#i wonder how many people are fed up of me rambling in the tags

[jaxie101]

say what u want ab perry he was the only one that wasn’t profiting off of others work. that man gave the bare minimum and did as little work as possible, but he still… worked for it…

idk freddie was just shadowing his father his entire life and riding his wave of reputations. tammy specifically chose her husband bc she knew she couldn’t make it on her own, so she used him as publicity. it wasn’t vics heart mesh, it wasn’t even her surgery or handy work it was just the money she gave to her girlfriend. leo (pookiebear) wasn’t making video games, he was paying people to make them. and camille (arguably the most hardworking of them) had her assistants do most of the work… perry at least TRIED to put some energy into his work…

i also don’t think he was as stupid as people think. he was a moron sure, he cut corners and if he’d tested the tanks or listened in that meeting… he’d have died better. BUT arguably ?? what he did wasn’t stupid ?? “it was sooo expensive” who’s the idiot? the one charging it? or the one buying it? he made the money, and tbh cunty ass move using it as blackmail but also smart as hell…

[bazzybelle]

Magical Equality Within The World of Mages

I’ve been thinking a lot since I finished reading Any Way The Wind Blows, and there are SO many things that I still need to process. I took my time with reading it, I’ve listened to the audiobook and I plan on re-reading it several times, once I move into my new house and have THAT stress done and over with. I cannot wait to re-read it on my back porch with some iced tea and a notebook to annotate and comment on pretty much everything that gave me feelings.

But for now, there is one massive issue that I want to address, and it plays into the plot for all three books.

Warning for those who have not read Any Way The Wind Blows, this post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution. I am tagging this appropriately, but adding an extra warning just in case.

Huge thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for reading this over and making sure I didn't sound like a rambling mess.

The World of Mages is an incredibly toxic place! This is especially true for anyone who isn’t a magical powerhouse, or stupid rich.

I’m going to not focus on the obvious socio-economic bullshit, because I’m not familiar enough with the British class system to properly comment on it. But if anyone wants to add onto this with a whole meta like that, please do so!

Instead, I’m going to focus on magic use and how detrimental it can be to grow up in this world if you aren’t one of the few who are blessed with the RIGHT kind of magic (I say right kind of magic for a reason, and I’m going to come back to that). I want to focus my attention on three characters (two of whom were drawn into Smith-Richard’s fake promises, and one who was just fed up with it all): Martin Bunce, Daphne Grimm, and Agatha Wellbelove.

1) Martin Bunce: We first hear about Martin Bunce in Carry On. He’s Penny’s dad, a renowned scholar and is leading a team researching the effects of the Insidious Humdrum. He’s a highly respected individual, in his own right. Penny adores him, she only speaks his praises, and I get the feeling she gets along better with Martin, then she does with Mitali. When Penny needs help with Shep’s curse, she trusts her dad to help her after her mother flat out refuses.

While Martin is respected in the community, he isn’t a magical powerhouse. In fact, he isn’t very powerful at all. Baz makes a cheeky little comment about how he must have come from mundanity with a name like “Bunce”, and he doesn’t teach any magical classes at Watford, he focuses mainly on Linguistics.

Professor Bunce is one of the people taken in by Smith-Richard’s message, and I’m kind of glad he is. It shows that Smith-Richard’s message can reach anyone, even someone as scholarly and learned as Martin. Martin Bunce is intelligent, loving, devoted, and the apple of his family’s eye. But, when push comes to shove, all that does not matter because in the end, he isn’t as magically powerful as his wife and kids. How many times has Martin been compared to his wife? How many times has he been compared to his kids? What was it like going to Watford and having to hear about how you barely scraped by in the magical classes? His whole family is obsessed with magic, his daughter's best friend is the Most Powerful Mage. Martin is constantly surrounded by people making comments about power and magic and being strong enough as a magician.

That stuff stays with you... So when you see someone performing magic that can pull you to your full potential, of COURSE you grab onto it and hope that it’s a real thing.

Something interesting to note here; Towards the end of AWTWB, Martin casts a drinking spell, and Baz makes a comment about anyone who could cast that spell in quick succession doesn’t need a power-up. Now, was Martin truly not powerful, or did he just not have the right type of magic? Could he have been a better magician if he was able to find the right situations where his magic responded better? If he was allowed to learn in a way where his magic could have reached its full potential, without the use of a horrible curse?

I have a teaching background, and I’ve worked with a lot of kids in Inclusive Education. I’ve had to differentiate practically all of my lesson plans so that all the kids in my classroom would understand the lesson and be able to reach the goals outlined for them. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve taught, but I look at stuff like this in the World of Mages and my teaching ear perks up.

2) Agatha Wellbelove: Another person who comes to mind, especially with not having the right kind of magic is Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha does not see herself as a very strong magician. She tells Simon that magic for her is like holding a muscle. Pair that up with a mother who is OBSESSED with magic and power and who’s got the most power, and which magical matches will bring about powerful children, and you get someone who becomes resentful of the whole effing thing! I’m not even going to touch the whole “dating the Chosen One” thing because that’s a whole other can of worms.

When we first meet Agatha, she’s already fed up with magic, and wants nothing to do with it, and I can’t say I blame her. She spends all of Wayward Son running away from magic, and meandering through life, being still so unsure of herself and of her place in the world. She calls herself a poor excuse for a magician, yet she manages to save both herself and Penny from the NowNext by summoning fire! That’s a huge flipping deal! Not everyone can do that, yet Agatha is able to summon the power inside herself to do so! Imagine the wonderful magic she could have done if she was taught in a way that spoke to her.

In AWTWB, she is the ONLY person who is able to get through to the Goats. Her magic seems to be connected to nature (if I had to guess). The Dryad, all the way back in Carry On, tells Simon that she and the others find Agatha “peaceful”. That’s her magic. Agatha was able to come full circle by finding peace with the magic she has. She was able to find a place for it. What’s sad is that she felt the need to run away and not want to have it in her life anymore. Her magic is beautiful, yet not enough.

3) Daphne Grimm: So, this is the character that stood out to me the most. Daphne is the reason I even wanted to write this commentary. Those of you who know me, know that I adore this character. Partly because, I’m obsessed with the idea that Baz has people looking out for him and who care about him.

Anyway, Ms. Daphne Grimm is the apple of my eye essentially. I love her, I adore her, and she is treated SO UNFAIRLY by the World of Mages.

What do we know about Daphne? She is Baz’s stepmum, and has four kids with Malcolm. From the first book, there are snarky little comments about Daphne’s lack or power and magic. Baz himself makes a shitty comment about how Daphne’s “blood is as thin as gruel”, even though Daphne goes out of her way to make sure he’s got food sent to his room. She’s extra careful in making sure Baz feels safe in his own home. She suggests to Malcolm that Baz should see a therapist for everything he’s been through, making her the ONLY parent who not only acknowledges her child’s trauma, but tries to do something about it!

She is a GOOD mom!

Ok, we know that Baz wears a ton of masks of indifference in Carry On, and he softens up tremendously in Wayward Son, calling her lovely while teaching him to drive a car.

We learn a lot about Daphne in Any Way The Wind Blows. Namely that Fiona has some pretty nasty opinions about her. (That comment about her kids not being legitimate, and that she’s as “thick headed as she is thin blooded”. Now, imagine you’re Daphne, and the widower of the Great Natasha Pitch asks to marry you. That’s already some MASSIVE shoes to fill. You accept, and you do the best you can, taking care of his son and being a positive presence in his life, meanwhile going to all these posh functions where EVERYONE talks about power and magic. Then to have the sister of your husband’s first wife make snarky comments about your level of power and magic.

That stuff sticks with you.

Daphne doesn’t want her kids going to Watford, the ONLY magical school in the UK (as far as we know). She wants her children to succeed and be known for everything they are capable of doing, instead of being ridiculed for all the ways they’ll come up short. According to Baz, the only reason Daphne graduated from Watford was because she was smart enough to pass every exam (yet, Fiona still makes snarky comments about her intelligence).

Daphne is well aware of how painful it can be to live in the World of Mages and not be a powerhouse magician. Like Martin, she takes matters into her own hands and seeks out a way to make herself more powerful.

It is heartbreaking to look at these three amazing, beloved characters, and think about the suffering they have had to endure by their peers. Both Daphne and Martin get frustrated when those around them question their choice to follow Smith-Richards, stating “you don’t know what it’s like”. Luckily for Daphne, Baz makes an effort to actually understand her, and doesn’t judge her. Even when Fiona mocks her, Baz defends his stepmum. When Daphne berates herself and compares herself to Natasha, Baz reflects on how Natasha would have killed him (something Daphne would NEVER do to any of her children).

We know that Watford did not allow magical creatures, or differently-abled magicians (I use this term for a reason) to study there until the Mage came around and allowed everyone into Watford. This was a great thing, because now, every magical child was given the opportunity to learn how to speak with magic.

However, it should not have stopped there. I spoke earlier on differentiation and on finding the right place for everyone’s magic. What if magicians like Martin, and Daphne, and Agatha are all powerful in their own right, and they just haven’t found their place where their magic fits? Instead of finding the right way to teach these magicians, they are left to struggle and ultimately resent their magic and the magic of the world around them.

Do I hear a social commentary on the state of standardized education? I can’t really comment on the British Educational System, nor the American one, as I am Canadian. What I can say, from my own experience in Canadian classrooms, is that for all the talk we do on making education inclusive, there is still a big push from higher ups for high grades and standardized testing. If any of my followers are British or American and care to share your two cents, feel free to do so. Let’s keep the conversation going!

I think this post might have gotten away from me. I think my point was to act as a defense for people like Daphne and Martin who found themselves fished into a scam all for the promise of feeling like they are enough in their world. I also wanted to defend people like Agatha, who did all she could to run away from all of it, only to find the place where she (and her magic) belonged.

I remember having this discussion on Discord, and one of the points that came up was that maybe The Greatest Threat to the World of Mages was this deeply ingrained prejudice over magicians with different sorts of magic. Magicians who need that extra bit of help to find their way.

We’ve seen in this series how these prejudices can threaten to split the World of Mages apart, and it looks like magicians like Penny, Baz, and Agatha are learning from these mistakes. Only time (and us fanfiction writers) will tell how they end up shaping their world for the future generations.

[thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis]

Tricked Into It (Greg Gerwitz x Reader)

Word Count: 1,957

Pairing: Greg Gerwitz aka Mouse x Reader

Summary: Ever since your last breakup with someone who cheated and abused the love you had for them, you have been wary of dating. And it doesn’t help when your friend Kim Burgess won’t stop pestering you about some cute techie guy at the 21st District.

Warnings: talk of bad relationship (cheating, emotional abuse, PTSD from the relationship), descriptions of what might be an anxiety attack (I described feeling anxious but it ended up bordering on what could have almost been an attack.)

A/N: So I am working on a Kelly Severide Imagine, but I’m a but stuck on it so I came up with the idea that I take the last imagine I wrote, the other Mouse Imagine and make it into a little series of one shots, mainly cause I wanted to explore the relationship of Mouse and this librarian!reader. So this is a sort of prequel to the first Mouse imagine, how they first met which is talked about in the other imagine.

HERE is the first Librarian!Reader fic if you want to check it out!!

If you want to be added to my tags, just ASK!!

“Kim, I swear to god!”

You slammed your book shut with a snap and looked up at the Chicago police officer, aka Kim Burgess aka your best friend, in front of you. She looked almost as annoyed as you felt, rolling her eyes and sitting down on your couch across you in your reading chair. Kim had come over after her shift at the 21st District ended, and only after a couple of minutes of peace, Kim started up on her latest crusade; your love life.

