is NOT just a fluke, it is NOT business as usual. It's a BIG fuck up with lasting consequences.

Twitter, for all its sins, is the best place to do this.

Now let's get our damned show back.

[declareqenius]

stitched up

warnings: blood, stitches

summary: you were sent on a mission with your father, tony stark, but something went wrong with the new prototype, resulting in you being injured. wanda needs the closeness and the confirmation that you’re right in front of her, but natasha’s emotions nearly get the better of her. 

a/n: this is not how i wanted to end this originally, but i’m having some writer’s block and just wanted to post something again. i may do a part two but it depends on if y’all would like to see a part two or not! 

“If your arm wasn’t bleeding this much, and if my mind and heart didn’t ache every time I glanced away from you, your father would be hanging from the ceiling by his ankles.” 

Of course, leave it to your girlfriend to say something so poetic, yet so vulgar, in a semi-serious situation. 

Wanda’s arms are crossed as she worriedly checks over the rest of your body, trying to keep herself from peeking at the gushing blood coming from your shoulder. The only thing that holds her back from storming down the hallway in search of your father is her need to see that you’re going to be okay. Meaning she has to sit there and watch on as Bruce slowly stitches the gash shut.

“We both know you would do so much worse than that, Wands.” You try to mask your slight wince with a cheeky grin, but of course your girlfriend notices. 

“You’re right. I think I’ll let Natasha have her fun first.” She makes it sound like a joke, however you both know it’s far from such a thing.

Wanda’s eyebrows are still tightly furrowed together, her eyes constantly checking over you as if the second she looks away some new injury will magically appear. Even though you’re the one covered in blood with the stitching needle in their arm, you can’t help but want to comfort her. 

“Hey, love,” you gently place your first finger under her chin and guide her head until her eyes meet yours, “I’m alright. It’s okay.” 

She searches deeply within your eyes, and it’s a miracle you maintain eye contact with her. The sheer build up of love, worry, and warmth you find within her soft green irises takes you aback.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” 

She says it so firmly. The sentence is so contradictory to the emotions she showed you seconds ago. The feelings she only allows you and Natasha- your other, probably furious, redheaded girlfriend- to read and memorize, to know like the back of your hands. 

Her Sokovian accent is thick, which only happens when she’s scared, angry, or safe. And, right now with Bruce in the room, you know it’s a combination of the first two. 

“You’re right, as always,” you give her a smile, which she mirrors, and you stow the memory away as a small victory. “But it did happen. And there’s nothing we can do about it now except let Bruce stitch me up, okay? I’ll be good as new afterwards. Right, Bruce?” 

Your eyes don’t leave Wanda’s because you know looking at Bruce will somehow make the stitching process hurt more. 

The man only gives a nod and soft grunt of approval. 

“See? Nothing to worry about, my dear.” 

“Nothing to worry about, huh?” 

A calloused voice cuts through the room. You’re the first to snap your head up and break the heartfelt moment with Wanda. The quick movement causes Bruce to tug the stitches more than intended, and you close your eyes and take in a slow, deep breath. The soft hand soothingly running along your uninjured arm is the only thing keeping you completely grounded at the moment.

“Cause from where I’m standing, detka, it looks like something we should be worried about.” 

Once you open your eyes again, they immediately fall upon Natasha, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and undoubtedly pissed off. 

You’re aware her anger isn’t directed at you. You know _why _she’s pissed. Your emotions would most definitely get the better of you if either one of your girlfriends was injured and you couldn’t do anything to prevent it. It would be worse if you could have prevented it.

The certainty of your words and relaying the facts to her wouldn’t calm her down, but you know there’s no calming her down on your part. Not when you’re sitting on a stool injured and had to be carried to the med bay so you wouldn’t bleed to death.

“HYDRA got the jump on us, Nat. We weren’t expecting it and there was nothing that could have been done to ensure our safety. You know that. We had the Iron Man suit and the counteract prototype with us, and that’s it. Dad decided to use the prototype because it was all we had. It malfunctioned and I didn’t have enough time to move out of the way after the HYDRA agent pushed me towards it.” 

You’re clear with all of your words and your voice never wavers, nor does your eye contact. Natasha may be the Black Widow, and only a very select group of people could ever talk to her the matter-of-fact way you just did, but sometimes she needs a reminder that things happen no matter how much one tries to prevent them. 

“He could have kept you safe. That should have been his priority. You’re his daughter, Y/N. That’s way more important than barging into an intel mission unprepared! With only a prototype, no less. Especially when it puts your life in danger!” 

