#hot russian spies

[ghostpantomime]

i am SO NORMAL

[prettyboypistol]

Yo, cis guy here, I've always felt a lot of shame about being super gay for the tf2 men, because it made me feel like less of a man. You reckon I could possibly get a scout or engie x reader when theyre calling the reader handsome, pretty boy, big man, and lots of masculine petnames? Smut or fluff or ignoring this is fine

I really like your work dude 😁

fellow cis guy here- I totally get it man. i'm glad that other guys like me enjoy my work. I also struggled with my attraction to men and fictional men were (and still are) my escape from homophobia and biphobia. Stay safe, you're valid.

TF2 Mercs With a Masculine!Male Reader

Scout

He loves squeezing your muscles and feeling your abs, totally not thinking of you as a goal for himself!

Nicknames include: Big man, big boy, sweet cheeks, hot shot/stuff, bossman, stud, etc.

likes the feeling of your facial hair when you kiss him- it tickle/scratches him in the best way!

Soldier

Thinks of you as the best man in the unit of RED! You're an exemplary man with gusto and power to spare! Solly fell for you when he caught you on a morning run "to keep yourself fit". That dedication got his heart skipping!

Nicknames include: Soldier, pride, the unit's pride and joy, big man

arm. wrestling. as. flirting., sparring. as. flirting. honestly anything that gets him up close and personal to you

Pyro

Hold onto you like a damsel in distress and loves how protective you are over them. As much as Pyro would and has protected you from enemy Spies, they like depending on someone who can hold their own.

nicknames include: My fire, firefly, my fireman, big boy, handsome

They love how you treat them like "just another one of the boys" rather than "the creature"- it really hurts their feelings when they're excluded due to how they cope with life.

Engineer

God he couldn't have asked for a better assistant. You grab heaps of metal for him, toolboxes, and sentries you can pick up with both hands and carry over to him!

Nicknames include: Hoss, handsome, big man, sir, boss

loves watching you work out while he works on his bench (sometimes even being your bench weight)

Demoman

He treats you like how he'd treat any partner of his, no changes. Demo's kind, loving, tender, but would let you fend for yourself to not baby you.

Nicknames include: dear, darlin', lovely, loverboy, handsome, best-shag-of-my-life

loves cuddling up to you and just burying his face in your muscles- but when he's not sleepy he is constantly hooting and hollering about how awesome his boyfriend is.

Heavy

a lot more friendly about his romance, treating you more like a best friend than a romantic partner in public mainly due to his anxiety about "being caught"

nicknames include(mostly in russian): lover, love, handsome man, hero, heart

he loves kissing your strong hands and sliding his hands over your muscles, it assures him that you're strong enough to take care of yourself, and that eases his worries.

Sniper

god this is a useless gay man. he sees you crush a bonk can and his heart skips a beat. you take off your shirt and he's speechless. you make him unprofessional and it ruins him internally.

nicknames include: Hotstuff, love, mate, darling, chickadee, big bugger, bear

he likes asking you to carry his stuff, complaining about his aching arms (totally not to watch you carry his things!!!)

Medic

ooooh god this man is a HOMOSEXUAL for you. on GOD.

nicknames include: honeybear, my love, my heart, my magnum opus, big man, beast

can, has, and will continue to flirt with you on the battlefield, no matter who sees him do it. If anyone gives you shit for being gay, he's instantly at your side and ready to beat them down with you

Spy

i mean... if you have a degradation kink go ahead i guess? he treats you like a bodyguard in public and is cold and callous in other's eyes. they think he hates you. In private however he is all over you. kissing, holding, embracing, etc., whispering sweet nothings in your ears.

nicknames include: my sweet love, my man, my handsome, big beauty, sweetness

although he seems uncaring in public, anyone who disrespects you gets backstabbed as "target practice" later when they least expect it.

[419jhat]

Russian Steve AU

Another plot bunny I've been unable to get out of my head...

What if Steve's parents were Russian spies and connected to the mall? What if Steve had powers? What if these were combined into two and turned into a Steddie thing?

I love the idea of Steve being like El but the Russian version, where his parents are spies and he's an experiment they willingly handed over to the government but still got to raise. They all go to the US to build the mall and Steve's trying desperately to be a normal American boy but Eddie Munson, King of Abnormality (which drives Steve absolutely crazy because who would want to stand out??) gets in the way and completely wrecks his whole situation.

TW: Dead Bodies

Steven Anthony Harrington died in 1979, sometime around midnight on the third of January. He had two parents, also lying dead in the master bedroom, a dog collapsed on the kitchen floor, and that was it. They were a reclusive bunch with an unlucky family tree filled with people that tended to die early anyway. So maybe it was fate. As the New Steve looked down at the still face of the boy he was going to replace, he thought that it's probably just the circle of life. People die, people live, and the world keeps spinning. It doesn’t have to mean much beyond that.

Old Steve felt cold. It wasn't the first time New Steve had touched or felt a dead person, but for some reason this one is different. This time, it’s his fault. He felt the body go cold and numb as it happened. He watched the emotions seep out of the body as the boy's dream ended without him waking up. His father made him watch, so he understood the sacrifice taken so he could do his job.

The weight of it makes it hard to breathe.

It was a bloodless death, caused by carbon monoxide poisoning. Painless and simple. While the house airs out, Old Steve, his dog, and his parents are quickly disposed of. There is no evidence left behind. On January fourth, sometime in the evening, the new Harrington family sat on a couch they didn’t buy, in a living room they didn’t choose, and drank a cup of hot tea, considering the moment of peace before the start of their journey.

They move without a word to the neighbors, who the Old Harringtons were never friends with anyway. Nobody knows, or cares where they are. There’s a money trail if someone bothers to look, but it doesn’t expose anything more than a house hunting vacation. Then, just before the start of the school year, they use Richard’s savings to buy a home in a sleepy little town called Hawkins, Indiana. And their new lives begin.

New Steve thought that the new home was too big. Every little noise echoed and bounced across the walls, making him jump and look around as if he’d find people hiding in them, watching their every move. When they’d arrived, he and his parents laid down on the soft, carpeted floor and stared at the pure white ceiling in silence, taking in the new world around them. They hadn’t said anything, but they didn’t need to. He knew things would be different from then on.

He spent that first week with his parents. Every morning like clockwork, they sat before the TV and repeated everything said out loud, practicing their accents and furthering their understanding of the strange phrases Americans liked to use, like, “take a rain check,” and “lipstick on a pig.” New Steve found he hated movies, where he couldn’t see people’s feelings like he could in person. They reminded him of Old Steve’s frozen body, huddled up in blankets as if he was just sleeping. Like soulless meat puppets waiting to be buried and never found again.

In the evenings, he and his mother worked through a cookbook she’d been gifted, perfecting American dishes like casseroles and meatloaf. On the second day, he helped her deliver a pie to their neighbor, and she introduced him as her shy little boy who never had much to say. It wasn’t true. He still had a hard time with the ‘th’ sound that so many English words used, so they’d decided that until he got it right, that’s who he’d be.

With his dad, during the day when nobody would question it, they cut open the wall in his office and installed a gun safe. Apparently, it was legal for normal people in America to own guns. Steve was too young to have an opinion on that, but his dad muttered in English about how it was the kind of irresponsible nonsense that made his job easier. So, maybe it was a good thing. Either way, they covered the safe with a wall once again, so they were truly out of sight.

When his parents weren’t home, New Steve quietly snuck out to dip his toes in the pool. He’d never seen a pool before. He didn’t even know how to swim. In the spot close to the deep end, where neighbors wouldn’t see him unless they stuck their heads over the fence to pry, New Steve would find the perfect stick- thin and light with no leaves, and drag it across the surface of the water, watching the ripples as they rolled across the heated surface. And that was how he found peace with his new house.

It took him a while to settle into the role of Steve, and even longer for him to climb the mantle of King Steve. But that was his job, so it’s what he did. King Steve was good at sports. Captain of the swim team, co-captain of the basketball team. Handsome, fond of parties, rich with mysterious parents who traveled often. Charming, just enough for people to wonder how he stayed out of trouble despite everything he got up to.

But secretly, Steve, just Steve, also known in his heart as Stepan, was terrified. He never let it show on his face, even more terrified that his parents would lose faith in his skills and dump him somewhere while they returned to Russia as heroes without him. He spent most of his time fueled with fear, balancing the careful images he’d built for himself as the perfect All-American Boy that his parents were relying on. Unfortunately for Steve, he hadn’t anticipated what would happen to his precious double image when he fell in love.

[blue-blue-blooms]

Eddie Munson Headcanons

Eddie Munson x Reader

Established Relationship

You and Eddie had been dating for a while, pretty much since the summer of '85.

You were Dustin's babysitter which meant you knew him and his friends pretty well. This meant that when they tried to hide a psychokinetic, bald child in Mike Wheeler's basement, you caught them pretty early on.

You hadn't expected to become friends with Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, but when they proved themselves to be different from your preconceived notions, you became close friends.

So, yeah, you'd fought alongside the party, kicking Demogorgon ass. You'd also gotten drugged and interrogated alongside your friends. You were aware of just how fucked up Hawkins really was.

You thought that it'd be hard to keep all of this a secret from Eddie but you found it surprisingly easy. It was nice to be around someone normal for once, even though Eddie didn't really classify as 'normal'.