“Y/N...”

“No! I get that you care, believe me, but I don’t need you trying to set me up with someone.” You said with a heavy sigh. 

Kim scooted closer to you and leaned forward, trying to catch your eye which was avoiding hers, “Hey,” She paused and waited for you to look her in the eye, “I just want you to be happy. And I think this guy is a good match for you. Much better than -”

“Don’t say their name.”

“...Fine. But Mouse is so your type!”

You were about to start arguing again when her words actually registered into your head, “His name is Mouse? There is no way that this cop’s name is Mouse.”

“Okay one, he isn’t a cop. He is a tech expert that works with Intelligence, a civilian hired by the unit and the department. And two, Mouse is just what everyone calls him, its a nickname from when he was younger.” Kim explained.

“Tech guy?” 

“Yeah, crazy smart when it comes to hacking and stuff like that. He got the job after hacking into Voight’s cell phone in like a couple of seconds. And he was in the Rangers with Jay, plus he is pretty funny and cute.”

You looked away from Kim as you thought it through. Clearly Kim was just looking out for you, but there was no way this guy, this super-smart-tech-genius-ex-ranger, could ever be interested in someone like you. You were just a simple librarian at Chicago Public Library, living alone aside from your cat companion, Geraldine. You hadn’t done anything extraordinary with your life, and as your thought process started to spiral in an anxious tizzy, you started to shake your head.

“No, no I can’t see this guy. He wouldn’t want to get stuck with some boring librarian.” You said, your body shrinking in on itself as your self confidence crumbled. All the comments your ex significant other made to you while you were still dating came popping up into your mind one after the other after the other. Comments on your weight, your looks, how you were boring and that was why they stepped out and cheated on you any chance they could. Tears were misting in your eyes and you tried blinking them away, not wanting to cry in front of Kim.

“Y/N-”

“I mean it Kim. Drop it.”

Kim looked you over and saw how you had retreated into yourself, clearly looking uncomfortable with the topic. That’s when she sighed and nodded, forcing a small smile on her face, “Okay.”

                                                        ---

A week has passed since the confrontation with Kim about that techie guy, and you were slowly trying to purge the whole instance from your head and get back to your quiet life. Every once in a while, the conversation would slide to the forefront of your mind, along with your anxiety-fueled spiral about your ex, and you would try and shake away the ordeal. It had made you feel small and disgusting thinking about your ex and how your self worth was diminished because of them, and you never wanted to go back to that place again. Even if that meant never being in another relationship again.

On Friday, you had gotten a text from Kim around midday about having a girl’s night and heading out to have a drink at Molly’s, this pub which had become pretty popular with the cops of the Intelligence Unit. You had been once before, and one of the owners, Gabbie Dawson, was really nice to you when Kim introduced her. So you agreed, excited to go out and hang out with Kim. 

Once you got out of work around 6, you got back to your small one bedroom apartment and fed Geraldine before retreating to your room to figure out what to wear. You settled on a pair of slender black pants and a long sleeved dark green blouse matched with a pair of green heels. Once you showered, dried and got your hair the exact way you like it, added a little makeup and got dressed, it was time to head out and meet Kim at Molly’s. You drove to the neighborhood where the pub was, some cars already lining the streets letting you know that Molly’s would probably be busy.

You parked, and hurried to get inside, pulling your winter coat around you a litter tighter as a gust of wind tried to chill you to the bone. The November night air was lung chilling and while you weren’t dressed like those young twenty-somethings with short dresses and no coats, you still did not want to waste another second with the wind chill. Once you got in, you saw that your assumption about the pub being busy was right, many people scattered around the bar, others in groups were seated or standing next to tables against the other wall. You looked around, trying to catch Kim’s face in the crowd but having trouble with how crowded. You pealed off your coat and made your way to the bar where you saw an older man behind the counter, cleaning off a glass. 

“Excuse me?” You said, slipping into the space in front of the bar, and accidentally grazing your arm against the guy sitting down to your right, “Oh sorry.” You said quickly to the guy, not really looking in his direction so you didn’t notice when he started staring at you in awe.

“What can I get ya?” The older man said as he put the glass down and gave you his full attention.

“I know this is probably a long shot, but my friend comes to this bar a lot and I was just wondering if you’ve seen her tonight? Kim Burgess?”

“Ah! I know Burgess. From the 21st District?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s her.”

The man smiled before turning around and grabbing something from behind the bar and then turned back to you, “I haven’t seen her, but she called about 5 minutes ago saying that her friend would be stopping by tonight. She also said to get her a vodka cranberry on her and to give her this.”

He handed you a napkin and then turned away, most likely to get your drink ready. You looked down at the napkin with a rough note written on it, reading out loud the note, “Hey, something came up super last minute, have a drink on me and enjoy the night. Sorry, --Kim.”

“Sorry about that, kid.” The man said as he returned with your drink, giving you a warm smile that also had a hint of pity in it. 

“No problem. It’s not your fault.”

With one more smile he headed towards the other end of the bar, leaving you with your drink. You let out a sigh and brought the drink to your lips, trying to figure out what you were going to do next when a voice from next to you started speaking.

“You’re friends with Burgess?”

Looking over, it was the guy you had apologized to earlier. Now that you weren’t in a rush to find Kim, you got a good look at him. He had brown hair, you could almost consider it floppy-like if it didn’t also have a clean-cut feel to it. The man’s eyes were bright blue, and they looked at you with a mix of intrigue and surprise. He was wearing a blue button-up which matched his eyes, the first few buttons undone.

“Yeah, do you know her?” You asked. He nodded and looked down to his beer bottle, his fingers anxiously playing with the paper label.

“I-I work with her at the district.” He explained. “Are you one of her flight attendant friends?”

“No, god no. I’m a librarian at the Chicago Public Library.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s boring..”

“No! I genuinely think it’s cool. I-I mean I’m not a huge book guy myself but-but I did read a lot of Shakespeare in school and that was really cool, especially the-the one about the guy who dressed as a woman to hide from a mob or something and everyone thought he was a witch?” The guy rambled, his face flushing as he tried to save himself. You smirked at the clumsiness of his words and took a drink of your cocktail.

“The Merry Wives of Windsor?” You offered, and the guy snapped at the name.

“Yeah, yeah. The whole play now that I think about it went over my head at 16. But I was too interested in the Blackhawks and code. Like-Like the game that happened the other night, I was invested until that left winger from the Rangers totally checked Hartman and they put-”

“Hartman in the penalty box! Yes!! With only 3 minutes left on the clock and the take out the best right winger on the ice.” You jumped in, a smile growing on your face as the topic of hockey came up. “If he was still playing the Blackhawks would have got at least 2 more points and would have won instead of losing to the worst team in the league.”

The guy sputtered his drink and starts laughing, and immediately think its cause you had embarrassed yourself and he was laughing at you, not what you said. That was until he smiled at you and nodded his head. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

You felt a small fluttering in you chest when he smiled, something about him not making you nervous or anxious which was a change. With a smile on your own face, you put your hand out to him, “I’m Y/N by the way. Y/N L/N.”

“Greg Gerwitz.” Greg took your hand and shook it, lingering for a couple extra seconds before pulling away. “Or you can call me Mouse.”

You froze as he said that, your eyes widening in shock. He seemed to see your reaction and frowned, “Or not?”

“No, sorry.” You said quickly, trying to recover. “It-Its just that Burgess has been trying to set me up with you for the last few weeks.”

“Wait...oh! You’re that librarian! Burgess has been telling me about you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, says how you are the best person ever and that I would like you the minute we met.” He chuckled. Greg smirked and turned more towards you, “And she wasn’t wrong.”

You flushed, feeling the heat of your blush against your cheeks as his smirk widened. It was quiet between the two of you as the pub continued with it’s noise like it wasn’t watching the start of something amazing. Greg then spoke up, getting your attention again, “Hey, I know this might seem fast but I really like talking to you.”

“I really like talking to you too.”

“Really?” He asked, his face getting red again as his smirk melted away into a nervous smile, “Well, what would you say about a date? Maybe the Blackhawks game tomorrow?”

It took quicker than you thought, but all your anxiety from the week before seemed like a long lost bad dream and you just wanted to spend some time with Greg Gerwitz.

“I would love to.”

ONE CHICAGO TAGS: @carnationworld​ 

NORMAL TAGS:  @l4life​ @ithoughtiwasflying

[immrbrightsideeee]

I posted 12,266 times in 2022

297 posts created (2%)

11,969 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@nightimestar

@viva-la--resistance

@impala67-aka-baby

@fandomfoodiedancer

@stressedsnake

I tagged 562 of my posts in 2022

#delete later - 44 posts

#asks - 24 posts

#random rambles - 15 posts

#nickapocalypse - 9 posts

#cagepocalypse - 8 posts

#maneskin - 8 posts

#nick cage - 7 posts

#our flag means death - 5 posts

#goncharov - 5 posts

#umbrella academy - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#this is a really interesting thing for me (christian) to read cause like these are some solid points? that really makes sense? i'm confused

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

nick, where's the treasure?

Oh, please. I am the national treasure

62 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

#4

Hiiiii!

Are you open for a tiny request, Love? It's cool if you're not but in case you are (and that's entirely too many words there lol), could you do something fluffy with Remington? Like a movie night with lots of cuddles and fun and comfort? I need a hug lol

I also wouldn't say no to some smut but that's your decision

Anyway, you're amazing <3

Love you

OK I'm sorry it took so long!!! Anyway there might be a fluffy smutty part 2 idk :)

Movie Night

Remington Leith x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none, just fluff.

Summary: Remington and Y/N have a fun movie night

It had been a week. A long week. The kind of long, endless week that had you lying face down on the couch groaning the moment you got home. You wanted your snuggliest PJs, your best friends, boyfriend, movies and some pizza. But people were busy. And there was work to do. And cleaning. And a tonne of other responsibilities falling down onto your shoulders, and you were exhausted.

When your cat came up to give you an affectionate headbutt, you couldn't help but think why couldn't life for humans be as simple as a house cat? You get fed, loved, you play all day and night and do what you want? It was while you were pondering philosophies and cats that you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket. You frowned. Please don't be anyone important, please don't be stressful, please don't...

Oh. It was your boyfriend, Remington. You shuffled yourself around on the couch, rolling over and barely avoiding tumbling off as you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N, how are you doing?” Remington's voice was a comforting sound on the other end of the phone.

“I'm good, you??” You shot back immediately, so quick that Remington got suspicious.

“..Riiight, I don't believe that but I'm not gonna push you right now. I'm actually not doing so good,” he said, slowly, “Today has just been shitty, and anyway I was wondering if you're free?”

“Ah, yeah, when?”

“Um, now? It's OK if not, I get that there's a lot going on it's just that, I dunno, I miss you.” His voice was so soft and sweet and you could almost picture him scrunching up his face a little and rubbing the back of his neck. The image melted your heart. How was he so impossibly cute all the time?

“I'm free, and I miss you too, trust me.”

It had been a few weeks since the two of you had seen each other, Remington was busy writing and recording his and his brother's new album, and you were busy with work and family responsibilities. There wasn't much time to see each other, and it was breaking both of your hearts. But you tried not to think about it, you talked every day anyway. But seeing him tonight would definitely revive you.

“So, got any ideas?” you asked, changing the mood to something lighter.