The two of you hold eye contact with each other for a few seconds until you glance away and focus on watching Bruce finalize his stitch-work. Watching the needle thread through your skin makes the pain undeniably worse, but you can’t seem to force yourself to look at your girlfriends. 

You don’t see the guilt-ridden regret that crosses Natasha’s features before she looks at the floor beneath her.

Tony wasn’t unprepared for the mission. Neither were you. Both of you surveyed the perimeter twice. Both of you were careful at every corner you turned. HYDRA just happened to outsmart two of the smartest people in the world.

Minutes later and Bruce finishes stitching your left shoulder up. Natasha stands at the door impatiently and Wanda watches her but still makes sure to have some physical contact with you. 

“Alright,” Bruce stands from his chair, “twenty-five stitches. No major physical activity for the next two weeks. That includes missions, working out, and... I don’t have to say it. Let’s give the wound time to heal itself, okay?” 

You nod and thank him before he takes his leave, passing by a very guilty, annoyed Natasha.

“Natalia, podoydi syuda, pozhaluysta.” 

Wanda is the first to speak once Bruce leaves, and you’re grateful she took the initiative. Neither of them like seeing you hurt since both have lost so much in their short lives, but Natasha eats herself up over your injuries. She always thinks she’d be able to do something to prevent them, especially in the field. Wanda’s reactions are slightly more reasonable, but her worry gets the best of her and she often needs physical contact to remind herself you’re still there. 

Natasha begrudgingly takes a seat next to Wanda, who immediately holds out her hand to give the former assassin the option of physical contact. Your shorter girlfriend hesitates before she gently take Wanda’s left hand in her right but makes no move to touch you or glance in your direction. 

The chairs they sit in are lower than your stool, and part of you finds it funny that you’re the one that’s been placed in that position. 

“Moglo byt’ gorazdo khuzhe,” Natasha mutters, staring at her boots and focusing on the way Wanda’s thumb rubs back and forth along the back of her hand.

It could have been much worse.

“Odnako eto bylo ne tak. Ona vse yeshche zdes', i my nuzhny yey pryamo seychas.”

It wasn’t, though. She’s still here and she needs both of us right now.

Wanda’s voice is soothing as she softly speaks to Natasha. 

You let them have their moment and offer the Sokovian a small smile when she sends a gentle wink your way. 

Both know you don’t understand the conversation. You’ve picked up some basic Russian, words or phrases they say a lot, but when they get into full conversations and larger sentences, all you can do is either pretend you’re busy or sit and watch their facial expressions to gauge the nature of the conversation.

They speak a minute longer and Natasha starts relaxing. Her furrowed brows even out, her drawn lips ease into a relaxed expression, and her eyes- although still holding an ounce of anger- start to glisten. She finds the need within herself to look at you, check you over for any other injuries- although Wanda has done that several times over- and finally, search your beautiful eyes with her own. 

“Nat-” 

You move to speak, wanting to voice your concerns and reassure both of them you’re okay even though they can see you sitting here in front of them. However, Natasha stands from her seat and takes a step over to you. She keeps her eye contact with you and gently, with a slight nod of confirmation from you, she slots herself between your legs. Her hand comes up to your cheek and she notices a small bruise forming above your eyebrow. It makes her eyes water a little more. 

“I’m sorry, muy lyubov. You’re injured and I’ve been acting like a dick. I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe, or wanting to make Tony pay for his lack of common sense, but I will apologize for directing my anger toward you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, detka.” 

“It’s okay, Nat. I forgive you. I understand why you were so angry, I mean, I would be too if you or Wands were in my position. So, I get it, but next time I need you to try and talk to me, okay?” 

Natasha nods her confirmation, and you know from the look in her eyes that she’s determined to work on her communication with both you and Wanda. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

Sometimes you all understand each other in different ways and need each other for different things, but in the end, the three of you fit together like nothing anyone has ever seen. The journey has been long and will continue to be, but none of you would have it any other way. 

Natasha’s eyes are still teary, and you can’t help but tilt your head up just enough to catch her lips in a slow, soft kiss. Enough to remind her that she’s forgiven and that you’re not going anywhere. You break apart after a few moments and see Nat’s small smile. It could be better, but you’ll take it for now. However, you notice Wanda getting impatient after having watched you kiss Natasha. 

You look over at Wanda with a grin on your face, “Anything you’d like to say, Wands?” 

“My turn.” 