You'd go on dates to the movies, share a milkshake at your favorite diner, hold hands as you walked around the woods.

Eddie would try to get you into metal music but you weren't really a fan. It made Eddie pout and stomp his feet like a child sometimes but you were a goddamn babysitter and that shit didn't work on you.

He tried to get you to play D&D but was immediately shot down.

"Last time I chose to participate in a D&D game, a child went missing. So, no way."

He understood that.

He understood a lot, actually. He didn't pester you with questions any time you jolted awake in your sleep, sobbing. He'd just hold you in his arms and sing to you until you'd calmed down. He'd pepper your face with kisses any time you seemed upset. He'd pretend to fall over or hurt himself to get a laugh out of you.

You weren't sure how you'd gone your entire life not having known him. But you knew for sure that you'd spend the rest of your life getting to know him, every version of him.

When Eddie gets caught in the middle of everything, he's incredibly surprised to learn that you already knew. He asked you why you'd never told him anything to which you promptly replied, "I signed an NDA, Eddie. I don't want the government after me." He couldn't really argue with that.

After he found out what happened at Starcourt, he'd thrown a shoulder around you and smacked a huge kiss on your cheek, "You're telling me you fought off actual Russian spies, got drugged, fought a fucking Mind Flayer, and made it out alive? Damn, babe, I didn't know you were such a badass."

He nearly fell over after he found out you broke Billy Hargrove's nose after he nearly killed Steve.

"That's really hot."

"Is this actually turning you on?"

"I mean...I wouldn't mind if you punched me in the face."

[ghostlycod]

just saw a TikToker talking about how apparently it’s common practice at the Pentagon and other places where there’s very high security clearance for there to be actual meetings specifically dedicated to basically telling high security clearance [male] officers/personnel: “you are not hot. You are an uggo. Ugly. If the girl you are talking to is crazy hot and she is flirting with you, she’s a spy.”

like apparently it’s a real ass thing to send very attractive women to woo these high security clearance men and steal secrets from them. Like incidents of security breaches have happened over this in our modern times. So the solution to this is to have a whole ass meeting dedicated to telling these men that they are NOT that fine and that they need to humble themselves. In one meeting they apparently told these men: “know your number. If you are a 5 and she’s a 10 and she’s talking to you, that’s a spy.”

now I’m just imagining the 141 having to have these meetings. Do they even have these meetings? Like this group of these 4 obviously fine ass men in a meeting room with some not-so-fine senior officials/personnel and the presenter is just like, “if you don’t look like THOSE four,” pointing at the 141, “then assume the baddie you just pulled is a Russian agent.”

or maybe they just don’t invite them to those meetings at all. Never had to have one in their lives. Just got a brief chat with Sheppard about, “not disclosing information to women you’re dating,” and that was it. Because how are you going to tell men that ARE that fine that the hot women they pick up could be spies? My brother at arms, they are picking up babes every night. That’s not realistic advice for these men.

I do imagine that Price, Gaz, and Soap would’ve all gotten just the one on one sit down chat and that would be it for them, but since no one knows what Ghost looks like they don’t know if he’s hot enough to be excluded from the “you’re not hot, assume every hot chick that digs you is a spy,” so they invite him anyway. The other three are very shocked to find out they have actual MEETINGS regarding this, and how hilariously cruel it is to have an entire meeting about how unattractive these officials are, that almost the entire rest of the male staff has to have once every year — not just the occasional reminder from Sheppard at their personal review meetings with him.

Ghost tells them about the year there was an actual security breach for real because of this exact thing and Laswell lit their asses UP and personally roasted multiple senior officials. He also tells them that they just invite him “to be safe” since they don’t know what he looks like but the boys don’t believe him and make fun of him for it once they find out about the meetings :(

[not-actually-human]

everybody ever should watch spies are forever. it has

mary kate wiles as a hot russian spy with a tragic past

gay people

curt mega playing a character named curt mega because the creators could not think of a cooler name for a spy

comphet: the song

lauren lopez. thats it

tragic doomed by the narrative spy partners who are very gay

good songs

its free!! on youtube!!

joey richter playing an antagonist (kind of??)

[laswells-ashtray]

How did Kate and Sarah meet? Can we get a story time?

I don't think how Kate and Sarah met was romantic in any way, I think it was something they refer to as the incident instead of looking back fondly on it.

Kate needed intel. Scratch that, Shepherd needed intel and he made it Kate's problem because she "had the skills required to obtain it from their asset". Which is a long-winded, bald-headed way of saying she's a woman and their asset was a sleazy man. And Kate refused to subject anyone else to the creep's advances just for measly information that would probably fuck them in the long run.

So, Kate finds herself in a bar. She was the only one intended to be there but she made the mistake of complaining about the job and she spies a familiar-looking Brit sharing drinks with a familiar-looking Russian in a booth in the back of the bar.

Nowak is already late twenty minutes late and the bartender might just be worse than him, he's been a little heavy-handed with Kate's bourbon in what she assumes is an attempt to win her favour as he stares at her tits with such force she expects to see laser beams shooting from his eyes.

She drinks anyway, she needs it to stop herself from just walking out of the bar and taking a hammer to Shepherd's head to see how many hits before it dents. There's a group of women in the corner, clearly celebrating something or other as they drink and Kate truly wishes she could share their joy.

If anything, she feels nauseous. There's an oddly sick feeling at the back of her throat that she can't find blame for. The situation? The fact she's drinking on an empty stomach? Or is it being surrounded by men?

She bites back a suicide threat and finishes the bourbon in her glass before tugging at the collar of her shirt. Why couldn't she find herself in a bar with good AC? Because nothing could possibly go right in the life of one Kate Laswell.

One of the women strays from her group and approaches the bar, Kate pays her no mind. She glances at the door but unsurprisingly there's still no Nowak. God knows how long she'd be stuck waiting for him.

She can feel the material of her shirt sticking to her skin and there are strands of her hair that just won't stay in place, if she looked more presentable then maybe she'd feel better about the entire ordeal but she truly just wants to find the nearest bed and curl up in it, asleep.

The woman to her left stumbles into her, nudging Kate forward into the edge of the bar in a blatant assault on her tits. It fucking nips, pinching at the exposed skin as if she hadn't suffered enough for the day. An apologetic hand reaches out for her shoulder and she finds herself face to face with a tall brunette who's eyes are a damn near exact colour copy for the bar they're standing at.

"Fuck- Sorry, are you alright? Christ, I wasn't looking. Try to make space for one person and assault the next."

Kate waves off her spiel with a hand that feels weighed down by lead before returning her dull stare to the empty glass in front of her.

"You alright? You're looking a little dejected there, honey."

It takes Kate longer than she should to realise that the woman is still talking to her, responding with an eventual "Hm?"

Kate knows approximately three things about the stranger beside her now, she's clumsy as shit, gorgeous persistent.

"Oh, you're drunk, aren't you? You got anyone else with you?"

Kate bites back a sigh and turns to face the brunette, it takes more energy than it should, something she quickly notices as she blinks up at the other woman.

"I'm not drunk, that was only my second glass."

The other woman clearly doesn't believe her and Kate can't entirely blame her, she sounds tipsy enough. Words just a little softer than they should be around the edges.

"Sure about that? Because you're not looking too hot, honey."

Kate certainly feels hot, she wouldn't be surprised if her face was flushed a vibrant red. But she still has the urge to adjust her shirt and cover the visible skin from a non-existent chill.

"I'm fine, just need some air." Kate mutters, standing up from the barstool unsteadily and grabbing onto the back of it with a tight grip. The stranger gently grabs at her waist, holding her upright with a look that Kate couldn't describe even if she was thinking straight.

She blinks and suddenly John and Nikolai are in front of her. John is giving her his typical worried mother hen look and Nikolai, Kate can't think of how to describe him. She can't think of much other than the urge to sleep. She can recognise his hand reaching out for her, Nikolai has a small scar on the back of his thumb in the shape of a squint bee. Kate isn't sure if she laughs or not.

She's pulled back by the hot brunette and she watches the other woman hit Nik's hand away.

"Hey, get the fuck back from her. The fuck did you two put in her drink?"

She can hear the vaguely familiar and timeless John Price grunt of offence.

"Excuse me? What did we- Nevermind, who are you? Kate, are you alright?"

There's a hand that caresses her jaw, turning her head to face the stranger that's holding her steady.

"Kate? Is that your name, honey? Can you tell me if you know either of these two? Are they safe?"

Kate nods, or a least she tries to. She manages to turn her head just enough to face both of the men and attempt to reach out for one of them.

"J'hn, 'm-"

"Shit, Kate. You've been spiked, are you still with us?"

Nikolai's hand falls into her line of vision again and this time it isn't whacked away. His hand slips under her arms as he steps to her side, taking most of her weight by himself.

"Her name is Kate, we were here to meet a- someone. He didn't show up. We know her, we work with her and she's our friend." John sounds angry. Angry, impatient and pissed.

Her eyes might be slipping closed, she isn't sure but Nikolai is warm where her head rests against his shoulder. She can still feel the pretty lady's fingers trailing over her shoulder as she and John speak. Nikolai might offer her a light tap on the cheek or she imagines it.

"And you didn't think to keep a better eye on her? Wait- Just give me a second."

There's shuffling and more words explained, Kate isn't sure what's going on or if she's even holding her own head up. It's either a minute or an hour until she feels something getting tucked into the pocket of her shirt.