“Would it be OK if I come over? I just feel like staying in, but I also can't stand being away from you any longer, and I really can't handle another hour alone with my brothers.” Remington laughed a little and you smiled without meaning to, only able to imagine the nonsense the boys had gotten up to that day, let alone week.

“'Course! Just, um, give me a few, OK? I'm a bit of a mess at the moment.” You thought of the pile of clothes all around your room and the stack of dishes.

“Aw baby, you know I don't care about any of that, but if it makes you feel better would half an hour be good?”

“Yeah, it should be.” There was silence as the conversation started to end, then you spoke. “Oh! Wait, would it be annoying if I ask you to bring some dinner? I don't have it in me to cook.”

“Sure! What do you feel like?”

“Ah, surprise me, I trust you.” You smiled into the phone and could just about feel him smiling back. He let out a slight laugh of delight and you both said your good byes and got ready.

See the full post

77 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

#3

this has the same vibes as this

112 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

#2

nick caged

129 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

139 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[like-that-one-weird-dog-thing]

If I Could Burn This Down

[1] . . . [2] . . . [3] . . . [4] . . . [5] . . .

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Ok no, but I just have to rant on this. It’s been consuming my thoughts y’all, I just can’t stop thinking about it all.

So, this is about the Dream SMP- I recently got introduced to it through some friends and the animatics by SAD-ist were really what sold me to it. I’ve been trying to catch up on it all(god, it’s so good but also such a mess, I don’t think I’d have it any other way) and I just. So many thoughts y’all.

That ending tho, y’all that’s really what started this train of thought. It was so good. Like, I’ve seen quite a few posts on why it was predictable, not the unexpected twist Dream promised, and just. Not that good of an ending and honestly that’s a matter of opinion so I shouldn’t really care(and I don’t. much) but I still want to rant on the direct opposite side because fuck it I have thoughts!!!

obv spoilers for recent dream smp actions

tw for discussion of death in-universe and indirect discussion of suicidal ideation/possible intention

boi did I not think I’d add those tws to a post about a minecraft rp server of all things, but here I am

stay safe y’all

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This will mostly be on Willbur’s decent, for those wondering, because it’s just. there’s so many things to that ok. I just, this is just gonna be a ramble, just for me to get my thoughts out there.

So, I’ve seen a lot of things about Willbur- his decent into madness being the main thing. Mostly, it all seems to boil down to one thing- his desire for power and his view of Tommy being what led to him, well, blowing up L’manburg. But I personally don’t see that as the full story. Sure, it’s part of it, but it just feels incomplete to me. What would kickstart it? how would he go from adoring Tommy and only wanting L’manburg so that Tommy could be safe, to blowing it all up and betraying Tommy?

How could he go from that to doing the one thing that would hurt Tommy the most?

I personally think the answer is simple. Tommy said it in his recent stream, welcoming ConnerEatsPants to the server, after all. 

Trauma makes people vulnerable.

And Willbur has gone through a lot of trauma.

So, quite a bit of this depends on your view of how the world works. I don’t know if it’s ever been stated as cannon, but the deaths are specifically what I’m talking about.

They die so so much, after all. How does the work in-world? are they actually dying, and there’s a respawn function to the world(as in, it’s been a fact of life in-universe that you can die and come back) or do they just get injured, as a number of animatics/animations have chosen to depict it as? Are they being dragged back home by their comrades, fatally injured, just to heal?

Personally, I don’t see that likely as the in-universe explanation. They come back, after all. Come back and continue fighting, minutes after they’re killed. You can’t just use injuries as an excuse there, to explain it away.

So, I’ll follow this along with the ‘respawn exists’ assumption. Still, that brings up more questions. How did Willbur and JSchlatt permanently die, then? do you have to die in such a traumatizing way(your father killing you, all the people who may have once been your friends cornering you to kill you as your hopped up on drugs) that you no longer want to go back? That something deep inside you snaps and your connection to this world breaks, or is it something else? Does someone else pull the strings?

Is Dream the one, in-universe, to decide when you can respawn and when you die permanently? He’s closest thing to a god they have, after all, with access to creative mode and final say over the lands- the true ruler of the world. Is it him?

And still, there’s more questions. What is it like? How does it feel? is the corpse left there, or does it just disappear, leaving your stuff behind? maybe your body crumbles to dust, maybe it fades away before your eyes

Is dying just like Willbur described? Nothingness until you awake, only a taste of true death, a few seconds to experience it, to make you fear it? Is the pain all in the before, or do you feel in the after too, phantom aches and pains as you go about your life, the time you died a memory forever haunting you?

Does the end of your life hurt? Do you feel yourself being brought back to life? Does that hurt?

No matter what you decide, the fact of the matter is, it’s all still traumatizing. Being injured severely enough that you have to drop all your items and flee to heal up, or dying from those that you are always forced to interact with- it leaves a mark. Your left different than you were before. And other people can take advantage of this.

Who fed into all of Willbur’s manic thoughts, who fed into his idea that he was all alone? Him against the world, no one safe anymore. Who let him rot in those ideas?

Dream.

He did, afterall, give him the gunpowder for his eleven and a half stacks of tnt. He made a deal with him, that no matter what, even if he won, even if Willbur took L’manburg back, even if he became president and could make a safer place for them all, make a safer place for Tommy, even then.

The place would be blown sky. high.

He feeds into Willbur’s ideas, his thoughts, he eggs him on and pushes him forward(there is a traitor among you, one that you least expect). What if Dream was the one who ruined Willbur’s button, the first time? Trying to keep him tagging along, trying to drag him through the dirt to really show him, this is how it is, you are alone, no where is safe- no one is safe, everyone is against you. Dream is a sort of god, in the server. The land is his. He wouldn’t want L’manburg to stand, and he would want the one who had started it thoroughly against the rebuilding of it, before he had it destroyed. It would be a blow to morale, after all, for their leader to no longer believe in the dream that he’d once had. It would sow doubt, would make them think maybe, maybe it wasn’t a good idea, Willbur made it and he’s against it now.

They think he’s gone mad, true, but that doesn’t change that fact that Willbur started L’manburg. If the stress of it all was enough to make him lose it, couldn’t the others too?

Maybe it’s not worth it.

He destroyed it.

And here’s the thing, when Phil shows up?

It feels like a catalyst. A kick, a shove. Whatever you want to call it.

One last push by Dream, to force Willbur to do it. 

Before, it follows. Willbur rants, he panics, he shakes. He stresses over it all, stares at that damn button. He made a deal, but should he really do it?

Tommy tried to give him the Presidency, tried to give him the power, a sign of trust. Surely, if Tommy trusted him after all that he’s done to him...

Surely, he can back away. Not ruin it.

Right?

He hesitates.

Then Phil comes. His father. He tries to talk him out of it, tries to get him to see sense. But in the end?

He’s the one final thing that Willbur needed to see, before his resolve hardened. Before the ache settled solid and true.

(Phil is panicking, and Willbur sees it. 

He doesn’t trust him either, does he?)

Willbur is alone, and everyone is against him.

He hits the button.

See, the compound of events, the repeated deaths(injuries) he’s suffered all throughout his life, the war, they all add up. Whether death hurts or not doesn’t matter in the end, whether they’re dying or not doesn’t matter, because it all still hurts. The before hurts.

And you can only be hurt so many times before you can’t stand to be hurt anymore.

L’manburg caused Willbur so much hurt. The war, the suffering- it wouldn’t have happened without L’manburg.

All that was left for him was hurt, and all he wanted was for that hurt to leave.

With L’manburg in ruins behind him(he survived the blast, did he intend to? He never wore armor), Willbur demands for Phil to kill him. His father.

He doesn’t beg. He’s desperate, it’s obvious by the way he slams his fist down as he screams for it, but he doesn’t beg.

Instead, he eggs Phil on.

Just what Dream did to him.

He throws his arms towards L’manburg, shoves it into Phil’s face, makes him look.

Willbur did that. He is the cause. Phil should kill him, everyone wants him to.

It was just Willbur. Just Willbur, Willbur and all his hurt, just him against the world.

No one was on his side and he was alone.

Willbur works to anger Phil. Instead of begging for death he demands it and throws his sword at his father’s feet. He forces him to make a choice. Him or the world, because that was what it really was. 

Willbur was alone. Him against the world. Would Phil choose him?

Look at me, it seems to scream, look at me and what I’ve done, look at the hurt I’ve now caused.

Where do you stand?

In the end, even if later, Phil seems to be good friends with Techno(another traitor, the traitors Techno Phil, it’s Techno, Phil, it’s Techno and he’s got eight whithers ready to go, you better hurry, run along now, before it’s too late), even if he doesn’t want to...

He chooses the world.

Phil kills Willbur, and Willbur gets to escape the hurt.

Is that what he wanted all along? Is that were his madness stems? The hurt of a boy watching children fight in a war, the hurt of a boy watching what is basically his brother fight and die over and over and over again, all for an idea he’d had...

Is that where it begins? Or where it ends?

L’manburg, the start and the end?

L’manburg, his symphony of hope, with a finale of agony.

It’s a predictable ending, maybe, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fit. Techno may have been obvious, but that doesn’t mean there might not have been hope for otherwise, hope for a better future, hope for him to change his mind and hope for his affection for them to overrule his opinions and values of government.

I wonder, did Tommy ever see Techno and think of Willbur?

Did Willbur ever see Techno and think of Tommy?

Two siblings, seeing something that could have been(Tommy, lets be the bad guys) and something that will never be(Willbur, do you hear yourself?)

I wonder, did Willbur ever even give real thought to how the destruction of L’manburg would hurt Tommy? Did he?

Or was he too wrapped up in his thoughts, his own pain. Too wrapped up in the thoughts fed by Dream and the ideas burning through his skin.(the button might not even work -do you want to risk that?) 

Through it all, did he think?

And this is not to say that Willbur is absolved of his guilt, of the crimes he has committed. He giggles about Techno killing Tubbo, he pushes for Tommy and Techno to fight in a pit, where Tommy is almost certainly going to die(another death added to hundreds of tallies), and he laughs as they fight.

(It stays in the pit)

He is not innocent. Explainations for his actions don’t erase those actions. It does, however bring even more questions into the mix.

The Pit.

Techno and Willbur’s views on Tubbo’s death(I was peer pressured), Tommy’s refusal to accept that then accepting his own death at Techno’s hands.

Has it become trivial to Willbur and Techno? An expectation to Tommy? Is Tubbo really unfazed, or hiding any emotions over his death? Do you choose to believe he died, or that he was injured to near death by Techno? Which is worse? If death is nothingness, the pain of before gone, washed away, than isn’t it better to die then to be injured? Is Tommy upset about Tubbo learning once more what death is, dealing with the pain of the before, or is he mad that Techno didn’t finish the job and let Tubbo be healed instead of respawned?

Did he die, or just get injured?

Another thought on the broken button, was it Dream, or was it Willbur? Willbur, doing one last thing to try and cling to him life before.(surely, if he broke the button, the urge to run to it would leave him?) Did he ever regret it, when he finally did push it? I don’t think so

His ghost.

Is it the escape he wanted? Did he want to forget it all, everything that led to hurt and was hurt? Is his description of death just what he wanted- wished- it to be? Would it be different for someone else? Does he hate it? Crave to go back to it, to leave the wandering of the world he’s left behind? He’s said he’s wanted to come back to life- does he miss it? Can he feel any of it? The sunlight, the air around him, any of it? Or does the nothingness stick? Is that all he feels?

Does it ache, worse than living ever did?

.

.

.