Wanda gets up from her chair and stands to the left of Natasha. She gently cups your left cheek with her right hand and kisses you much like you did Natasha, except with more fervor- as if she could express gratitude for your life through a kiss. When she pulls away there’s a smile on both of your faces, and her eyes have replaced worry and anger with unconditional love. 

It never ceases to amaze you how willingly and openly your girlfriends give themselves to you. 

[coquelicoq]

the executive dysfunction is not going to win today. i am winning. pay no heed to the fact that i am on tumblr writing this post instead of doing a task. i am winning. i am winning. i am winning.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

Band of Brothers Birthdays

January

1 John S. Zielinski Jr. (b. 1925)

21 Richard D. “Dick” Winters (b. 1918)

26 Herbert M. Sobel (b. 1912)

30 Clifford Carwood "Lip" Lipton (b. 1920)

31 Warren H. “Skip” Muck (b. 1922) & Robert B. Brewer (b. 1924)

February

8 Clarence R. Hester (b. 1916)

18 Thomas A. Peacock (b. 1920)

23 Lester A. “Les” Hashey (b. 1925)

March

1 Charles E. “Chuck” Grant (b. 1922)

2 Colonel Robert L. “Bob” Strayer (b. 1910)

4 Wayne “Skinny” Sisk (b. 1922)

10 Frank J. Perconte (b. 1917)

13 Darrell C. “Shifty” Powers (b. 1923)

14 Joseph J. “Joe” Toye (b. 1919)

24 John D. “Cowboy” Halls (b. 1922)

26 George Lavenson (b. 1917) & George H. Smith Jr. (1922)

27 Gerald J. Loraine (b. 1913)

April

3 Colonel Robert F. “Bob” Sink (b. 1905) & Patrick S. “Patty” O’Keefe (b. 1926)

5 John T. “Johnny” Julian (b. 1924)

10 Renée B. E. Lemaire (b. 1914)

11 James W. Miller (b. 1924)

15 Walter S. “Smokey” Gordon Jr. (b. 1920)

20 Ronald C. “Sparky” Speirs (b. 1920)

23 Alton M. More (b. 1920)

27 Earl E. “One Lung” McClung (b. 1923) & Henry S. “Hank” Jones Jr. (b. 1924)

28 William J. “Wild Bill” Guarnere (b. 1923)

May

12 John W. “Johnny” Martin (b. 1922)

16 Edward J. “Babe” Heffron (b. 1923)

17 Joseph D. “Joe” Liebgott (b. 1915)

19 Norman S. Dike Jr. (b. 1918) & Cleveland O. Petty (b. 1924)

25 Albert L. "Al" Mampre (b. 1922)

June

2 David K. "Web" Webster (b. 1922)

6 Augusta M. Chiwy ("Anna") (b. 1921)

13 Edward D. Shames (b. 1922)

17 George Luz (b. 1921)

18 Roy W. Cobb (b. 1914)

23 Frederick T. “Moose” Heyliger (b. 1916)

25 Albert Blithe (b. 1923)

28 Donald B. "Hoob" Hoobler (b. 1922)

July

2 Gen. Anthony C. "Nuts" McAuliffe (b. 1898)

7 Francis J. “Frank” Mellet (b. 1920)

8 Thomas Meehan III (b. 1921)

9 John A. Janovec (b. 1925)

10 Robert E. “Popeye” Wynn (b. 1921)

16 William S. Evans (b. 1910)

20 James H. “Moe” Alley Jr. (b. 1922)

23 Burton P. “Pat” Christenson (b. 1922)

29 Eugene E. Jackson (b. 1922)

31 Donald G. "Don" Malarkey (b. 1921)

August

3 Edward J. “Ed” Tipper (b. 1921)

10 Allen E. Vest (b. 1924)

15 Kenneth J. Webb (b. 1920)

18 Jack E. Foley (b. 1922)

26 Floyd M. “Tab” Talbert (b. 1923) & General Maxwell D. Taylor (b. 1901)

29 Joseph A. Lesniewski (b. 1920)

31 Alex M. Penkala Jr. (b. 1924)

September

3 William H. Dukeman Jr. (b. 1921)

11 Harold D. Webb (b. 1925)

12 Major Oliver M. Horton (b. 1912)

27 Harry F. Welsh (b. 1918)

30 Lewis “Nix” Nixon III (b. 1918)

October

5 Joseph “Joe” Ramirez (b. 1921) & Ralph F. “Doc” Spina (b. 1919) & Terrence C. "Salty" Harris (b. 1920)

6 Leo D. Boyle (b. 1913)

10 William F. “Bill” Kiehn (b. 1921)

15 Antonio C. “Tony” Garcia (b. 1924)

17 Eugene G. "Doc" Roe (b. 1922)

21 Lt. Cl. David T. Dobie (b. 1912)

28 Herbert J. Suerth Jr. (b. 1924)

31 Robert "Bob" van Klinken (b. 1919)

November

11 Myron N. “Mike” Ranney (b. 1922)

20 Denver “Bull” Randleman (b. 1920)

December

12 John “Jack” McGrath (b. 1919)

31 Lynn D. “Buck” Compton (b. 1921)

Unknown Date

Joseph P. Domingus

Richard J. Hughes (b. 1925)

Maj. Louis Kent

Father John Mahoney

George C. Rice

SOURCES

Military History Fandom Wiki

Band of Brothers Fandom Wiki

Traces of War

Find a Grave

[mauswyx]

old ties, new beginnings

Thomas Hewitt x f!reader: ch2 // ch3

TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop.

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

CW: slight nudity, mention of dead animal [not actively killed], mention of scarring