"Kate? You listening to me, honey? My name's Sarah and that's my number, you're gonna find it tomorrow and one of these assholes is gonna make you call me, alright? I'll stick with you as they walk you outside and make sure nothing happens but I think you know both of them and I think you trust them. So I'm gonna let you leave with them if that's fine for you?"

Kate is almost positive she makes a noise that sounds close to agreement. It might be lost over the general sounds of the bar or the aggrieved protest from John at the moniker of "asshole".

She's unsure of what happens after that, even waking up is an exhausting ordeal. She spends more than two hours being tended to by the two men she reluctantly calls her best friends before they eventually offer her an explanation as to what happened and why there's a note with a phone number in her breast pocket.

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Yi Joo might fight and deny it all she wants, but she is attracted to Do Guk, not only because he is insanely hot, but because he keeps throwing her off her axis and turning her world upside down. She gets to experience so many things for the first time with him - like being welcomed home when she arrives and with a smile to boot, as opposed to being ignored or abused. He probably doesn't even realize because it's something mundane to him, but it's rare and special to her.

The way he knows she would be starving herself until late night and decides to become her personal chef and food taster, to elevate her fears, without putting any pressure or expectations on her to accept. It's such a purely unselfish act, pouring out so much effort and heart into making her feels safe.

There is no doubt now, Seo Do Guk has declared war on Yi Joo's family, naming himself as her general/prince/knight in a shining armour. The first surprise attack - check, now it's time to shore their defences... HE GIVES UP HIS OWN HOUSE AND TURNS IT INTO HER SANCTUARY WHERE SHE CAN ESCAPE AND HIDE FROM HER FAMILY AND ALL HER ENEMIES,...

...and he turns into a giddy puppy when he gives her a tour of the house, I thought I died when he opened the kitchen cupboards he filled with enough packed food to feed a small army. (I mean, if Napoleon had Seo Do Guk, Russians would be speaking French now.)

More like showing her their newlywed den and waiting for her approval. Also, he is such a shamelessly and irresistibly adorable flirt, Yi Joo stands no chance against this charming devil.

However, then he takes her to her room and my soul has left my body, because it's the complete opposite of her room (and even her room from the future). Also, it's definitely NOT following the latest trend since it's everything but monochrome and minimalistic. It's basically a suite with its own bathroom, huge windows, a closet full of furniture and clothes he handpicked for her himself (he literally handpicked everything in the room with her in mind, eager to give her everything she was cheated of) - he has created a safe space for her, a place she can call her own without being spied or intruded on or abused; it's huge, full of colour, and things she loves: an easel, canvas and paints.

Remember how in episode 1, the rich housewives were shocked Yi Joo painted, since her mother had gone out of her way to keep it a secret, but Do Guk is somehow aware of it; another reason he knows more about her than he lets on.

He is no subtle whatsoever at trying to convince her she doesn't need to leave the place ever again, because he will make sure she doesn't lack anything and will give her the moon if she asks for it. Also, when Do Guk says "everything you need is here" and he is standing in the middle of the room so vulnerable, insecure and shy, you just know HE is everything she needs but hasn't realized it yet.

[mosquito-queen]

there are a few things in yelena’s hotel room that are decidedly not holiday inn decor: her rings on the bedside table and a small porcelain rabbit in the window sill. the rings were understandable… but a bunny?

kate spies the ceramic interloper the morning after yelena had tucked her so sweetly into the hotel scratchy blankets, slung her arm around kate’s torso and spooned her. a black widow had spooned her.

and then she said something in russian so thick (and so hot) that kate had no chance of remembering the sounds to even attempt google translate at a later date. instead, all of kate’s brainpower was directed to being impossibly closer to the woman cuddling her.

and that had led to kate turning around so quickly that she whacked her head into yelena’s and between the stuttering of an apology and russian curses someone had kissed someone until the curses went from derogatory to praise and now kate’s muscles ached in a way adjacent to their usual fights. but decidedly in a better way.

now, she was laying on her stomach, head turned towards the window and arms cradling the pillow underneath her. the blanket was pulled up to cut across her shoulder blades. it wasn’t the blanket she had initially been wrapped up in - yelena had definitely stolen that at some point during the night. now all kate has is a sheet.

yelena’s breath is hot on kate’s shoulder, and she feels her forehead pressed against her upper arm. her heart softens. she bets yelena looks like an angel. she’s about to turn her head to find out, but something out of place catches her attention. she squints at the windowsill, spies the offending figurine lit by the morning sun.

yelena is shuffling closer to her in the bed, wrapping her arm sleepily around kate and pulling herself closer. kate is still trying to puzzle out why a deadly russian assassin would have such a tiny rabbit.

there’s a hesitant kiss pressed against her arm, yelena’s eyelashes fluttering against her skin, and in a groggy voice she says, “kate, i can hear you thinking.”

kate still doesn’t turn to look at her, forgets that yelena isn’t resilient to doubt, but is reminded as soon as the warmth starts to be pulled away. kate catches her arm, tucks it back around her, feels yelena slowly sink back into her.

“did the rabbit come with the room?”

“oh.” yelena is running her fingers over kate’s opposite arm, and shifts so she can rest her head on kate’s back to look at the window, “you do not recognize him?”

“should i? is it the easter bunny?”

yelena makes a dissatisfied noise and squeezes kate’s arm. the archer is grinning into the pillows at the frustration, “no. it is not the easter bunny,” she mimics kate’s voice, “he is from your movie, bambi.”

“yelena, americans are not born with disney movies in our blood.”

now yelena does push away from her, absolute shock spluttering across her face. kate turns with her, pulls the sheet up to keep some kind of decency, she laughs at yelena and gives in, “yes, yes, i know of bambi.”

“but you haven’t seen it?”

“no.” kate’s answer is short, her eyes tracking over yelena. getting caught up in the way her hair haloes her face, the way her eyes crinkle, the softness of her mouth, the way yelena is propped up that makes the duvet cover fall crooked and barely cover her. it’s too early for kate to practice discipline. her eyes wander.

yelena is either ignoring her gaze or is way too invested in bambi-gate, “kate bishop. you are an archer. you should have to watch bambi before you get to hunt.”

the memory yelena is referencing pulls kate slightly back to earth, and she groans, “i only went hunting once! once! and never again!”

this time yelena is grinning, “only because you did not get a trophy.”

kate reaches out, grabs the twist of blanket pooling around yelena and drags her down, “stop deflecting, and tell me about your rabbit.”

“you’re more awake in the morning than i anticipated.”

kate has yelena’s hand tangled in one of hers now, brings it up to mouth and bites at the fingers, “i’m full of surprises. and so are you. let’s hear it.”

yelena settles into kate’s side, toying with her hand, “mama gave it to me.”

kate sometimes knows when to be quiet, lets yelena continue playing with her hand, waits.

“thumper was my favorite. mama called me bunny, said rabbits were lucky. that i was lucky.” her voice is growing sadder, “natasha always stole him. she put him up on high shelves - places i couldn’t reach,” she whispers cyka in the most loving tone, “she stole him the night we left, had him in her pocket. he is lucky - everyone made it out that night.”

there’s a hard swallow, kate thinks maybe yelena could cry. she’s stopped playing with her hand, so kate begins tracing soothing patterns over yelena’s arm.

“she kept him the entire time we were separate. i don’t know how, but she never lost him… after.. after she -“ a pause, “clint had him. gave him back to me, he said during the blip natasha kept him above doors, in windows, near thresholds,” she clicks her tongue, “always superstitious…”

she trails off, and they sit in the silence with kate still tracing patterns.

“i had him the night on the roof. when i met you.”

[findafight]

They’re Russian spies like “The Americans”, except their cover’s been blown and now they’re on the run. Steve technically isn’t allowed to leave the county (“just tell people you didn’t get into college”, his handler suggests) and is shit scared of crossing the gov.

The only time Robin’s heard him use “do you know who my father is?” was when they were captured by Russians (they have no idea who Steve’s parents are, although his Mom would absolutely have shot them for hurting her baby).

Ooo yes I looooove Steve's parents being Russian spy!! here's a post with @stregoniconiconii about them?

Very interesting for Steve to KNOW they are though omg. Does he know Russian? Maybe not in order to fit in and sell the illusion. And Steve being scared on not just the American but the Russian government too?? Oh mannnn.

His parents being somehow involved with the Starcourt sub basement, and then finding out their boy (who they had for the cover, but do care for in a way) was not only captured by the general there but tortured? Coming home to see his face beat up and him telling them the mall burnt down and they know there was the secret base (not what it was for maybe) and they also know what wounds from a beating look like......someone is getting shot. Mama Harrington does not take kindly to failure, exposure, or her little boy getting his face smashed in (again).

But then Hawkins is too hot for them to stay, so they go on extended business trips that keep them away for weeks and weeks, Steve holding down the fort until things settle down again.

[qprstobin]

Different first meeting post-s1 Stobin AU (that sort of turned into Fruity Four) I was tossing around for myself to write but am going to put it out into the world because I’m not sure I’ll ever get to it.

It’s the Spring of 1984, and Nancy is looking for a way to help Steve pad his college application after seeing him struggle with his essay writing for the past few months. Somehow, this leads to her convincing him to join the Spring play, Romeo and Juliet. Not only will it look good on his application to add another extra curricular, but the English teacher always gives extra credit for drama participation, especially the annual Shakespeare play.