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter one

chapters:

1 - 

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

--

"You don't think I'm worthy enough to be the king?"

"No, I think you're a spoiled brat who would rather play with pomp and circumstance than save his own people from starvation," Levi spat.He was beautiful.

And Levi hated him. 

Hated the entire royal family, in fact. It was no subject of contention that the long-standing war with the neighboring kingdom of Marley had caused many of the subjects to feel the same sentiment. Too many had been lost in a pointless war that seemed to be nothing more than a glorified pissing match between two old men. 

The results of the near decade long conflict were evident in the starving bodies perched pathetically against the crumbling stone walls of the houses that once provided comfort and warmth. For many, the only things the homes represented anymore was a stark reminder of what had been unwillingly stripped from them. 

The carriage rattled along the stretch of the dirt road, plumes of dust traveling off the large wheels and into the air behind them. Sighing, Levi leaned back into the plush seat. It would serve him well to remember why he had been called upon to travel such a distance to confer with the King of Shinganshina, and it certainly wasn’t to help rehabilitate a long-forgotten populace. 

The journey from Mitras had been exceptionally uneventful. The poor bastard of a coachman who had the unfortunate task of escorting Levi to the castle had attempted some small talk at the beginning of their voyage. However, it became quickly apparent that Levi was much more content with listening to the wind whistle past his ears than the ramblings of an underpaid deliveryman. 

Three days later, they had arrived in Shinganshina, greeted by the cries of hungry babes and the moans of dying men. 

He had not traveled to Shinganshina since he was a young teen accompanying his uncle on one of the man’s dubious business trips. Levi remembers the life and energy that used to ebb from the streets. Vendors smiled as they echoed their prices into the air. Children laughed and dashed throughout the streets in a game of tag. Existence was peaceful, not this dismal skeleton of a life once lived. 

Levi wondered silently how the people would react to the news of his arrival. Knowing that the king was spending precious coin to commission an artist rather than keep his villages fed. He doubted they would be very surprised. 

The commission had arrived in the form of a letter, ominous and bearing the king’s crest. At first, Levi had been sure it was an order of arrest - positive that some of Kenny’s misdealings had fallen to his unlucky nephew. Half expected a unit of royal soldiers to be shortly following. However, instead, the letter contained a request. Odd for the King of Shinganshina, who usually seemed to only demand, demand, demand. 

The details in the letter were cryptic. All he knew was that His Majesty had requested his presence in order to commission his skills. Remembered the taste of bile in his throat at the mere thought of appearing in front of the king. He wasn’t afraid. No, more so disgusted. The royal family was nothing more than a herd of filthy pigs bathing in riches instead of mud. 

Hopefully, though, those riches were going to save him from the poor house. Contrary to what the fine silk waistcoat and dark wool breeches might lead one to believe, Levi had lost the last of his funds long ago. No one wanted to commission a painting in the middle of a goddamn war. No one but His Majesty, it seemed. 

Regardless, who was he to deny a king?

A dead man, Levi thought.

“We’re approaching the gate, sir.” The coachman declared, voice muffled by the sound of hooves against the dirt. Icy eyes scanned ahead, spotting the extended drawbridge. The castle walls were intimidating. Despite the decaying state of the village, the fortress seemed no worse for wear. Grey stone walls stretched up into parapets, shielding the Shinganshina archers standing to attention as Levi approached the portcullis. 

“The defenses are quite impressive,” Levi stated absentmindedly as he glanced upwards at the battlements. 

“Ha! Thinking of storming the castle, are you?” 

“I’m afraid that I am hardly equipped to lay siege on Shinganshina,” Levi relayed, eyes drifting over to his bag of materials. The coachman’s shoulders shook in amusement as the carriage drifted beneath the large iron gate.  

Metal clanged and rattled the air as Levi observed multiple soldiers training off near the barracks. They seemed skilled enough for a group of soldiers who couldn’t seem to finish a bloody war. Levi’s fists clenched. 

“His Majesty will be expecting you this evening, sir.” 

Levi grunted, shifting to rest his chin on a still tightened fist as he observed the passing scenery. The courtyard was bustling, a sharp contrast to the village resting beyond the gate. Faces were brighter and spirits seemed joyful as Levi watched the numerous soldiers and servants converse. Maybe there was an end in sight, after all. 

They came to a slow stop in front of the keep. Like the rest of the castle, it was imposing. The Jaeger family crest hung proudly against the sides of the stone walls. Levi couldn’t help but sneer. 

He gathered his belongings, a simple brown bag that did the job of carrying his supplies. The coachman jostled the carriage as the hefty man jumped down from his post. As the carriage door was opened, Levi muttered his thanks, stepping out onto the cobblestone.

“You must be Mr. Ackerman.” He turned to find a woman waiting for him on the steps of the keep. She was a servant, that was clear enough from her attire. Strawberry hair was pushed behind her ears to reveal a petite, cherub face painted with a faint smile and large dark eyes. “I’m Petra Ral. His Majesty sent me to fetch you once he heard word that you had arrived.” 

Levi hummed, flexing his fingers around the handle of his bag. “A pleasure.” 

“I’ll escort you to your room to bathe. I’m sure you’re eager to rinse away the long journey.” More than she probably knew. The thought of sinking into warm water was enough to have his toes curling. 

“That would be most appreciated.” She nodded, turning on her heel to venture back up the stairs into the keep. His ankle ached as he trekked behind her, the result of an old childhood injury that never saw proper medical care. The sting was not usually this noticeable, but the joint was rebuking being sedentary for so long on the trip from Mitras. And when he finally reached the top, Petra seemed none the wiser to his lameness. 

The large and robust castle doors had been thrown open in anticipation of his arrival. Designed to resist even the strongest of armies. He paused, breath caught in the back of his throat as he contemplated the consequences of turning back. Of bribing the coachman with promises of future payment in return for a speedy voyage back to Mitras. Thinking of the worst thing that could happen should he void his duty to meet the king in the flesh.

Your head on a spike, that’s what. 

Swallowing hard, Levi continued forward, grip just a little bit tighter on his bag.

“Everything alright, sir?” 

Levi cleared his throat, “Wonderful.” Petra gave him a smile in return, but this one didn’t quite reach her eyes. Made him believe that maybe she had already seen through his facade.

The castle doors had opened into a large foyer, walls decorated in rich velvets and detailed paintings. At the center of it all was a grand staircase, cascading upwards into the higher regions of the keep. Levi tried not to appear too mystified. 

However, Petra did not give him time to gawk, moving forward toward a narrow hallway. He increased his pace, reasoning that this castle was the last place he would like to find himself lost. The destination was not too much further, only around one more bent hallway and three doors to the right.

Two servant girls giggled over the bath as he entered the room, steam emitting from the water below. 

“Ladies, I see your work is done.” The two girls immediately stiffened, faces blanched in shock. “Off with you then.” Petra waved her hand, the staff quickly shuffling out of the room and closing the door behind them. “Will you need any assistance bathing, sir?”

Levi almost swallowed his tongue, tips of his ears warming in embarrassment. “Absolutely not.” 

Petra muffled a chuckle behind her hand. “As you wish, sir.” He adverted his eyes from her seemingly all-knowing gaze. He had hardly spoken a few words to the woman, and he already felt like she knew too much. “I shall take my leave. I will return once you are finished bathing, sir.” Levi nodded, placing his bag next to a large brown coffer. 

The door opened with a quiet creak and closed with the same tune. A rush of air left his lungs as soon as he felt sure he was alone. 

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling his cravat free from his throat. Placing the fabric neatly over the furniture, he began to undress. Peeling away layers of clothes that symbolized something he never was. Probably never would be. 

Levi cringed. 

If he were a superstitious fool, he would believe this was all fate setting up some great challenge. Sending him into the lion’s den, as it were, to face the ones so despised and loathed. He was nothing more than an artist, though. An artist here to collect a sum of coin and return back to Mitras a richer man. 

As he sunk into the bathwater, he continued to remind himself even as images of the near dying flashed across his mind. An artist - nothing more nothing less. 

An artist who wanted to kill the king.

[girlpornparadise]

Dictator Daddy

Pairing: Tavo Barros (The Last Ship) / f!reader (It’s Maurice Compte people, it always is)

Word Count: 2400

Preamble: I hate this show. I don't love this character. Yet here we are. He's just so bangable in everything he does. And this one got weird guys. I hesitated to even share it. Maybe it's a certain time of the month that's got my brain like scrambled eggs. Who knows.

Warning: um, smut? I still gotta say it. Just. Um, just. Don’t look at me after this one. 

@nicke0115 Put Tavo back on my dash, so I’ve decided to release this. I’m tagging some people who I think love Tavo, but if you don’t let me know and I’ll leave you the hell alone in the future. @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @heresathreebee @kid-from-new-zealand @chensingmachinee @artemiseamoon @fleurfatale89 @paniclana @justrunamok @demoncatstone @lettherebrelight @xxsteph-enrixx​

gif assist @nicke0115

You arrive at his gigantic home, waiting in line with the other beggars and well wishers. 

Your dress is mud stained as are the flimsy sandals you are wearing. Your palms are scraped and your face scratched. 

He stands very straight and seemingly towering on the porch. His erect posture accentuates his intimidating frame and muscular arms. His strong facial features are framed by his greying facial hair and prominent brows. His voice drifts your way, commanding but kind as he bows himself to talk to an excited child.

You approach the stairs and you bow your head and avert your eyes as you reach the front of the line.

You feel his intense gaze before you can see it. You tremble in his presence, from both the exhaustion of your journey and the intimidation of this legendary leader.

You are fumbling with your hands as he raises your chin with his crooked forefinger to force your gaze to his. Your body is shaking and tears are pooling in the troughs of your eyes from all that you'd been through to get here.

As he opens his mouth to speak, your knees give way. He grabs you by the shoulders to steady you. 

"What has happened to you sweetheart?" He asks with concern in his voice.

"I… I'm…" you fumble. 

"Take her inside." He barks to one of his men. "See that she's cleaned up and fed."

He guides you over to the man he was speaking to and in turn that man takes you inside. You are led to a small bed in a small room where you are allowed to collapse under the weight of your ordeal. 

When you wake, you take in your surroundings, disoriented. You're amidst simpler furnishings than you'd expected in such a magnificent home. There's a gentle creek at the door and an older woman brings in a tray with tea and plain rice. 

"So as not to upset your stomach." She offers.

You tuck in and feel some of your strength return.

When you finish, she cleans your wounds and you flinch at the sting of the alcohol. She ends by offering you a robe and asks for your dirty dress to be cleaned. You change and sit down on the bed once more. You can hear the coming and going of many men outside your door and are too afraid to interrupt. You lay back down and thank God that you were greeted with more mercy and kindness than you could have hoped for.

You become dimly aware of your surroundings once more, having dozed off. You can tell the sun has started to set and you're not sure what to do now that evening is upon you.

The same woman as before raps on the door. "Tavo would like to see you, personally." She states emphasizing the last word.

She accompanies you to the bathroom and you are relieved at the opportunity to relieve yourself and take a brief shower. When you return to your room, she presents you with a new dress. It's floor length and olive green velvet with a scoop neck and thin straps. You touch it in awe, you've never seen such a splendid garment. It probably cost more than all of the clothing in your village combined.

You dress yourself delicately, being careful with the precious gift and the woman helps you brush and dry your hair. 

She accompanies you once more, this time to the massive dining room. You approach with your heart in your throat, ashamed of how weak you appeared in front of Tavo as a first impression.

The woman excuses herself and Tavo stands before you, taking in the way the dress clings to all of the right spots.