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sun heated your face as your body floated at the water’s surface, bearing your naked form to the surrounding wilderness. Cicadas’ buzzing mixed with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind solidified just how alone you were. A flock of birds takes flight seeking sanctuary elsewhere, but you paid them no mind; the lake water lapping at your skin was bringing back memories from when you were young: memories of chasing fireflies in the evening, running around the campfire as mother hummed old songs you have long since forgotten, and swimming in this very lake with other children–making friendships that would only last through the night. Your lip curled as you remembered how the children...screamed? Why were the children screaming...?

You furrowed your eyebrows and tucked your legs beneath you to lightly tread the water. The heat must finally be getting to you. Shaking your head, you look around at your surroundings, hoping to bring back that nostalgic magic. The lake itself is massive, the portion you're in is only an offshoot of a much bigger body of water; the water’s edge is encircled by tall-dry grass, tall enough it had brushed against your elbow on your way down; the oak trees past the grassy-moat encase the path you took to get down here; next to the path sits your pile of clothes that you haphazardly threw off. You eye the small opening between the trees, as if trying to conjure up someone standing there. Only you know no one is coming, up the path sits an empty van waiting for you.

You had been on the road for some time, making your way across Texas was proving to take much longer than you expected. Though you didn’t mind, the long highways were just a means to escape an unsavory situation and to get back to your mother in San Antonio. It was in Lubbock that you decided to make a small detour on your journey, it would add a day but you simply longed to see your hometown. So when your tires popped, having driven over some loose nails, you cursed yourself. Town was a few hours walk away, but you’d surely die walking in this blistering-heat. Not to mention, you had heard about the town’s predicament and were willing to bet you’d have a better chance of finding an open store in the morning rather than the evening. It was settled. You’d just have to sleep in the busted van and get a headstart in the early morning when the weather was still livable. Which meant you had the rest of the afternoon to yourself…and knowing the area, you knew there was a very refreshing lake calling your name.

Another flock of birds cried out as they took flight, fleeing the area. This time you do look, following their shrinking figures against the cloudless-blue sky; you wonder what has startled them. But you don’t have to wonder for very long. The sudden sound of twigs snapping pulls your attention away from the birds. You whirl around and your stomach drops. There, in the middle of the previously deserted path, stands a large hulking man. A choked cry dies in your throat as your fight or flight refuses to kick in–you can only stare at him like a deer in headlights.

The tall grass prevents you from getting a good look at him [and you silently hope that means he can’t see you very clearly either] but from what you can see, you know that to say the man was huge was an understatement. His burly figure couldn’t possibly be hidden by the neighboring trees so you're surprised you hadn’t noticed his approach until now. His wide eyes, let you know he’s just as surprised to see you as you are him. The observation of his face leads you to notice that he seems to be wearing a mask-

A gasp escapes you, as your excitement pushes you slightly above the water. You raise a slicked arm to point at your intruder and he jumps back.

“I know you!” She suddenly exclaimed, eyes wide “Thomas Hewitt!”

Thomas ignored the sound of his name, too busy trying to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been expecting to run into cattle–not out here and not after having just finished a roundup. The last herd members were all accounted for, thrown in the basement by now. So why was this one out here and why was it nude? Usually if one was nude there was another one nearby. Thomas tried to wager where the other one could be hiding but couldn’t think properly as it continued to make noise.