Steve, of course, ends up getting the lead role, much to his chagrin, and he turns out to be a pretty good actor. This should all be smooth sailing, a way for him to get an easy add on to his apps, if it wasn’t for who was playing Juliet.

Band Geek Buckley.

She isn’t the worst choice - they have pretty good stage chemistry, and she’s funny in a mean way (in a way he’s kind of missed now that he no longer is talking to Carol and Tommy) but she hates his guts. He honestly didn’t even really know who she was before this, but he could feel her glaring at the back of his head in first period every day.

Honestly, they would be fast friends if both of them weren’t trying their hardest to make sure the other knows no showmances will be happening between them. (Robin for obvious reasons, and Steve because he is very much in love with Nancy at this point and would not ever cheat on her.)

Steve at one point tells her that she isn’t his type (which actually, is kind of a lie but it doesn’t matter because it would never happen), and Robin is just, so fucking offended. She would never want to date him (he’s a man AND an asshole), but where does he get off saying shit like that?? Robin in turn, nearly outs herself at one point by claiming she’d rather kiss his girlfriend than him.

(Nancy on the other hand… spends the entire play very confused, because despite the disgust that both of them express during the (rather chaste) kiss scenes, Nancy thinks it’s kind of hot. She has a lot to think about.)

Even before they become actual, spill your secrets on the bathroom floor friends, they get into so much chaos together. Definitely the type to be bickering with each other but then team up to turn on someone else when they are being rude or creepy. Even though there are no Russian Spies to bond them together for life (yet), they probably go through some harrowing night together that leaves them with something of a headache.

Maybe they accidentally eat too many weed brownies together at a cast party, maybe they get locked in the prop closet for several hours, maybe they get stranded at a gas station outside of town when their director sent them on what was both a “you are going to work your shit out TONIGHT for the sake of the play” and “y’all are the only ones available” emergency prop run. Either way it ends in tears and laughter and bathroom (or closet) floor confessions and a rock solid friendship.

Nancy is happy that Steve has a friend that isn’t just her or Jonathan, and is happy to have a new friend herself, especially a female one.

Tammy Thompson is less happy that Steve’s attention is on Robin, which is unfortunate, as this is Robin’s peak Tammy Thompson era, and Tammy gets mean. Nancy definitely tries to fight her at some point for how rude she’s being to all of them (Tammy didn’t like Nancy much either, she just didn’t honestly care much about Tammy saying rude shit to her, but she isn’t gonna let someone be a bitch to her friend like that). Steve was just going to ruin her reputation, but honestly, he didn’t even need to with how hard Nancy went in on her.

(Nancy trying to fight Tammy is also how Robin moves on from her “god what a priss” mindset regarding her. A minor crush may also blossom. Steve is happy to commiserate over being clocked in the head emotionally by Nancy Wheeler, he made t-shirts.)

Their odd friend group gets rounded out to four (five if you include Jonathan, who does eat lunch with them everyday but who thinks that Stobin are a bit too loud for him in anything other than small doses) by another cast member - the drug dealer Eddie Munson.

This is Eddie’s first try at senior year but his prospects aren’t looking great. English isn’t the only class he’s doing poorly in, but it is one of the main ones, and his English teacher has offered him a boon - get a speaking role in the spring play and he’ll get enough extra credit to pass the class, as long as he makes an actual effort to turn in his work for the rest of the year. He thinks fuck it! Might as well, this is the only deal the hag is going to give me, and ends up landing the role for Mercutio.

His start with the group isn’t as tumultuous as the Stobin friendship starts out, though there definitely isn’t any love lost between them. Steve may have dropped Hagan and Perkins earlier in the year, but he’s still a jock, and his prissy, perfect girlfriend isn’t much better. Eddie doesn’t have any personal issues with Robin, but Robin definitely isn’t a fan of his, not with how loud the other man is.

There isn’t any real dramatic moment that adds him to the group, at least not as dramatic as what finally solidifies the Stobin bond, but spend enough time running lines together and he sort of realizes that maybe they aren’t as bad as all that.

(Really Eddie is just there to cause chaos, and try to pass Senior English. Falling into the weirdest friend group known to Hawkins High is just a bonus.)

Honestly, I came up with this idea because I just wanted more Stobin dif first meetings, and thought the idea of Stobin having to play romantic leads opposite each other in a play was hilarious. It ended up becoming Fruity Four just because Stancy is still happening here, and Eddie was perfect for the role of Mercutio. I didn’t even have set ideas on how I want this to end shipping wise. Just wanted to get it out of my misc WIP document <3

[ejzah]

A/N: This is just a little snapshot of the Deeks-Blye family.

***

I Don’t Need Anything Else

“Alright, alright quit wiggling. Aunt Anna and Uncle Callen are waiting to swim with you,” Deeks said as he wrangled Sophia into the tiniest bathing suit imaginable. Caleb sat on the floor, alternating between babbling and chewing on a stuffed red dog. He had been through the same treatment with equally tiny blue swim trunks a few minutes ago.

Outside, most of the team and their families and the moms were enjoying Kensi and Deeks’ new pool and everything and anything Sam threw on the grill.

“Ok, Sophie my love, you are all set.” Transferring her to one hip, Deeks stooped to pick up Caleb.

“Hey baby,” Kensi said, coming up behind him. She pressed up against his back, kissing his neck, and he leaned into her, sighing as she kissed him a couple more times. “I came to see how you three were doing in here.”

“The Pastry Twins are all ready for swimming.” He gestured to his handiwork, showing off each twin in turn.

“Aw, you look so cute!” She held her hands to her chest, then reached for both of them.

“How’s everybody doing out there? No bloodshed yet?” he asked.

“Sam finally ran out of food to grill and Callen’s trying to convince Rosa to switch to Russian as a foreign language. Again. Oh, and Kilbride is looking for you,” Kensi told him.

“Huh, that can’t be good. Did he say why?”

“Nope. But he seemed fairly cheerful. For Kilbride.”

“Alright. I’ll got see what he wants,” Deeks sighed.

“Good luck.” Kensi held him back for another kiss. “I’ll stand by if you need rescuing.”

“Mm, best wife ever.”

He found the Admiral sitting on the patio, toting his absurd fishing hat and a glass with a small orange umbrella.

“I hear you were looking for me, Sir.”

“Ah, Deeks. You’ve been hard to pin down,” Kilbride said, nodding as squinted up at Deeks.

“Well, twins keep you busy. How’s NCIS treating you?” Deeks asked taking the seat across from him, and Kilbride groaned, taking a long sip of his drink.

“I swear these people get more idiotic every day. As if I have time to fill out another pointless slip of paper when there are international catastrophes going on,” he ranted. Deeks smiled, feeling oddly sentimental about the familiar conversation.

“Maybe you should consider retirement,” he suggested.

“We can’t all just leave,” Kilbride grumbled back, but with a hint of smile. “I’ve had several people ask about you, you know. Apparently you’re a hot commodity these days.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Deeks said with a chuckle. “The first time I got a call from the CIA, I was a little concerned. Now it’s just getting annoying cause they always seem to call during nap time.”

“I’ve heard some of the offers: Lead agent of your own team, head of the legal department, lead analyst. They would all be prime positions that would allow you to not only stay closer to home, but also provide for your family.”

“They’ve been getting on your case too, huh?”

Kilbride rolled his eyes, expelling an exasperated sound. “The damn fools won’t leave me alone.”

“I appreciate it, and it’s certainly nice to be wanted, but I’m happy where I am.” Deeks paused and glanced around to take in the yard filled with people. He spied Rosa guiding Caleb around in an inner tube, Callen dipping Sophia’s toes in the water, Kensi laughing with Fatima. “I have a family, a home, a good job. Peace. I don’t need anything else.”

Kilbride nodded, begrudging respect in his eyes. “You’re a lucky man,” he said.

“Yes, I am, Sir.”

[gellavonhamster]

the wolf and the moon

Turn: Washington's Spies || Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge || unspecified fantasy/magic AU ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2017 but I didn’t attempt to translate it into English back then. 

You must not be afraid of the changes that I've made

I have come now to bring you away

To our bed that I have made with the seven stones I've laid

And covered in the finest of clay

Lay your head upon the ground, you shall never be found

I will guard against dangers that be

Until dawn comes around you must not make a sound

And I swear you will forever be with me

(Birch Book – Werewolf’s Eyes)

Looking back, Ben is utterly angry at himself for not catching on to what was happening to him until it was too late.

First he notices all smells become sharper. Gunpowder, sweat, horse dung, damp earth, campfire smoke, hair pomade. Hundreds of smells that were not as distinct before surround him in a smothery cloud that seems dense enough to spoon it up like fat broth. Ben frowns, dizzy with this suffocating mixture, and steals furtive glances at the others, trying to find out if they feel the same, but everyone is acting like everything’s normal. He does not dare to ask, suspecting how strange that would sound. The other officers keep their guard up with him as it is – sure, he’s well-mannered and all, but still, heaven knows what to expect from those magicians.