He pulls out a chair across from his and motions for you to sit down. He pushes it in as you seat yourself and you feel like an honoured guest at a royal feast. He takes his seat across from you and you are overwhelmed, swelling with more emotions than you could parse. 

"I hope you're feeling better." He says gently.

"Yes Tavo, you've been far too kind. I don't deserve such luxury, I'm just a simple…"

He raises his hand to cut you off. "It's never a burden to help a loyal follower, and such a beautiful one at that." 

You blush at the compliment and without meaning to, bite your bottom lip ever so slightly. He clocks your reaction and this already confident man looks at you like he's sprung a trap, and caught a small delicate creature for himself.

Dinner is served across a few courses and you maintain a polite kindness to everyone who serves you. You're so used to being the one doing the serving that you don't quite know how to act. Tavo takes in the simplicity and innocence of your actions with warmth and soft smiles.

He questions you about your journey and your motives. Your village and your life. You explain how poor your village is and how hard you had to work to feed yourself. 

How your mother had died recently of a serious illness and there was no one to take care of you. How you had to leave quickly trying to avoid anyone's notice. How you had measly supplies and it took several days to get here. How the journey was perilous and you had barely survived.

He listens intently and finally asks, "But why come here? Why come to me?"

You talk about how you had heard his voice over the radio and been drawn to him immediately. How his inspiring words and the intense passion behind them gave you solace in your darkest hour. How his vision and strength would save your country and how seeing him, just once, would be enough to fill you with hope and fuel you forward.

Your kind words hit him deeply and fill him with pride, and he thanks you for your candor. The idea of this great man thanking you is almost too much and you are humbled by his words.

After dessert, the likes of which you'd never tasted disappears, he stands and guides you with a hand on the small of your back to another room. You feel electrified by his touch.

You find yourselves in a large luxurious bedroom and he closes the door behind you. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. 

He crosses the room and puts on a record, fiddling with the turntable until he is satisfied. He opens his posture and holds out his hands. "Dance with me." 

You shake slightly as you find your way into his arms. He holds you gently but firmly as you sway to the music. As you relax into the quiet intimacy of the room, you lean your head against his shoulder, facing the crook of his neck. You're floating in a tiny bubble of heaven and as the music fades out you feel a loss as he pulls away from you.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside him so that you sit down next to him.

"Why have you come to me?" He asks gently.

"As I said, I had to leave my village. It wasn't safe there for me. We are so poor and without hope." You're rambling slightly.

"But why have you come to me." He asks a little more insistently. "A beautiful young woman such as yourself doesn't arrive at my door everyday. I wonder what I've done to deserve such a blessing."

"I heard of your greatness, your generosity to the people. I had to see you, just to be near you is a great honour." The passion in your voice bubbles to the surface.

He smiles softly and brushes your exposed shoulder.

"Had you been promised to someone in your village?" He asks, shifting the tone of the conversation.

You look down at your scraped up hands, ashamed. "It's why I had to leave, the men in my village, they tried to…" you trail off, tears pricking you at the memory.

"Shhh." He soothes you. "You are safe here." He runs his hand over your hair and you take in his scent as he holds you closer to him.

"I too have suffered." He says looking deep into your eyes. "I lost my wife and son to disease last year."

"I'm so sorry." you whisper.

"But you are here now, and that eases my suffering." 

You smile widely and he brushes your cheek. 

"So beautiful." he mutters to himself.

"I must ask you a great favour, no, a great sacrifice." He says, correcting himself.

"For a great man such as yourself, anything." You offer eagerly.

He smiles at the way you look at him with reverence and a willingness to comply with his every demand.

"My legacy is at stake, and I need your help continuing it."

Your eyebrows knit slightly in confusion.

He clasps his hands over yours.

"I need an heir. A son. To carry on my life's work."

You gasp and he holds your hand tighter now.

"You have been sent to me as a gift. A strong, resilient, beautiful woman to be the mother of my son. I could ask for no better."

You have worshiped this man from afar. His commanding voice crackling through your radio. And now he sits at your side, asking you to father his child. You feel like the Virgin Mary, tasked to carry the son of God.

You hesitate, carefully forming your words. "It would be my life's honour to carry your child. To bear you a son, strong and smart like you. To have the father of a nation be the father of my child."

He moistens his lips and leans in slightly.

"Then give yourself to me, and I will give you my seed in return." He says, the look in his eyes emphasizing his intentions

"Gladly Tavo." You say breathily.

He leans in further and kisses you softly. You feel an electric tingle throughout your body as you connect with him. He trails kisses up your cheek and you feel his facial hair brush against your lips and your skin. As he reaches your ear he whispers "Take off your clothes."

You stand and do so, pulling the straps down your arms, letting the dress pool at your feet. You carefully remove your underwear as he watches with rapt attention.

He leads you by the hands onto his lap so that you're straddling him. He rests his strong hands on your back, just above your hips. He gazes into your eyes and as you look back at him, you take in the fiery passion that burns in those deep brown pools. The way they are hard with intent, but also soft at the edges with affection for you. 

You brush your hand along his cheek and as he blinks up at you you notice how the long lashes and strong brows that frame his eyes reflect the contrast of his delicate touch and the irresistible power he wields over you.

He leans in and kisses your breasts, working his way inwards on each one to lap at your nipples. Each lick sends a shiver through you and he tightens his hold to still you to him.

His growing erection strains against his pants beneath you, and you lower yourself with just enough force to awaken it further. He inhales sharply and his eyes blaze stronger.

He rolls you gently, laying you down on the bed. He stands to remove his clothes and as he gets to his fly he smiles at the wet spot you left there from your increasing slickness.

You are trembling with anticipation as he leans down and positions himself over you. "You're so beautiful." He whispers in your ear and nibbles lightly on your lobe. 

He finds his way between your legs and you spread them to accommodate his strong hips. His fingers rub between your wet folds, making sure you are ready to take his thick cock.

As he enters you slowly, you feel each raw inch stretch you, filling you with his firm warmth. You're panting now and as he presses himself against you, you feel the sweat of your bodies mingling in the Colombian heat.

His thrusts are gaining momentum and settling into a steady rhythm, insistent but not too hard. Your breathing breaks and you choke back a scream, your chest heaving beneath him.

You look at him and try to take in every part of him, trying to commit this rapture to memory so that you may savour it later.

You reluctantly close your eyes and throw your head back as he rocks an orgasm from you. "Tavo!" You cry out as his thrusts increase and your body shakes under his weight.

You see him raise his head and tense his jaw. His entire face and neck tense shortly after and he grunts as he fills you with warm ropes of his cum. His expression quickly relaxes and you feel his hot, heavy breath against your neck as he falls into you.

You feel him pull away and lay down next to you. You savour the knowledge that his essence is inside of you, unencumbered, and that you may soon be bound together by a shared life.

A tear escapes from the corner of your eye from the overwhelming intensity of being chosen by this man. He wipes it away with his thumb and kisses your cheek.

He rests a hand on your stomach and smiles. You know he is thinking of you swelling with his child and that you both share in the same hope.

"You're safe now, and you are forever mine." He says possessively. He has planted his flag and claimed you as he would any other territory. You welcome him openly to the continent of your body and feel him migrating towards your heart.

You rest your head on his firm shoulder and feel blessed that you are protected. You have been rescued from a life impoverished of both necessities and affection. You belong to him now and wish nothing more than to make him happy.

As you drift off you hear him mumble "You will be mine and only mine forever." And you relish this thought without fear. 

[normalrelativity]

Space

[light angst with fluff, 1.5k words, read on Ao3]

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings apply Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy Additional tags: Not Canon Compliant, post 15x19, light angst, happy ending, fluff, Dean Winchester needs therapy, but cas is doing his best

Summary: After Dean tells Cas he needs some space, a newly human Cas does his best. 

“It’s the natural order-”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit!“

“You need to realize we can’t just hold their hands out there-“

“And you need to teach those fucking kids better!” Dean shouted across the war table at Sam, whose jaw had been clenched and eyes cast to the side for the better part of the argument.  They’d just gotten back from burning the second body in a month, both fairly new hunters, and Dean was fed up.  Most everyone else had already gone to bed after a long day at the bar—Dean had shut the place down and it had been a true hunter’s wake—leaving the two of them alone to finally hash this out.

“They’re not bad hunters, Dean!” Sam argued, sounding exasperated and defensive.  He almost  looked like he wanted to cry.  “How many good hunters did we watch-“ he stopped abruptly after a severe look from his older brother, resignation settling over his features.  “We’re trying the best we can.  First thing tomorrow, Eileen and I will sit down and figure something out.”

“You’d better,” Dean warned, turning away from Sam and stomping off in the direction of his room.  The natural order of things, Dean thought.  Even though he knew Jack was trying to rebuild heaven and the count wasn’t so severely skewed anymore, it was still hard for Dean to accept losing people.  Especially people who’d trusted them.

When he turned the corner into his room, he shucked his jacket off and hung it up on the rack beside the door.  Cas was stretched out on the bed reading, back propped up against the headboard and legs crossed at his ankles.  His hair was slightly tousled and he was wearing a grey t-shirt and red flannel pajama pants.  Part of Dean still had a hard time adjusting to seeing Cas in clothes that weren’t his suit and trench coat.  “Are you okay?”  Cas asked as he turned the page of the book he was reading, and it was only then that Dean realized he’d been looking a little bit too long.  He huffed out a sound that was barely more than a mumble and Cas closed the book, carefully placing it on the nightstand.  

“What?” Dean asked when he saw the way Cas was looking at him, fingers folded together in his lap and head tilted slightly to the side.  “And don’t tell me you’re going to side with him.”

Cas shook his head, brows furrowed.  Dean wished he would have said something.  After a few more beats of silence, that wish was granted.  “It’s not your fault, Dean.  Those boys—their deaths aren’t on you or your brother.” 

Practically deflating at that, Dean’s hands sought out the back of his desk chair and he used it to prop himself up.  As he looked around, trying to mentally find the words he was looking for, his gaze landed on the soot that still coated his forearms and he set his jaw.  “No, they are. Sure, they wanted in this life and knew the risks, but we can do better.  We’ve got to do better.”

“Dean-“

“No, I am sick and tired of losing people young!” He heard the way his own voice had boomed out of him.  Cas didn’t flinch, didn’t make any indication of being upset or otherwise affected by the volume, but Dean still felt guilty for having yelled at him.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, straightening his back and running his hands over his face.  

Cas sighed, leaning forward a little.  “What do you need, Dean?”  

In all honesty, he’d been thrown off by the question.  It wasn’t really a matter of what he needed--other than for people to just stop dying, but that didn’t seem very likely any time soon.  “I don’t—I don’t know, Cas.  I think I just need a little space right now,” he sighed, raising his arms to take another layer off.  “I’m gonna go shower.” 

The water ran over him, steaming and loud against the quiet of the bathroom until the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he was warm all over.  As he turned the water off, he briefly wondered how big the water heaters in the bunker were--he couldn’t recall ever running out of hot water.  Seeing his reflection in the mirror pulled him out of that thought.  The bags under his eyes were more prominent than normal and he ran the towel in his hands over his face and up through his hair to keep himself from focusing on how tired he looked.  Instead, he pulled on his robe over his t-shirt and boxers and padded back to his room.

This time, the former angel was nowhere to be found.  Dean sank down onto the bed, shaking his head and actively trying to keep the panic at bay.  What had he said to him before he left the room earlier?  Something about needing space?  He scoffed, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.  “Not that much space, dumbass,” he said to the empty room as if that would summon Cas back.  When it didn’t, he reached over for his phone to try to call him.  