“We went to school together!” it continued at his lack of response. 

What was it talking about? Better yet, why was it trying to talk to him? The screaming should've started by now. He let out a hesitant groan, shifting his eyes to the far bankside and grasping nervously at the side of his pants–it continued to stare at him from the water eagerly. He didn’t like this; this one was acting odd and it was making him uncomfortable.

What had it said? School? He tried to rack his memory of when something like that had once mattered. That era of his life was a long time ago and he had since tried to forget about those years: the most prevalent memories had always been the other children rushing to avoid him or the older teens and townsfolk shoving him around calling him a freak. He spared a glance at the meat in front of him now, he couldn’t imagine someone like that would look excited to see him now.

“Though, I guess you might not remember me—[y/n][l/n], I moved half-way through second grade.” it said with a sigh, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t place it in his memories.

[y/n]..? The name did sound familiar. [l/n]...oh. Oh. A wave of shame washed over Thomas, he did remember you. 

He slowly nodded his head with a new-found remembrance and stepped out of the shadows of the trees. The sullen look on your face quickly morphed into an enthusiastic grin at the sight of his recognition. The lake rippled as you waded closer to meet him, before remembering your predicament. You quickly sank to the muddy bottom of the lake, being much closer to the shoreline now, the water only seemed to shield an inch or two under your collar bone. Your face heated as you tried to quickly cover yourself by hunching over and folding your arms across your chest. Your embarrassment went unnoticed by Thomas, who was still in disbelief. 

To anyone else’s standards, the two of you had never been friends, no but you were also never cruel to him—and that was as close of a friend as Thomas could get. Your encounters were always brief: you’d smile shyly at him in passing; hand him assignments—unflinching if your hand touched his; and occasionally you’d leave him a portion of your lunch on his desk...when no one was looking. You never truly spoke to him, especially not in the presence of others, though he remembered one occasion where the two of you had been left completely alone together. 

“What are you doing Thomas?”

With a start, Thomas looked over his shoulder at the girl standing a few feet behind him, just barely peeking out behind a tree. He hadn’t expected anyone to follow him into the shrubbery, so the sudden company made him on edge. Her voice had been just above a whisper and her eyes were focused on his hands. At the dead animal that lay torn underneath them.

His body tensed, readying himself for her to start screaming and calling him a monster like the others. But to his surprise, she only drew closer, peering over his shoulder.

Her eyes were transfixed on the neatly arranged bones that glistened under the specks of sunlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. His gaze was set on her though—waiting for her next move.

“. . .my momma says it’s good to honor the dead,” she muttered, turning to look him in the eyes, “I think you’re doin’ that just fine.”

That had been the first and last time you had spoken to him properly. Well, until now.

Thomas had pushed his way through the tall grass and now stood at the edge of the shoreline. You couldn’t help but smile at him despite your discomposure. You truly were pleased to see him, albeit a little surprised to find that such a scrawny kid had grown to be such a heavy man. He looked strong–well fed and taken care of and judging by his worn attire and toned arms you were willing to bet he was taking care of others as well. His eyes had stayed the same over the years, a stormy blue that reminded you of the sea. You had always liked his eyes. 

Having gotten closer, he could confirm it really was you. Your position and his height allowed him to fully take you in. He had never really cared for looks in general–meat was meat after all and a pretty face wouldn’t change that–but he allowed himself to acknowledge that you had grown up to be a rather charming young woman. His eyes trailed from your wet hair that clung to your face, to your crinkled eyes that no longer seemed to meet his own–your bottom lip quivered slightly, it must be cold in the water he thought. He followed a water droplet down to your goosebump-covered shoulders, confirming his suspicion. 

“Ahem. . .” You feign a cough, face having gone completely scarlet as you curl tighter around yourself.

He startled and shuffled backwards. He was so accustomed to looking at people like cattle he had forgotten some societal rules: like how men weren’t supposed to lay eyes on a woman’s nude form. He took another step backwards, ashamed to have disrespected you so openly; Mama would be so disappointed in him and surely you hated him now. His breath hitched as the thought and panic settled in–scrunching his eyes closed and hunching, he dug his fingers into the meat of his biceps with a whine–he didn’t want you of all people to hate him.