On the last night before the full moon, he blows out a candle in his tent, and suddenly realizes he can see perfectly in the dark. Then he begins to understand – although just what, not how. If he was bitten, he would have remembered it – or would he not? Leave it to Rogers and his men to wipe out his memories. Everyone knows his unit is made up of only those endowed with at least middling witchcraft powers. It is for this reason that much later Ben is so surprised to find out that Jordan – that is, Akinbode – has joined the ranks of Rangers. It is odd and upsetting to know that all those years someone else in Setauket was able to do magic apart from the four of them, and they had not the slightest idea.

It might be that the bayonet he was wounded with was soaked in something. Werewolf’s blood? Werewolf’s saliva? The next day, Ben all but runs to his tent each time he has a minute to spare and leafs through his papers frantically, his own notes and torn-out book pages alike. His command of sorcery is much poorer than imagined by most people in their army, Washington included. Compared to those who couldn’t even deal with a simple spell, he’s a magician indeed. In truth, however – and being aware of it has never made him feel as dejected before – he’s just another self-taught amateur. If what is happening to him is exactly what all the evidence suggests, then he is helpless. All he can do is steal out of the tent when it gets dark and the moon’s silver disk starts to glisten behind the clouds, and rush towards the forest. He manages to put on a smoke-and-mirrors spell so that no one notices he’s gone; at least he’s good enough for such trifles.

He makes it to the woods in time – as soon as he steps into the thicket, he convulses with excruciating pain. A bayonet is like a mosquito bite compared to that; worse, finishing off his brother in arms so as not to give himself away in front of Rogers and his band of warlocks is like a mosquito bite compared to that. It feels as if huge invisible hands are kneading him like dough and sculpting his flesh and bones into something else, ugly and unnatural. Ben struggles to keep his mouth shut, but he still screams.

Then he howls.

Then he’s racing through the woods surrounded by thousands of smells, which don’t seem as obnoxious as before, and he feels good – as good as never before, especially compared to that terrible pain earlier. The moss is springy under his paws and the air is fresh, and the blood of the hare he caught is hot and tastes better than any food he’s ever tried. There is no trace of the fear that has weighed down on him that entire day. How could he be afraid of this?

But when he wakes up at dawn in the depths of the forest completely naked, shivering with cold, his human face smeared with blood, the fear returns.

And the night after it proves itself justified.

***

After the second night, Ben returns to the camp, slips into his tent, falls down on his knees and howls and howls more than he did at night in honour of the full moon.

He has only vague memories of what happened. A dark silhouette sneaking through the woods. A jump, a loud cry, the cracking of neck vertebrae. A blue uniform torn to pieces. A warm throat in his maw. All of it blurred, befuddling; an unpleasant dream right before waking up. But what he saw in the morning he remembers clearly – and will never forget.

He’s not throwing up. He’s choking on tears, he’s shaking with disgust, but he’s not throwing up at all. God, why isn’t he throwing up from the thought of having gorged himself of human flesh last night?

Ben forces himself to get up. His body moves as if by itself – and is it his own anymore, really? Or is the only body he inhabits now that of a wolf, for which that nightmare is just another hunt, and not the most heinous crime imaginable? He keeps looking around the tent dully, until he understands that the thing he needs, the only thing that can save him and the others, is already at hand.

He cocks the pistol and puts it to his temple.

“No!”

An unseen force wrenches the pistol from his hand and throws it into the corner. A shot rings out – in vain.

“You shot a hole through my wall,” Ben says, tired. He doesn’t turn around; he can’t look Caleb in the eye, not after what he did last night. But Caleb is beside him in a blink of an eye, grabs his hand painfully, and makes him turn around – and then he has to look.

Ben isn’t sure he’s ever seen Caleb in such rage before.

“Screw you, Tallboy,” Caleb spits out wrathfully, looking up at him. “Have you lost your mind? What the hell was that?!”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s easier just to blow your brains out, right? Ben,” the tone of his voice changes, and so does his look, and now Caleb is looking at him with a desperate plea and fear and concern, and Ben wants to push him away and shout at him leave, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve a single drop of your worry, leave. “What’s going on?”

Ben wants to push him away – and yet he cannot.

“You’re going to hate me if I tell you.”

“No,” Caleb says firmly.

That’s what I fear, Ben thinks.

When he comes to the part about him killing someone – no, not just killing but half-devouring him, tearing him to pieces to the point of barely being able to make out the face in the morning, not a familiar one yet still striking horror and grief into him – he realizes he’s crying again. Ben wipes off his tears with his sleeve violently, hoping that Caleb doesn’t think he’s asking for pity. Pity he does not deserve. All he deserves is the pistol, now picked up off the ground and lying on the table, in wait for its hour. Ben knows what he’s going to ask of Caleb when he finishes his story. Ben is tormented by an almost complete certainty that Caleb will refuse him.

“We-e-ell,” drawls out Caleb when Ben is done. He was listening with uncharacteristic sobriety, but with no apparent fear, and that is wrong. He ought to be scared. “What was that poor devil even doing in the woods at night…”

“Caleb, what’s the difference?”

“Was he tryin’ to desert or what?”

“What. Is. The difference?” Ben draws back and stares at his friend with outrage. “What of it if he was? Even had it been a redcoat – Caleb, I bit a man to death! Tore out his throat like he was a rabbit!”

“Hush,” Caleb raises up both hands as if trying to shield himself from Ben’s voice. “Quit yelling. Here, drink,” he fishes a flat flask of Madeira out of the inside pocket of his coat, and pushes it into Ben’s hands.

“Right,” he begins as Ben drinks, gagging and coughing. “So we have to figure out what to do with that trouble of yours.”

“I’ve already figured everything out, and I was trying to do just that, until you barged in.”

“And thank God I did! Ben, I won’t let you kill yourself!”

“Then you will have to kill me,” Ben retorts, and takes the pistol from the table. “In the woods, now. Let’s go.”

Caleb stares at him in horror.

“No.”

“Lieutenant Brewster,” Ben raises his voice and holds the pistol out to Caleb, “that’s an order!”

Caleb takes the pistol and throws it aside – not by magic this time, but simply by hand.

“Stick your orders where the sun don’t shine, Captain,” he replies, his chin defiantly up. “Listen to me. We’re both magicians, right? We’ll figure it out and no one will have to shoot anyone. I’ll figure it out.”

Ben is silent. He’s scared of death, because he knows for sure he’ll go to hell – a magician, even though the church has a complex stance on magic; a killer, even though everyone kills at war; a werewolf, even though not of his own volition; a sodomite, even though he hasn’t ever dared to proposition anyone. He hates himself for this weakness, but he really is scared, man and wolf inside him alike. Besides, the army needs him, Washington needs him, his friends whom he dragged into another risky business need him. Of course he would prefer to stay alive – but he doesn’t see any conditions under which it is possible without subjecting others to mortal peril.

“Trust me,” Caleb says quietly, resolutely. He stares at Ben, imploring him with his warm, always so endlessly warm eyes, and Ben gives up.

***

At night, Ben returns to the forest, and the wolf returns home.

He throws off the scruples of conscience together with his former appearance. Only a tiny part remains, caught on that scrap of human sentience that still remains with him. That scrap causes him pain, but it also brings him hope – hope that strong as the wolf might be, it cannot beat Benjamin Tallmadge. He’s still here, with his guilt and his fear and his remorse, and he has no intention to leave this head.

But the wolf’s hunger is strong, and now, when the wolf has already partaken of human flesh, it’s all the more dangerous.

The camp is asleep. Only the sentries are walking to and fro, small figures barely distinguishable from the edge of the woods. Ben – no, the wolf, that’s all wolf – looks at them and makes a step forward.

A noise behind his back makes him turn around.

It’s a bear. Not the biggest there is, but undoubtedly still bigger than him. Ben bares his fangs, but is in no hurry to run away. It is the first time he sees this bear, the first time he sees any bear, but this one smells like something very familiar, something like home, and for the wolf it is enough not to be afraid of it.

The bear approaches him, extends a foreleg the way a person would extend a hand to point at something, and growls as if calling him somewhere. Ben turns to look at the sentries again.

The bear growls louder and gently nudges him with its paw, and Ben gives up.

Together they disappear deep into the woods, and then they hunt down a big deer, and its meat tastes almost as good as the meat of that young man – deserter or not – that Ben recently murdered.

When Ben wakes up as a man, he realizes two things. The first is that at night he managed to return closer to the camp, because the gnarled oak under which he’s lying is well familiar to him.

The second is that someone’s lying by his side, hugging him at the small of his back.

Ben detaches himself, pushing off the hugging arm, and sits up abruptly.

“Caleb,” and of course it’s Caleb, naked and muddy like him, with leaves and tiny twigs in his hair and beard. “Caleb, wake up!”

“Why are you yellin’, why d’ya always have to yell?” Caleb mutters drowsily, and bats Ben’s hand away when Ben tries to shake him by the shoulder. At last he opens his eyes and sits up too. “Morning, Benny.”

“Morning?” Ben is positively at a loss. He certainly doesn’t like the most obvious explanation – that is, that Caleb followed him through the woods last night, at the risk of being mauled by a beast that does not care who Benjamin Tallmadge’s closest childhood friends are. “Caleb, how did you get here? How did you find me? Did you go after me last night or what?”

“Yeah,” Caleb shrugs, stretches, and gets up, and Ben does his utmost to look away. Caleb pulls clothes, his own and Ben’s, from a hole beneath the oak roots, and throws him his shirt. “Spent all night with you, don’t you remember?”

When it dawns upon Ben, he is halfway through putting his shirt on, and his sudden shudder almost results in him tearing it.