No sooner did he have his phone unlocked and Cas’s contact pulled up than Cas walked back through the door with a cardboard box in his hands.  The photo on the outside showed a small orb that had been 3-D printed to resemble the moon, but the real effect was given when the light on the inside was turned on and the craters and hills were illuminated against the otherwise smooth surface. 

“I got you the moon.  Sort of.  It’s the best I can do, under the circumstances.”  The joke jarred Dean out of the mood he was in and he blinked at the box for a few seconds.  The lines on his face smoothed out a little as his tense expression melted away into fondness for the man standing in front of him.  “You know, Earth had been the main show, but watching the creation of the moon was fascinating,” Cas mused, long fingers prying the box open and pulling the lamp out of its packaging.  He held it up and inspected it, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a grin as he remembered.  “Obviously not all of the craters were there at first but the ones that were-“ his sentence was cut short by two hands framing his face.  

“It’s perfect,” Dean breathed, leaning in to press his lips against Cas’s.  

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

Dean apologized to Sam and Eileen the next morning over breakfast, and even sat down with them while they restructured the way they assigned cases.  

“It’s somethin’,” Dean told Cas as they crawled into bed later that night.  “I’m not saying it’s gonna keep the death count at zero, but it’s peace of mind for everybody.” 

“That’s good,” Cas nodded, lifting his arm up to wrap around Dean’s shoulders as Dean wrapped an arm securely around his middle.  “You know, Jack’s been making some real changes.  Positive ones.  I know it isn’t easy to see someone go but it’s--“ 

“If you say ‘the natural order’, I swear-“

Cas laughed at that, muffling the sound a little into Dean’s hair.  “I was going to say it’s different than before.  I know things were rocky for a while, but I do think he was raised correctly.”  

Dean gave a low hum and reached back to turn his bedside lamp off, the only light coming from the little moon lamp that he’d put on Cas’ bedside table.  He’d already made a mental note to pick up some of those glow in the dark stars the next time he was in town, if only as an inside joke.  Hell, he could probably turn one of the extra rooms in the bunker into a planetarium if he really put the work into it.  He might just have to do that, if only to see the look on Castiel’s face.  And maybe to hear him ramble about creation again.

Settling back into the embrace, Dean turned his head slightly to press his ear to Cas’ chest.  He wasn’t sure when, but listening to Cas’s heartbeat had become a habit of his.  It was grounding in a way few other sounds were--listening to a heart beat in a chest that belonged to someone that loved him without condition, without question.  As much as it had turned into an inside joke between them, no amount of space would be able to calm him as much as that sound could.   For a few moments (decidedly not selfish moments; he’d worked too hard and fought too long for this and damn it, he was going to enjoy it) he listened, feeling the gentle rise and fall as Cas’s breathing started to even out as he drifted off.  “Cas?” Dean asked, not wanting to lift his head just yet.  He was met with a hum that reverberated under his ear and he smiled.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

[seoschangbin]

Hi hi, it’s ya gal Rachel! To start off, this isn't really a follow forever but more of a mushy love fest. I was going to do this back in October when my blog hit 2 years but then with everything that happened... 😞✌ figured it wasn’t the best time! But since it’s the new year, I just wanted to spread some love to start off the decade, especially towards all the lovely people who have made my 2019 a little bit happier ♡ Thank you to everyone for making this such a fun & amazing year; thank you for supporting my gifs & graphics and interacting with me; overall, thank you for making Tumblr fun again! So to all my moots and followers, I’m wishing you all a very happy and wonderful 2020! 

I wanted to take some time as well to write some messages to all my mutuals - seeing you guys on my dash + all your work (if you’re a cc) is such a joy and I admire all of you very very much! Thank you for putting in the time to making gifs/graphics/fic/etc. and I hope you won’t mind if I gush about you a little, even if we’ve never spoken hehe! Under the cut in alphabetic order.. she’s a long one sorry!

@00hj | karen!! angel!! first of all, everything u make is just the cleanest cutest thing ever, i truly want your brain!.. u are such an incredibly talented gfx creator and i get heart palpitations every time i see ur work!! i adore u so much n ur tags are also so full of sweetness n purity and 😞💕 i just want to give u a hug!! + the way u always say hi to ccs in ur tags when u rb their stuff. cute!! pure!! 

@01degree | joanna!! first of all... thank u for filling my dash with so many groups, some of which i almost never get to see 😌💕 ur brain being multi af like me.. chefs kiss! also! you make such clean and nice gifs please don’t ever doubt that laskjd!! 2020 joanna stops saying her gifs suck! idk how u make them so clean but legends only! bls remember to be kind to yourself this year! 💕

@1095 | nicolle!! i haven’t seen you around recently but i hope everything is okay and you’re doing well! i have to say that your graphics are absolutely INSANE i don’t know how you do it!! the colours.. how it all comes together.. amazing! ur career as a graphic designer will be a good one 😌👍 secondly your urls are always so cute nd nice!! and thirdly back to number 1.. i just love everything you make so so much bls come back to us 😖

@3noracha |  falak.. ur the fandom’s gem.. the sharpening on ur gifs takes my breath away everytime + the colouring.. omg chef’s kiss!! i didn’t know you before you came back earlier this year but i’m so so glad you did come back bc u are so full of love 😳💗 you make the cutest graphics as well and are just radiate so much positivity 💞

@bamgchan | henri! still my confident car selfie king!! so glad i found you through sagey.. i love all your content (ur graphics.. always so well put together!) and the way you interact with people is so full of energy and positivity and i adore that! i hope 2020 treats you well 🥰

@banghans | ollie!! all of ur content.. ur gifs! amazing.. wonderful.. iconic thank you for providing so much hq content for the rest of us peasants 😌💕 your love for chan and jisung is also so pure n cute when u rave abt it 💞 bls stop being so hard on yourself and i love reading about how you’re always striving to be better to yourself! i hope 2020 is a good year for you 💖

@binnieseason | emily.. a loss for binnie stans that you’re gone 😔 anyways i hope to see you back sometime because you make such nice gifs + the colouring on them.. so pretty and clean.. how to be you! i hope things are okay with you and that you’ve been well!

@cb-97s | miss li! y/a novel protagonist herself!! li you’re a burst of sunshine in my day and i love chatting w u! your love for chan.. too pure 😭 every time i talk to you i’m like.. dang.. she’s real.. ppl get to see her for real! might force u to meet me irl 🤷‍♀️ also queen of gfx.. always so clean.. 😍 i know it’s been a stressful year for you but i hope 2020 brings you happiness and love 💞 love u! 

@changbeanie | hi ruby! ur graphics are always so intricate n pretty + the colouring on ur gifs.. so pretty 😭💖 thank you for providing like 90% of the changbin content nd keeping me well-fed 🥰 ur always so sweet to ur anons as well and are just a lil ray of sunshine ☀️

@changbinie​ | jo.. what even is there to say abt u.. still can’t believe i got u into skz.. CAN’T!!! thanks for suffering w me and dealin w me wakin u to talk abt middies.. + changbin arms.. i love u a little i think (?) 

@channie | hi fishy! ur one of the very first skz blogs i ever followed back in 2017.. we ancient 😌🤙 i know you’re not too active anymore but all of your gifs have like. the prettiest colouring ever idk how you do it! i hope you’ll come back to us 

@elfminho | min! i love the way u tag skz in your tags.. so cute 😭 star boy!!! cute 😭 ur gifs are also lovely as well 🥰 i think ur one of the first skz blogs i followed when i starting using this blog again n i’m glad i found ur blog bc i adore u 💞

@glowsvt | grace.. my little baby! i wish i could just !! get into ur brain how lovely nd wonderful of a human you are.. have more confidence in yourself! 😣 you make wonderful graphics.. ur style! cute! and you have such a sweet and good heart!! i love when you ramble about things and always appreciate how you take the time to reach out to me despite how busy you are 💕 thank you for being a real-life angel, i hope 2020 is good and kind to you 🙇‍♀️💞

@hanjisungz | britt!!! nerd squad let’s go!! you’re such an angel, the way you treat everyone who talks to you with so much kindness and positivity makes me want to cry!! ur truly just the cutest sunbeam and just such lovely lovely human!! thank u for puttin up with my late replies and how boring i am 😭 i also adore your gifs and icons.. which you know.. but always.. chefs kiss to them!

@huiracha | marie... first of all skz AND ptg? great, amazing, fantastic combination... galaxy brain 💞 secondly, u make such SUCH nice gifs 😭 ur prob one of my fav skz ccs and all ur pretty chan comp sets.. always look forward to them! thank u for also bringing me ptg content i never see enough of them 💕

@hwang-hyunjin | agnes!! ur topaz settings r always insane and they make your gifs look amazing!! + the colouring u do is always so beautiful!! the combo rly makes ur gifs so distinctive nd pretty💞 ur edits too!! just lovely 🥰 also the fact that we’re also moots on our mx blogs.. amazing.. i love a staybebe!! 

@hyunjins​ | godleigh???? still one of my fav gifmakers ever!! perfect colouring.. sharpening.. best brain! 💞 rmbr ur skz x prince series... still think abt it sometimes.. wish i could be half as brilliant as u!  i’m so glad we started talking bc u are incredibly funny and fun to talk to and i love witnessing ur breakdowns even though they’re probably way funnier to me than they should be 😭 love that u vibe w me and we can be mean together 😭 thank u for giving me this url 😭 thank u for being my friend, u truly are like. half the reason i enjoy being on this blog 😭 you’re wonderful and i love u a lot! sorry for clowning u sometimes! i hope everything sorts itself out soon bc u deserve some peace nd happiness 😩 and i wish u nothing but the best for this year and hope that the next year will be filled with good things 💖

@ifbin | mikaela.... u know i could talk abt you forever right???? ur graphics.. bro 😭 literally my fav gfx ever on this site.. u have such a vibrant + clean style it’s so sexy 😭 literally am in love with everything u make.. every time i see it i’m like 😳💖 also you’re such a sweetheart in your tags i can’t with you... spare friendship miss 💍

@jeonginz | bri! honestly.. i think you’re my oldest mutual from when we first started our blogs during survival era #ogs? 😳 when i found out you were nctmark... mind blown... anyways all your content is AMAZING even though u dont make as much for skz anymore msdg but ur dedication to all ur sideblogs.. galaxy brain 😌

@jinlix | kelly...!! still gazing at u across the river i love love love u!! how to purchase friendship? ur just the purest snowflake and a wonderful person with the cutest tags... ur love for hyunjin.. CUTE 💞 all your graphics are so pretty and clean as well.. dragonlix gfx never forgotten.. 😳 and you’re rly just a little angel!! 💞

@kim-woojins​ | emma, i know that you’re gone and closed pretty much but if you come back to this! just wanted to let you know that you were my fav woojin cc and i hope you’ll consider coming back someday 💖 your gifs.. always amazing! plus, you’re such a kind person and i hope everything is okay with you and things have settled a bit! sending you lots of love 💕

@kittylixie | moon.. honestly one day i just started seeing ur content everywhere.. ur gifs are so clean and pretty and just! mwah! you’re always so quick to gif as well i don’t know how you to do it! all the stuff you choose to gif as well.. best moments 💖

@kmwoojins | sagey.... still don’t really know how i came to be following you! 😩 but i’m so happy i am because you are so pure and sweet and i adore adore adore you!! 💞 love how welcoming and lovely you are as a human and still laugh every time i think about how shocked you are about jo and i... 😌 anyways i adore your graphics and you, thank you for just being such a lovely human, you were a wonderful part of my year 💖

@leeminho-s | hi lia! i know we only became moots recently but all your gifs.. so pretty 😳 and we never have enough minho content.. thank you for providing 😫 i’m sorry i don’t know much about you yet but i just wanted to say i admire your gifs so much and hope you have a wonderful start to the new year!