“Ah! It’s alright! It’s ok, Thomas!” The panic in your own voice distracted him, he opened his eyes to look at your worried expression.The sight of it released the tension in his fingers, even after all this time you were still being kind to him. He had disrespected you and yet you still worried for him. A sudden tightness overtook his chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s my own fault for thinking this was a good idea in the first place.” you continued, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Actually, could you do me a favor, Thomas?” he straightened and nodded, eager to make up for his offense, “could you bring me my clothes, please?” You gestured past his shoulder with a nod of your head and he followed your movement, peering through the swaying blades of grass for the clothes in question. His eyes landed on them sitting on a rock just a little ways in front of the old beaten down path. At the sight of them, he began to feverishly shake his head as if you had just asked him to cloth you himself; on top of the pile sat your undergarments–now that he saw you for what you were, a respectable woman, he couldn’t possibly do such a thing like touch your private garments. The irony of him staring down on you naked escaped him.

“Wh- Thomas!” You were laughing now, seeing his mortified expression “I can’t just keep talkin’ to you like this!” the water splashed around from you rocking around barely being able to keep yourself upright and your sides hurt from laughing; you let out a snort which only made you laugh harder. Getting stranded, naked, in front of your former classmate had definitely been last on your list of possible things to ever occur. 

Thomas couldn’t figure out what you found to be so funny, but he was glad you were enjoying yourself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed around him so genuinely and not at his dispense…he wasn’t sure it had ever happened before. Giving the pile of clothes another side eye, he snorted out a huff of air through his masked-nose. He was going to do right by you and get you out of that water with as much dignity as possible.

Your laughing fit had died down but you were still gasping for air and wiping a tear from your eye when water splashed up onto your face and the sun disappeared. Thomas stood over you, knee-deep in the lake; he had removed his button down, and was now extending it to you in a crumpled heap.

“Oh! Th-thank you, Thomas!”  You gave him a small smile, extending your arm out to take his offering. Once it was in your grasp, he gave a grunt of acknowledgement and marched away–he kept his attention on the surrounding trees and away from you when he got back to shore.

You watched him for a moment, having removed his outer layer exposed his off-white sweat stained t-shirt that hugged his body. The short sleeves of the shirt exposed old scars that varied in severity. The sight of them made your heart ache. Poor Tommy. You always knew how poorly the others had treated him and you hated yourself for not doing more; no one deserved to be treated that way, especially not Thomas. You sighed, unfolding the crumpled shirt in your hands wrapping it around you and fitting your arms into the baggy sleeves, making to start buttoning up the frayed buttons–your fingers faltered as your eyes shifted back to Thomas. He had crossed his arms in front of him in his wait for you to finish, causing his tense shoulder and back muscles to strain against his shirt. Your eyes raked over the muscles that only years of hard labor could produce. You were certain the flush on your face could be seen from a mile away; grateful he couldn’t see you, you forced your attention back onto the buttons.

The sound of splashing water alerted Thomas that you were now decent. He looked over at you only to find that seeing your clothed form was so much worse than just seeing you nude.

You had chosen to leave the buttons closest to the collar unbuttoned, giving him a clear view of your sternum while the hem of his shirt swayed at the middle of your plush thighs. The damp fabric clung snuggly against your wet skin–leaving little to the imagination. Thomas felt terrible. How could his working shirt feel so improper? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen scantily clad women before: they showed up a dime a dozen in the sweltering heat and Hoyt kept magazines of women bearing themselves to the world but he had never paid any of them any actual attention. He had a job to do and even if he didn’t, he was certain that none of those women would revel at the thought of being touched by him. He resigned himself to knowing that he would never know the touch of a willing partner and had grown indifferent to the sight of a naked woman, but this felt different–you were different. He must have looked visibly distressed because you gave him a quizzical look before glancing down.

“Oh that’s alright nothing a lil sun won’t fix,” you gently pulled the sticking fabric away from you, “ ‘sides nothing you haven’t seen before right?” you winked at him and let out a giggle when he leaned away from you, his face flushing a deep red at your teasing.

“Come on, your pants are wet too y’know, let’s go dry off over there.” you smiled up at him before making your way to a clearing a few meters down the bank; the grass was flattened from sleeping deer, you presumed, and it looked like a nice place to sit and overlook the lake.

Thomas watched as you waded through the tall grass but his own legs seemed unmoving. Reconnecting with you had been so nice–too nice, it had made Thomas shirk his responsibilities to his family. His heart sank, he knew that sooner or later this was going to have to come to an end and you would no longer look at him with such kind eyes. You had stopped walking and were waving him over, trying to get him to follow. He sighed, turning his attention to the position of the sun in the sky. 

It wasn't time for supper yet, so it couldn’t hurt to keep pretending a little while longer.