“You’re out of your mind,” he hisses, leaps to his feet too, and grabs Caleb by the shirt. If someone catches them like that – away from the camp, scantily clad – it won’t be easy to explain themselves, but this is not what he’s worried about at present. “I thought you promised to figure out how to stop the wolf!”

“And I did,” Caleb replies nonchalantly, struggling to pry Ben’s fingers away from his sleeve.

“By becoming the same thing as I?!”

“I’m not the same thing, Ben! You were turned, I turned myself. You become a wolf, I keep a man’s mind in a bear’s body. A curious ritual, I learned about it in Canada,” Caleb covers his hand with his own and grins with delight. “Was eager to try it out for some time, see if I could handle it.”

Ben could say a lot about Caleb’s flippant attitude towards magic, but he has long understood that in some cases, it is no use wasting his breath.

“And how is this going to help up?” is all he asks.

Caleb smiles. Every time it gives him laughter lines; this mirth is going to make him all wrinkles when he grows old.

“Weren’t you lickin’ your lips at the sentries last night? But you didn’t go to them. You went with me. I’m stronger and bigger, I can hold you back if needed,” he gives Ben’s shoulder a friendly slap. “As long as I’m with you, you won’t hurt anybody.”

No, thinks Ben, but if neither you nor I are strong enough to resist our respective beast, there will be even more victims.

***

Strange as it may be, it works out. From one full moon to another, their lives are nearly the same as before – the military affairs, the spy ring business, magic-related or not. The bear guards the wolf against hunting in the camp of the Continental Army. Lieutenant Brewster guards Captain – now Major – Tallmadge against going mad with self-loathing and self-abhorrence.

Nathaniel Sackett, a seasoned magician, gets to the bottom of it at once.

“You need a suitable amulet, young man,” he says, looking over Ben with the curiosity of a scientist who has caught a peculiar bird. “Then it will be easier for you to control yourself. You’ll even be able not to depend on the full moon and transform whenever it is convenient for you. Like your friend here.”

“Convenient?” Ben echoes, frowning. “It will never be ‘convenient’ for me, sir. It is not about my convenience, but about the safety of others.”

“But you could be useful on the battlefield in this, hmm, capacity.” Sackett doesn’t seem to notice Ben’s indignation. “Haven’t it occurred to you?”

“No,” lies Ben.

Sackett clicks his tongue. “I’ll see what could be done.”

“He’s insane,” whispers Ben in frustration, when Sackett leaves to meet Washington.

Caleb shrugs. “All magicians are a bit out there,” he points out philosophically. “Just look at the two of us. Though we clearly have a long way to go compared to him.”

“Oh, it’s all fun to you, isn’t it? You furry blockhead.”

“No furrier than you,” Caleb replies good-naturedly.

If it was not for his cheerful nature and eternal unshakeable faith in them being able to get through it all, the wolf would have long gnawed down Benjamin Tallmadge’s soul.

***

The amulet that Sackett hands him looks like a flower or an open pine cone – petals made of different species of wood, and a silver core.

“Put it around your neck on the full moon. And don’t you dare take it off even if it hurts. And it will hurt,” he instructs. “Concentrate on the memories of home, family, friends, loved ones – everything that makes you human. Brewster shall watch over you. I believe it sensible for him to do that in his bear form, to be on the safe side.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben says ardently as he takes the pendant.

The first night of the full moon, he doesn’t succeed. The amulet hurts him indeed – like pressing a hot iron to his chest. Ben musters all his strength, but in the end he cannot bear it, and tears the pendant off. On his chest, a red print remains. That night he howls at the moon desperately, and Caleb lies in a pit and watches him and waits patiently for him to cry it all out.

The following night, Caleb ties him to a tree.

“Are you sure?” he asks for the last time.

Ben snarls.

The moon comes out, and the amulet bites into his skin, into the still-raw yesterday’s burn. Caleb shucks off his clothes and shapeshifts. Ben still cannot get used to how awful the transformation appears to an onlooker – the body mashed and spread and bent, the limbs twisting unnaturally, the fur growing out in an instant. Ben is well familiar with the kind of pain Caleb is experiencing, but even it seems like nothing compared to the one caused by the amulet.

Sackett told him: when he subdues the wolf, the pain will cease.

Sackett told him: keep thinking of what makes you human.

Through pain, Ben reminisces his father and his late mother, his brothers, their sweet old house and the neat small church in Setauket. The memories of home seem like the memories of a past life; none of this exists anymore. The British soldiers sit in their church. Samuel is dead. Nathan, whom he also reminisces, whom he could never forget, is dead as well.

The silver burns his skin, the tree bark scratches even through the shirt, and the wolf inside him howls in pain. It is hard to focus on anything but pain, yet he tries.

Father. Abe. Anna. Washington.

Happy New Year, Tallboy.

Caleb, his sleepy smile, the warmth by his side, the arm on his waist.

I won’t let you kill yourself.

Ben screams until he suddenly realizes that the pain has passed. The bear lying next to him raises his head and nuzzles against his thigh.

The night after, he stares at the moon with human eyes, the amulet pleasantly cooling his chest.

***

Little by little, he learns – not only to trap the beast inside, but also to let it out when it is his own wish, not that of the skies above. When the moon isn’t full, the hunger isn’t as strong, and he need not fear that his feet – his paws – would bring him to the camp; not that Caleb would let that happen, anyway. What he is the most afraid of is losing the amulet in the thicket; he keeps Sackett’s notes, in which it is explained, among other useful things, how to make one, but that would require a long time and a variety of materials that would be hard to come by.

Little by little, he learns to accept that he likes it – the quiet of the woods, the moonlight, the wind singing in his ears, the delicious night air, clear as spring water. The thrill of the hunt and the lazy bliss of fullness. Falling asleep with his nose pressed into the coarse brown fur; waking up with his cheek pressed against Caleb’s chest. Something completely unthinkable and still completely natural, as if someone decided way before they were born that they would sleep best like that – nestled up to each other, not a scrap of clothes between them, the all-forgiving starlight above.

Sometimes Ben is grateful to Rogers for cursing him.

Once, having woken up at sunrise, he goes through the memories of the past night – now that his animal form is subject to the amulet, it is much easier to restore them. They killed a deer and feasted on the hot meat, and then fell down to the ground, sated and tired. The bear tumbled on his back spread-eagle, rolling about funnily and flattening the moss. The wolf climbed on top of him and nipped at his nose. Both had snouts and paws covered in blood, and they licked each other for a long time, played like pups, until the wolf fell asleep and the bear must’ve fallen asleep after him.

Ben, having carefully disentangled himself from Caleb, gazes at him and thinks absentmindedly that the dark hair on his chest and belly looks like animal fur. And that the wolf has already fallen asleep, retreated into the farther corner of his mind, and yet he still wants to lick.

Ben has no idea if beasts are prone to the same sin as some men, including him, but he knows that a wolf cannot and would not think of mating with a bear. The shade their night-time games acquire in his eyes does not come from the wolf, which cannot tell right from wrong. It comes from Benjamin Tallmadge, reverend’s son, the honorary virgin of the entire Continental Army, who’d rather die than admit why he never joined his fellows on a visit to a brothel. He remembers Caleb telling him that the ritual lets him keep a human mind in a beast’s body. Ben is not sure it is still so; Caleb turned without him present several times, stayed alone with the bear, and sometimes Ben worries that confident in his power, he might succumb to his second nature entirely. Still, what Ben would like to know most of all is what Caleb the bear, or Caleb the man in a bear’s frame, thought when he ran his rough tongue over Ben’s belly.

He daren’t ask, but in the evening, when they already can sleep peacefully in the camp because the moon has begun to wane, he comes to Caleb’s tent. The candle is blown out, but Caleb, who is now able to see in the dark perfectly well, like Ben, is still awake.

“Tallboy, what is it?” Caleb asks anxiously when Ben enters and carefully closes the tent flaps. “Has something happened?”

Ben steps up to him, heart beating so wildly as if it is going to break out of his body, and tilts his head to lick Caleb’s neck, animal-like, and then kisses him on the lips, as people do.

Caleb sighs loudly, his eyes closed, and leans to kiss him back.

He growls, leaning on Ben with all his weight on the cot too narrow for two, and Ben bites Caleb’s shoulder when he comes, but apart from that they have no reason to blame all that on the animals in their heads.

That night, Ben presses his snout – no, his face – to Caleb’s neck, and sleeps even more soundly than in the open air.

***

Gradually, the truth comes out. Not all of it, fortunately; not about the two of them. And not about Ben, in contrast to Caleb, being turned against his will, not being able to control the beast at first, and tearing a fellow soldier to pieces on top of that. Everyone believes Ben made the decision to turn in order to become a more dangerous foe to the British army. Washington thinks so. Everyone thinks so. Ben is in no hurry to change their minds.

On the battlefield, both of them are of more use on two feet, with weapons and spells ready, but a couple of times, when ambush is required, they face the enemy in their other bodies. This is enough for the British to start talking about them. As Ben learns from Townsend, casting a spell to communicate with him through a bowl of water (at the end of the conversation, Townsend, icily polite, asks him if he could henceforth warn him somehow before appearing in his washbasin – if it is not too much trouble, of course), the blue-eyed wolf even gains some grand nicknames in the enemy camp. The General’s Cerberus, Washington’s Hellhound. The fact that Ben, lofty manner notwithstanding, is still considered to be a dog is insufferably amusing to Caleb. The latter, however, is not accorded anything more sophisticated than the Shaggy Devil or the Hairy Devil or similar variations on the theme of the devil and bears. Ben likes to respond to Caleb’s dog-related teasing by saying that Caleb’s human appearance is as deserving of these names as the animal one, if not more.