@minknows | hi thien! first of all.. your name.. so lovely 😳 secondly.. the colouring on your gifs is always so pretty and good ��❤ the sharpening too.. 😔 just!! chefs kiss to it all, would take a class on how to gif from you 🙇‍♀️

@nochous | dez!! we haven’t interacted much on this sb of mine but hehe i loved our convo on my sf9 blog.. still always thinkin abt you calling kun daddy 😭 you’re such a fun person to talk to and i hope everything is okay with you since you’ve gone on a semi-hiatus! i hope we’ll have another chance to talk soon, sending you some good energy for 2020 💗

@prodskz | hi neha! i feel like you took a hiatus sometime this year (??) where i didn’t see you on much but i’m happy to see you a little more active on here now!! u provide such nice content + for some reason i rly rly love your icon 😭💗

@realstraykids | miss em.. secret santa FATED us 😔💕 anyways i adore you, we are the core of fantastay culture and this will forever unite us 😌 i’m vibrating at the thought of their comeback 😖 ANYWAYS you are such a friendly and lovely person and i enjoyed getting to talk with u so much over the past couple of weeks 💖 you’re one of my fav gifmakers honestly your mv aesthetics swap.. as i said.. 😭 amazing iconic showstopping! + the colouring on all your gifs.. so pretty 😭

@seungminhos |  to quote you. you are far too funny to be a gifmaker 😣 but then who would provide all the good seungmin content.. 😞 you’re such a force of nature on my dash and i love reading all your thoughts bc you are Funny.. and your love for seungmin + how you always want the best for him is pure!! our sporadic interactions too.. always enjoy them 💕 even though i know you’re stressed about being on here sometimes, i want you to know that you’re wonderful and i appreciate all you do to bring more seungmin on our dashes 💗 pls stop threatening to delete your blog, i would be devastated 😫

@seungminsmile | aurora!! the one time i was about to have a seungmin breakdown and went to you... hehe you’re such a cutie and very grounded person (imo!!) and you make the cutest little graphics.. the little doodles.. how do you do that!! 😳 and now that you’re making gifs.. Queen! i hope your first semester went well! 💕

@seunie | hello nia!! i know we are still new moots but you are such a pure soul.. just ur blog title.. angel! you radiate so much love and sweetness 💞 your gifs are always so vibrant + colourful as well and bring a bit of colour onto my dash just like you! hopefully we can speak in the coming year, i wish you the very best! 🥰

@skzbffie | rayana... all ur gifs... bro.... how to start a rayana religion... amazing 😍 ur gifs are always so clean + i can recognize them by the subtitle font you use.. u always choose the best moments to gif honestly how to be u! honestly ur tags are fun to read too don’t judge me i am just an admirer and fan of u 😭

@skznta | miss sierra! idk how to put it into words but you... goddess of goodness? you truly radiate so much positivity and happiness and it makes me so.. uwu (for lack of better words).. you’re so so cute over all your love for science and i’m glad we got to bond over that! the way you’re always striving to learn more + improve yourself.. u inspire me 😳 you are also an incredible cc and thank you for bringing so much joy into the fandom and my life!! i feel very grateful to have gotten to know you a little this year 💞

@thechanboys | jem.. u are a GEM... 😭 the way i got u for secret santa i’ll never get over it!! you are just such sunshine and so fun to talk to and 😳💞 if u ever wanna abandon bin for me.. 😌 my fav number one chan/bin stan..! i’m so happy you got into skz this year and i’m gonna try my hardest to get you into some other groups hehe 🤧 anyways, you are incredible, lovely, wonderful, amazing i love u jem!! 💖

@tinyjisung | bea! honestly.. we are moots on like 3(?) blogs our multi selves.. galaxy brain...  i know ur more active on ur ateez blog but i wanted to write abt you here anyways because I CAN! 😌 but i love all that good san content you provide + you just seem like a very calm n fun person 💕

@virgolix | nina. you’re such a cute person filled with love and you just spread so much positivity and good energy! you treat everyone with so much kindness and it’s so nice to see 💖 and if i can rave about your gifs for a minute... they are unreal 😫 the sharpening.. colouring.. always so amazingly clean + pretty + vibrant! 

@wonstal | hi hi! okay.. i adore all your content, you have the cutest colouring ever!! + topaz settings.. so pretty 😖💞 even though we started off as moots on my mx blog, i’m so glad you got into skz and ateez + will be on your sweet merry way to sf9 soon 🤞 i’m glad we’ve just started chatting a bit because you seem super fun and i’m excited to get to know you better! i hope 2020 treats you well darling 💖

@yongbells | iana.. hope everything is okay with you always and sending you lots of love! i miss seeing you on here but i hope you’re taking good care of yourself 💗 also.. gfx queen... 😖 you’re SUCH a ray of sunshine.. the way you always tell people how much you love their creations is so kind and all of your own gfx are some of the most beautiful things ever 💖 we are so blessed to have you in this fandom 😩 

[tobionigiris]

my-name-is-markus-with-a-k is my sideblog and I just wanna say thanks for all the nice tags you put on my posts, especially that last one. Every time I see you've reblogged something, I'm like 'oooh wonder what they thought of this one!' It honestly makes its so worthwhile 😊

(i don’t have any pics of markus with hearts all over him as a reaction so have this jesse gif that i have saved that’s somewhat a fitting expression)

omg so sorry i almost missed this i never get asks lol

ok the fact that anyone would care about my thoughts makes me all warm and fuzzy, im glad my comments make you feel that way 🥺<3 pls if you want a whole novel under your posts just say it and my adhd would be more than happy to be given permission to ramble or go off tangents under people’s posts lmao

really i should be thanking YOU for being active and always coming in clutch with the dbh content, both making them and reblogging them, keeping my dash well fed🥰 youre one of my fav blogs here and i probably would've left the fandom already if there weren't as many active blogs as yours

also you always leave nice tags under my art and hillarious ones under my shitposts that always make my day so it would be an absolute crime to not do the same to your posts. keep up the good work! whether it be gif making, writing or making long ass posts talking about rk1k or how an absolute GOD markus is i’ll be here rooting for you :) (unless tumblr doesn’t wanna fecking show them and making me missing them completely, just know i’d still be rooting!😤)

hope you don't mind me tagging you just to make sure you see this😈 @my-name-is-markus-with-a-k 

[sassysweetstories]

Diamond in the Rough // 4

Summary: you’re an androgynous woman who has a rather groggy voice. due to your social anxiety and shy nature, you refuse to let your beautiful, sexy voice free. that is until you do something that might lead you down a dangerous path.

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader, Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, vulgar words, fluff, fighting, smut etc.

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to the owners.

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist@beingmadinwonderland@princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet @lachicadelamanzana

Third P.O.V

Almost two weeks pass and Shawn has yet to give up much to (Y/n)’s dismay. She just wants him out of her life, away from her bubble and to just focus but once she thinks he’s gone, he pops out of no where with those big stupid chocolate brown eyes of his. That morning (Y/n) sat in the recording studio, jotting down notes and intonations when Shawn and Andrew walked in. She doesn’t even try to hide her disgust anymore, finally owning the voice she’d been given. “I thought we were meeting in private, Andrew. Don’t you know that children aren’t aloud to play in the studio.” 

Her comebacks are viscous at this point, not a care in the world and though Shawn should hate hit, it riles him up even more. Even turns him on when she’s so snarky. Andrew ignores their childlike bickering even though he takes pride in how much she’s grown and sits in the lounge chair with a fake huff. “He said he wanted to watch us go over some music stuff and he doesn’t have a meeting until later. I said he could check it out.” 

(Y/n) rolls her eyes again before picking up one of the guitars, strumming carefully until the rest of her crew walk in. She wasn't going to be quiet anymore, a new kind of grit taking hold of her life all thanks to her anger towards Shawn, not that she'd ever admit it. Apart of her is not ready for him to listen. Not just because he’s a great artist with plenty of background in music but mostly because she can’t deal with his judgment anymore. She’s gotten too much of it in her life, too fed up. 

Especially when it came to dating. ‘Boys will never look at you romantically’, ‘you’re too masculine’, ‘you’re not feminine enough’, ‘who would date a woman who looks more like a man than her man?’ They all said. But she loved her voice, loved how unique it was compared to other musicians and didn’t mind male pronouns at all. She was done living by other peoples rules and expectations. “Let's warm up with Lock Me Up." She says to the musicians, smiling as the drums start with a heavy cadence. For a fleeting moment, she forgets all about Shawn's existence. 

“Time to listen, to my confession I’m much less than I wanted to be,  wanted to be.  You shine a light on my, dark side but you don’t care what you see. Overjoyed, Over you, Over night, That’s what you do Why don’t you lock me up  with joy and kisses Lock me up with love?” 

She kicks the microphone holder up to her hand, quickly attaching it to the stand in one fail swoop. The action makes both Andrew and Shawn gape. He sees it now, the same fire and passion Andrew first saw the night of her performance. An untapped potential, an energy that’s just waiting to burst. Hurt and hidden behind a wall of bad memories. He watches her, almost spell-bound as Olive sways back and forth, guitar in hand as she watched her friend flourish. A face filled with pride. 

When the chorus hits, all the musicians sport wide smiles, completely enjoying the borderline musical that’s taken shape in the studio. Shawn pulls out his phone to record the moment, one he doesn’t want to forget despite the tension between the two of them. She just looks so good he can’t help himself. She is so independent and in touch with herself, it takes his breath away. He posts the story to his Instagram and then saves the video for later.

When the song ends she’s already sweating and the adrenaline never comes to a stop. Her smile is bright, beautiful beyond anything Shawn’s ever seen and it’s absolutely contagious. He can’t withhold his cheeks from tightening. When he posts the video to his story, he doesn’t think much of it. (Y/n) wanders off to grab water and her phone blows up. Shawn Mendes tagged you. The notification popped up. It’s a video of her singing, a damn good one at that. Apart of her wants to be mad he posted without her permission but it wasn’t a big deal, didn’t think much of it until she scrolled down the comment section. There are the cute ones that she adores, the compliments that make her heart flutter. All of a sudden, her joy vanishes. Almost instantaneously the good is gone, ripped right out of her grip. 

“Don’t worry, ladies. There’s no way Shawn would go for someone who looks like that.” 

“Me: *laughing because Shawn would never find her or whatever she is attractive*”

“Diamond is hot and all but she’s not feminine enough for me.” 

“That’s cool that they’re friends. He’d never date her though, not looking like that anyway.” 

It was never about him. Sure he was a pain, also strange with his personality but she’d never hate him. But automatically assuming he’d never find her attractive because of her androgynous features broke her heart. Nobody knew how many people who had told her that exact same thing. “Your shoulders are just too broad.” They’d say. Or, “My friends give me shit because you look more like a guy than I do.” Or, “Why don’t you dress more like a guy? You are a guy right?” She tosses her phone to the side, a tear escaping from the corner of her right eye. The liquid seems to burn against her skin as a different kind of tired pain churns in her heart. Grabbing her book, she does the only thing she knows what to do best. The lyrics come like a tsunami, crashing down on her and she willing caves in, letting it consume her lungs entirely. When she’s done, a voice catches her attention. 