In the camp, they’re respected, yet given a wide berth – both of them, even the ever jovial Caleb, and that continues when Anna joins them. The soldiers are intrigued by her, but also intimidated – which is not unwise, to be fair, considering she’s always been the most skilled magician among the four of them. Washington’s coven, soldiers whisper. A witch and two warlocks – only Abe is missing from the set.

Ben is glad Anna is with them – not just because he needn’t worry she might get in trouble away from her friends, but also because they need a safeguard. He’s reached an understanding with his wolf, and Caleb has been in tune with his bear from the start, but at the end of the day they are still wild beasts. He makes Anna a copy of the instruction on how to make the amulet from Sackett’s notes, and tells her to always keep a pistol with at least two silver bullets at hand to stop him or Caleb if worst comes to worst. Or (he doesn’t say that, though) to stop Caleb first and then, regardless of circumstances, him. An amulet is an amulet, but Ben cannot shake off the feeling that the lion’s share of his control over the beast is tied to Caleb’s presence.

He has heard somewhere that wolves mate for life anyway.

“I just hope I won’t have to use it,” says Anna with a sad smile, accepting the pistol.

“You won’t have to,” Caleb says with confidence and hugs her by the shoulders. “It’ll be alright.”

Ben looks at them, and the wolf in his head curls up snugly and falls asleep.

[mamamittens]

After a Crown for a Ring

This is the somewhat unhinged romcom order for myself based on my 'menu' for my Shake Date 500+follower event. Without the smut, I... I cannot write and post that and still come online ever again at this point in time (social anxiety for the win!), so ya'll just get the ridiculous build up.

That and I realized I had written over 2K just building up to smut. Why am I like this for this man???

So here.

Order: strawberry cake, gummy candy, sprinkles. Add in pink schnapps, jager bomb, white Russian, hot damn, and brain hemorrhage with a coffee and strawberry mochi.

Warnings: Yandere, technically kidnapping, and intended imprisonment until marriage agreement.

Thatch X Nikia (OC)

What can I say, he's a real romantic at heart.

word count: 2,490

The kingdom was burning.

Okay, so only some of the kingdom was burning. It was still a problem and there wasn’t much to be done at this point.

Nikia sighed, anxiously wringing her hands as she looked out over the balcony. She was trained for peacetime, not war. The weight of lives on her shoulders a distinctly uncomfortable one. So, she ordered her people to evacuate well before the enemy line made it to the capital city. Some stayed, too stubborn or loyal to go, but the rest fled quickly.

In theory, this is where her fiancé would shine. As a well decorated war general, this would have been his moment. He likely could have managed this whole mess swiftly and gotten a treaty signed. But he’d gone at the first sign of war to handle things and… he never came back.

Nikia shifted on her feet, wings fluttering behind her restlessly.

She liked Henrick well enough. Kind and deferential to her title without being a kiss ass. Older but not so old she worried he’d pass well before she ever would. They’d been arranged to marry next spring by her late parents but that clearly wasn’t going to happen now. And her envoys for peace went unheeded for reasons beyond her understanding. Spies, perhaps. Or perhaps just a lack of interest in peace. It was possible.

The rival kingdom was quite fond of conquering, so it was possible that this was inevitable.

And as queen she had to greet them.

There was a rattle of armor behind her as her personal guard, Minos, entered the room.

“Your majesty, they’ve made it to the pavilion.” She sighed, fussing with her skirts.

“Then I shall meet them in the entrance.” She declared, turning to walk swiftly through the halls, Minos glancing from under his helmet, hand on his blade.

“It’s not too late to run, your majesty.” He reminded her softly. She paused before the stairs, smiling softly.

“And go where? I can hardly pass as an unfortunate peasant.” Nikia sighed, extending her wings. It was something all royal family members had and became incredibly symbolic over the years, much to her frustration. “Besides, I have to try for peace one last time before the entire kingdom is razed. You heard what happened to Marineford.” She moved on, not looking at the portraits of her ancestors along the walls and artwork gifted to her family over the years. Marineford had, somehow, gotten hold of a prince and tried to execute him. It did not end well.

“Well, you haven’t acted against them before. And neither did your family! Perhaps this is just a show of force?” He asked, lengthening his stride to keep up.

“Well, they’ve certainly shown it!” Nikia grumbled. “The staff are safe?”

“No one wanted to leave.” He informed her.

Nikia stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sighed.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have spent her youth running around the kitchens.

She looked out across the hall where guards stood at the ready. Men she knew. Had watched train over the years in the courtyard. Personally knighting several when they’d become skilled enough to warrant the lofty title.

The sound of battle was faint but echoed over the empty hall. White marble draped in silk livery. The door was closed. But it wouldn’t be for long.

“Open the door and leave.” Nikia commanded clearly, though she knew only one part of her order would be followed. They hesitated, the two closest to the door looking back at her as she approached. Her dress trailing across the carpet. “We were never going to win this battle… so let’s get this over with.” Nikia stated, taking a sword from a kneeling servant. It was a mostly ceremonial blade, the one she had knighted several of those present with, in fact. Gemstones embedded in the blade and pommel, a flawless silver with golden leaves across the centerline. It could still cut, but was not meant to.

A bit ironic, really.

Pretty but useless.

The doors opened up, the sound of fighting pouring in as she saw the fight come to a screeching halt. All eyes on her as she tipped up her chin and walked to the top of the stairs.

She flared out her wings purposefully, letting them stretch out in the open air as she looked across the foreign soldiers. They seemed shocked. Perhaps they thought the ‘angelic royalty’ thing was a hoax. While she certainly wasn’t an angel, the imagery of her family line was no joke.

Now with their full attention she swallowed hard, gripping the sword.

“Congratulations. You’ve made a mess. Who am I meant to address?” She asked clearly, her voice ringing out.

A man stepped forward with a wide grin, wearing remarkably light armor and two blades in his hands. Amber red hair pulled back out of his face with a black goatee.

“That would be me, your majesty. Prince Thatch, captain of the eleventh division.” He dipped his head in deference but his eyes remained bold and amused.

“Well, since your kingdom insisted on dramatics—here!” Nikia called out, tossing the priceless blade down the stairs to his feet where it clattered with a chiming ring. He looked startled. “What? Did you expect me to fight you? What good would that do with an army still left behind? I’ve sent envoys for peace many times. We are not a country built for war, as you may have noticed while razing the countryside.” Nikia chided while walking towards him.

“Just like that?” Annoyance seeped into her.

“That desperate for a fight, are you? What, nothing to do back home, Prince Thatch?” Nikia hissed, flinging out her arms. “Besides, it would be a poor match. My weapon of choice is a bow.”

Though she had been tempted to shoot him from the sky.

He grinned, relaxing his stance and sheathing his blades as she approached closer.

“I think I would have liked to see that.” He mused, looking over her.

Her crown still in place over her curls, dark blue hair cut around her chin and braids of soft teal over her shoulders. Her dress trimmed close to her chest in silver silk lined with blue, trailing down her arms in wide sleeves. It wasn’t her most extravagant dress. But it was one she could run in, if need be.

“Too bad… so what now? Will you charge through my castle still or execute me first?” She asked, looking up at him. His expression softened.

“Now, why would I be so wasteful?” He asked, delicately picking up a thin braid and bringing it to his lips with a smile.

Nikia… wasn’t sure what to do with that. If they wanted peace, there were easier ways before this point. Hell, after the first battle where her fiancé was slain, marriage was suddenly a very easy and open option if they wanted.

“…Because you clearly didn’t want to sign a treaty?” She said in confusion. “And you clearly didn’t come here to talk.” She waved towards the still eerily quiet battlefield.

He laughed.

“Hah! I suppose that would be a little confusing on your part, wouldn’t it?” Thatch said before frowning thoughtfully. “I’m here for one thing. Where’s your king? Is he such a poor husband he makes his wife face an army to surrender?”

Nikia frowned.

“Uh…” Despite her many lessons, she couldn’t help the graceless sound that slipped from her lips. “… There isn’t one?”

Now Thatch looked confused.

“What?”

“What?” she parroted, shrugging her shoulders. “There isn’t one? There is no king? No consort either, before you ask… it’s just me? Who are you looking for—are you lost?!?” Nikia demanded, utterly baffled.

“You-You’re married.” Thatch said, looking down and grabbing her hand only to find it bare of any ring.

“No? I’m not?” Nikia insisted. “I mean, I would be… next spring. What the hell does it matter, why are you here?!”

“Fiancé then. Where is he.” Thatch looked around with narrowed eyes, like her fiancé would spring up from the shadows.

“Dead! In this stupid fucking war!” Nikia screeched, yanking back her hand. “What! Do you! Want here!”

“Then how are you queen?”

“Because my parents were king and queen?! And died—thanks for the reminder, ass.” Nikia hissed.

Thatch looked shocked before grinning.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nikia considered storming to her rooms and shooting him with a bow. She’d definitely be executed then but it would be worth it.

“Well, I’m here for you.” His tone shifted to something dark and she couldn’t help but shudder.

“Well… I’m right here? What do you want?!” Nikia stammered, taking a step back. Thatch grabbed her waist and pulled her in close, the familiar cries of alarm ringing behind her falling silent swiftly.

“My homeland makes allies in many ways. Usually treaties and exchanges. Sometimes even marriage.” Thatch informed her softly.

“That is… how most make allies, yes? Y-You’re freaking me out, what the fuck is your point?” Nikia questioned equally quiet.

“It’s seems there’s been a… misunderstanding. I’d been informed you were already married.” Thatch chimed in helpfully. “So, obviously, your husband had to go. And I couldn’t do that if we had a treaty.”

It took a moment. Nikia willing admitted it took a moment to understand what Thatch was saying.

Her face flushed.

“Y-You started a war to marry me?! No!” Nikia said, utterly horrified. “Absolutely not!”

“I gotta say, this is much easier!” Thatch chuckled, and in a move too fast to process, picked her up into his arms. Her wings flailed in alarm but it didn’t phase him in the slightest. “Fights over, boys!” There was a round of cheers and wolf whistles.

Apparently, it was only her side that was unaware of Thatch’s true intentions.

“Put our queen down!” Minos declared, drawing his blade. Thatch shifted his stance, still walking up the stairs with her on one arm, reaching for his own blade.

“No! You are not fighting this madman! Put me down, damnit!” Nikia screeched. A young man without a shirt clambered up the stairs and surprised her guard, the two engaging in a short fight before a column of fire erupted and left only one standing. And it was not her guard. Minos was, thankfully, still breathing.

The young man winked cheekily at her and Thatch before darting into the castle.

“No can do. Where’s your scribe, we need to square away the details.” Thatch commented breezily with a laugh. “Where are you going, Ace?!”

“I’m going to find the kitchen!” the young man declared over his shoulder.

“What details!?” Nikia asked, squirming to no avail.

“Our marriage, of course.”

“We are not getting married!” Thatch came to a halt at the top of the stairs, looking up at her smugly. Her guards were subdued on the ground, though thankfully not dead.

“Then I guess this is an armed occupation until we do. Where are your chambers?” He asked. Upon seeing her flustered but speechless, he looked towards a maid. “You there, miss? Would you kindly show me where the queen sleeps?”

“Why do you need to know that?!” Nikia hissed.

“I’m not locking my wife in the dungeons!” Thatch shot back, utterly offended.

“I am not your wife!”

The poor maid looked horrified and confused.

Thatch pouted at her.

“Then I suppose we’ll do it right here.” Thatch declared.

“Do what?” he grinned, reaching up to hook his fingers in the collar of her dress. Her eyes widened as her face grew hot. “No.”

“Yes.” He smirked and she couldn’t say for certain he was joking.

Nikia looked at the poor maid, utterly flustered herself.

“Show him.” The maid hurried, clearly understanding the innuendo before she had. “What the hell is wrong with you—we’ve never even met!—we haven’t met, have we?” She asked in horror as he effortless carried her up the stairs after the maid.

“No, but you have a lovely portrait.”

Okay, so he’s absolutely fucking mad.

“They’re paid to make me look good, what the hell is wrong with you?” Nikia asked, feeling a tad overwhelmed.

Her kingdom was invaded because a prince thought she was pretty?!

“Easiest money of that painter’s life. You’re already a work of art—thank you, you’re excused now.” Thatch said, stepping into her personal chambers as the maid nodded and fled.

He looked around in satisfaction and curiosity. Clearly eager to snoop around.

“Are you going to put me down, now?” Nikia asked blandly, feeling a tad resigned to the situation.

“You fit in my arms so well, though.” He pouted. “I suppose I should do it anyway.” Thatch sighed dramatically before setting her on her bed. He kneeled, looking up at her with a bright smile as she grimaced.

“…what now?” She asked softly.

Thatch reached up and pushed back her hair, settling his palm over her cheek.

“You agree to marry me.” Thatch smiled. “Until then, you don’t leave these rooms. Can’t have you running off. Or flying away for that matter.” Thatch looked at the balcony with a frown.

“You want to be king that badly?” Nikia asked. “You could always just oust me. It’s not that hard. Execution or banishment usually does the trick. Not that I want to die but… I just don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He hummed, looking back at her with a chastising expression.

“I don’t care about being king. Just your king.” He corrected her.

Nikia scowled.

“Then why do I need to agree to marriage? You’ve effectively conquered my kingdom already. I’d hardly be the first queen married without being asked. I didn’t even ask to marry Henrick. That was arranged.” She couldn’t help but point out. Upon his horrified look she rolled her eyes. “I’m queen, Thatch. My duty is to my people first. And for a secure kingdom, you must be married. I thought you were a prince and would know that.”

Thatch frowned, cupping her face in both hands as he rested his forehead against hers, staring deeply into her eyes.

“That’s not how it works where I’m from. I want you to want me. As much as I want you.” Thatch kissed her lips softly before standing up. “Even if it takes a little convincing. Get some rest. It’s been a long day, my queen.”

Thatch walked to the balcony doors and pressed his hand over them, mumbling a spell under his breath. Lights and symbols danced over the glass, forming a perfect circle over the handles. Locked now with magic. He grinned, pleased with his work, and headed to the door, bowing as he exited with a pleased smirk.

Familiar magic swirling over the wood as that, too, was locked. That wasn’t the only exit of course but, with her castle occupied, she could hardly escape regardless.

Just as trapped as she was this morning. Though infinitely more confused.

[nikethestatue]

Name: Nike

Sign: Sagittarius

Time: 7:14 pm

Favorite band/artist: The Rolling Stones is the ultimate band. I like classic rock. I like Amy Winehouse too.

Last movie: Watched something terrible about spies on Netflix. In the movie theater--haven't been to one since 2015 I think

Last show completed: Flea Bag

When I created this blog: 2014 I think

Other blogs: No

Do I get asks: Yeah

Followers: 4,500 something

Average hours of sleep: Around 7

Instruments: none

What I’m wearing: Tshirt/sweats

Dream Job: Writer

Dream trip: I always like to go back to Florence

Favorite song: that's too difficult. It's like choosing children.

Favorite movie: Some Like It Hot

Favorite fanfic: Like a Lonely House by @featherymalignancy is one of the most interesting things I've ever read, fic or not.

Best Tumblr friend: @tswaney17

Do you believe in love at first sight? I am certain it happens all the time

Do you speak any other languages: English, Italian, Russian, passable Spanish

Best book you read this year: Pen Pal

In a relationship? Yes. He is awesome.

Children: none

What does everyone like that you don't: Bacon and Taylor Swift

tags: @tswaney17 @rosesfox @athena-85 @cateyesinlove

[sommerregenjuniluft]

fake fic ask again :-P a fic called "as good at lying as i am" and/or a fic w the tags spies & espionage, complicated siblings, piano playing, and movie night <33 (& bc u rb'd that other post i will kiss u if u make either of them a rarepair <3)

teddy my darling, i am finally in bed (read: on my bsfs boyfriend’s couch) and have time to do your lovely prompts!!<3

so for ‘as good at lying as i am’ made me immediately think of bartyxjames somehow, with barty being the overall insane evil little genius and james being the charming crowd worker that makes himself so likeable when in truth he’s really opinionated with a mean streak because he is an arrogant, privileged little shit,, sO i’m hmm i’m thinking maybe it would be cool to do some fucked up psychological horror thing. which is not at all my expertise, very much the opposite but i’m thinking idk they’re probably playing some fucked up games where there’s a lot of money on the line or like maybe their own pride, body, life?? (kind of like in the anime kakegurui) maybe one of them ends up the other’s slave for like a few days and maybe barty gets to sever off one of james’ pinkies and maybe they play russian rollet while fucking nasty style :p

alternatively, this could be a very cute, mutual pining thing because while that was my first thought my second was that it kind of implies that the lying is bad? so we’d have to find us characters that aren’t as good at lying. which is a bit more difficult i think. so probably peter and mm lets make it one of the prewett twins. just a cute little crushes to lovers thing where gideon continuesly makes a fool of himself while peter is just flustered to the fucking max and everyone is sitting at the damn table, mouth agape because they r such idiots that can’t seem to figure it out *face palm*, but yeah they do eventually ^^

for the tags fic im gonna make it evan(s) because i’ve actually been dying to talk about something here! obviously we’re getting rosier twins and to make it complicated lets say pandora and evan were separated when they were around 10 and then also! i’m making james and lily adoptive siblings!! which is so !!!!!!!! like i absolutely adoore platonic jily (esp in edge) and it made me think why not make them family in some Au? also the whole piano and espionage gave me 1950s vibes for some reason and imagine them having a cute movie date in like one of the first proper movie theaters, soo cute!! but also i’m tempted to make it a whole modern day assasin thing yknow where they r hot and have a gun and a knife hidden in their popcorn thingys and neither make a move because they’re too enarmored by the other jdkksk and then for the piano i imagine lily walking onto a fresh crime scene alone and gun in hand, some old mansion and just blood Eveeerryyywhere and then there’s the sounds of a piano and it’s evan playing after he like slaughtered a whole family or something 😋😋 and then they have incredible sex on a blood soaked rug and lily’s cock is bigger than evan’s so he rides her stupid and cries idk