“So (Y/n), we’ve got big news for you.” Andrew says from the other room and it forces the young woman to get up from off the dirty floor. Shawn is long gone by the looks of it and there’s a pang of sadness in her chest, not that (Y/n) will admit it. She didn’t mind him watching her sing. “The VMAs is coming up in two weeks and they want you to be the main performance!” He says with a wide grin. Derek and Olive pat her shoulder with pride while her stomach churns with worry, along with a jumble of other emotions. “So I was thinking we could do ‘Hold Me Back’-” She shakes her head, cutting the older man off with a growing smile. “No. I’ve got a better idea. We do that and then a cover of a song.” She pauses for a moment as they start to bubble up in her head. “And I’ve got just the song.” 

Shawn’s P.O.V

When I got home, I hadn’t expected my sister to still be there. She said she had plans with some friends so it made me wonder as to why she was still present. “Hey Alliyah, whatcha still doin’ here? Thought you had plans?” She turned over her shoulder with a smile, one I knew all too well. “I’m hanging out with the girls later but until then I was catching up on some of Diamond’s feed.” Diamond? Oh no. She continued, “Oh my god, I can’t get over how pretty she is, I mean, she can pull it all off! And her VOICE! EEK! Have you listened to her music or talked to her much?! I saw her on your Instagram! Also, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU MET HER, YOU JERK!” I grab a drink and listen to her ramble on and on. But the more she spoke, the more I realized that’s how my fans spoke of me, this connection to music to artist to fans. And my baby sister was apart of that as much as anyone else. “Gooodddd, I would do anything to meet her!” And in an instant she went back to her phone, watching (Y/n) with a wide smile. In that moment, I knew I’d have to ask a huge favor. 

Your P.O.V

I’d been practicing all week for my performance, doing interview after interview and getting a custom made suit for the VMAs. The more I thought of it, the more giddy I became. This was the performance of a lifetime, something I’ve only dreamed of. Everything had been moving along together nicely until I ran into the one person I was trying to avoid for the rest of my life. Shawn. “Hey, (Y/n). Look-” He says, shyly. Fiddling with his jacket nervously. “I know I’ve been an awful person to you and I have no right to ask you of anything but my baby sisters birthday is coming up and uh- she really loves you and your music. Like a lot. I was wondering if you could perform for her on her birthday. Look, I’ll pay nicely and-” I sigh, ready for the conversation to be over with. “Sure. I’ll do it. Your sister sounds very nice.” I hate to admit that the grin on his face was nothing but contagious. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! That means so much to me-” 

I cut him off, accordingly. “I’m not doing this for you, Shawn. I’m doing this for your sister. And you don’t need to pay me. I don’t want your money. Just send me the details” I’m already up and out of the room before he can detest to any of the statements I’ve made. I won’t admit it, but it hurts. There’s a pang in my chest at the thought of us being friends and working together maybe. But after his awful first impression and continuous foul treatment, I didn’t see any point in putting effort in him. I get an email the next day about his house location and the plan for sneaking me and my team in unnoticed. The night comes sooner than I planned but I’m actually quite excited to meet Aaliyah and her friends. The more Geoff and Andrew talk about it, the easier it feels. It’s like a mini concert, a test run for the bigger thing down the line. This feels much more intimate though and I want this to be perfect. 

Andrew takes me and my team through the back, going completely unnoticed from the crowd. We pass a slit and I attempt to get a good view of what I’m working with. Maybe six girls, one of them wearing a birthday crown. They chat happily while the adults take their time to their chairs or stand off leisurely. My heart thumps in hopes to make Aalliyah happy and I ignore the fear that thumps lowly in the bottom of my stomach. This is for her. I watch as Shawn takes the microphone, catching everyone’s attention. My team is already set up behind the curtain, awaiting for his signal. “Hey everyone! I’m so happy you all could come to celebrate my baby sisters birthday. You’re getting so old, Liyah. Now it’s my time to give my present to you. Happy Birthday, sis. Hit it guys!” 

Third P.O.V

Shawn steps off the stage and (Y/n) takes the reigns. When he looks back at her, he nearly falls over from her beauty. Aalliyah and her friends scream louder than anyone would have predicted and Shawn couldn’t help but chuckle. The guitar begins and Shawn can’t keep his eyes off her. “Happy Birthday, Aalliyah. This is for you.” She says softly and his sister giggles along with her friends. The young man doesn’t notice when she stops playing, too entranced by her voice to focus on much of anything that’s not her. She puts down her guitar and makes her way over to the young girls, greeting them first before the rest of the room that only seems to gravitate towards her. “Who’s that, sweetheart? She has a lovely voice.” Shawn’s mother says to him, pulling his attention away from her for the first time that night. 

“Oh! That’s (Y/n) (Y/L/N), also known as Diamond. She’s a new up and coming singer that Aalliyah loves. Andrew’s her new manger so we see each other often.” The woman taps her head, eyes wide. “Oh! I heard her on the radio the other day! I thought it was a man singing but goodness gracious she has the voice of an angel. That’s very sweet of you to get your sisters favorite singer to perform for her birthday.” He smiled down at her before glancing back at the long androgynous figure that’s captured everyone’s attention. The girls get together for a group photo and Shawn’s heart flutters at the sight of Aalliyah almost crying with happiness while her idol grins down at her. “Are you gonna introduce us or do you think Alliyah will beat you to it?” His dad asks him and before he could answer, his little sister ran up to their parents with a smile that seemed to outstretch her face. 

“Mom, Dad, this is (Y/n) (Y/L/N), also known as the one and only Diamond.” (Y/n) blushed crimson as she shook their hands. Her voice was enchanting, smooth and warm like honey. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Mendes. I thank you both for giving me the opportunity to perform for you guys, especially for such a momentous occasion.” The young woman towers both his parents and yet she makes them feel warm and comfortable. “You have an incredible voice, my dear.” Shawn’s dad says with a smile that (Y/n) know’s is genuine. They chat for a while and his mom seems to have latched onto the younger woman, refusing to let go as they down wine and laugh. Everyone migrates to her and Shawn feels a pang of jealousy, not wanting to share her to the world. Their eyes catch across the room and (Y/n) excuses herself from the group to meet him. 

Before they reach one another Harry Styles grazes her elbow catching her attention. (Y/n) can’t help but smile up at the gorgeous man. “Hello love, names Harry.” She introduces herself and she can’t seem to pull herself away from his intoxicating nature and suave. “You didn’t! Oh my god!” He laughed as she grazed his shoulder, continuing the story. “I did! Oh my gosh, she was so pissed the rest of the night..” Harry giggled loudly, scooting closer to her frame until they were inches apart. “I have to head out but I’d love to continue this conversation sometime. Maybe in a more comfortable setting.” The young woman smiled before exchanging numbers with the handsome singer. He pressed his plump lips to her cheeks and (Y/n) couldn’t help but swoon before meeting up with Shawn. 

“Thank you for tonight. My sister is gonna remember this for the rest of her life.” He says quietly, leaning against the railing as he glanced back at her flushed cheeks. Shawn noticed her third glass of wine had made her a little soft. The action is distinct since their love / hate relationship. She actually looks at ease. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity. She’s a very good kid. I enjoyed it a lot and your parents seem lovely. I uh- I came to say goodbye. My team and I are leaving for the night since I need to be up early for interviews and such. See you later, Shawn.” He watches her almost in a trance, bidding his family farewell. That night he only thought of her. 

Things felt different. Maybe they always were different. (Y/n) couldn’t stop thinking about how Shawn looked last night. How pink his cheeks were and how plump his lips became the longer she drank. Must be the alcohol.. She thought stupidly to herself. She knew it wasn’t anything she had that night to make her think such unholy thoughts. The way his shirt was almost too tight for his toned body. He looked like a god and his chocolate brown eyes made her knees weak, not that she’d ever tell him. That morning she grabbed her lyric book and followed Andrew out to the car, listening intently to her schedule for the day. In between the car rides, she jotted new lyrics and hummed different ideas to her crew who nodded along happily. Five interviews back to back, they had finally returned back to the hotel, taking picture after picture with fans. 

The young woman was more than thrilled to be alone for a little while before her phone buzzed. Groaning, she answered it with a fake tone. “Hello?” A honey like chuckle respond on the other line, a voice that was so distinct it made her shiver. “Hello love, miss me? I was wondering if you wanted to get together tonight if you were free?” (Y/n) grinned from cheek to cheek before replying calmly despite the fact her heart was beating out of her chest. “Uh- yeah! I’d love to! Dinner at your place or what were you thinking?” He chuckled lowly, eliciting a shiver of anticipation. “You’re brilliant ya know that. That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’ll pick you up at eight, love. And sweetheart, dress like yourself.” He hung up swiftly and the young woman pondered before smiling. 

Your P.O.V

I had tried on ten different outfits, one looking worst than the last. “Ughhh, I don’t know what to do!” I huffed, obviously anxious and worried for the date, which is in an hour.. Olive ransacks my closet, cussing. “Damn girl, you’ve got clothes for days! We can find something that’ll work.” Before I know, she pulls out a button up, jeans and a bad-ass brown leather jacket. I nod in approval before changing, heart thumping out of my chest. And before I knew it, his car pulled up with a loud brake screech. “Go get ‘em tiger.” Olive said to me with two thumbs up. “You look gorgeous, love” He says smoothly and I can’t help but rake my eyes up and down his body. He looks absolutely sinful and I want a bite. “So what did you concoct tonight, darling.” I watch as the hairs on his arms raise, all because of me. 

We get back to his apartment which is beautifully lit with candles and there’s a strong aroma of pizza and vanilla candles. A strange but inviting scent that only pulls me further into his humble abode. “Make yourself comfortable, love. I’ll grab the food. You pick a movie.” I take off my jacket and scroll through a few movies until I settle on one that satisfies us both. After a few minutes, he lowers the volume so we can talk. “So what exactly are you looking for? You’re a performer. You understand how hard it is for people to communicate and make relationships so what are you looking for?” He sighs, leaning into me and I feel myself tense with excitement as he mutters, eyes bright and entrancing. “I’m just looking for someone who could keep me warm at night though something down the line would be lovely.” 

I gulp and take a leap of faith. “What are you doing tonight then?” I expect him to pull away in disgust or react negatively as most usually do but when he pulls in closer, resting his hands between my thighs, my breath hitches. “You, hopefully.” Our eyes connect again and I do the unthinkable. I press my lips to his roughly and moan when he does the same for me. His large hands are everywhere, tugging and pulling me closer to him. “How ‘bout we take this to the bedroom, baby-girl?” I nod against his lips before kissing down his neck. The lower I go, the louder he groans. “Fuck, (Y/n)..” He grabs my hand, tugging me into the other room. We giggle and kiss one another on the way, easing whatever nervousness I possessed before. I rip open his shirt and press thick kisses along his skin, smirking as he moans. All of a sudden he turns me over grinding his lower region against mine and I can’t help but cuss lowly against his ear. “You like that, baby-girl. Fuck, I can’t wait to ravish you..” 

The next morning I awake before him and leave a note on the table. Had a great time. Hope we can do this again. Sorry I had to dip. My manager called last minute. Until next time, love ;) I slip out of his apartment like a spy, attempting to be as incognito as possible. My whole face is covered and my movements are precise as I slip into the studio completely unnoticed. Olive, Derek, Andrew and a few of my other friends are there. And.. unfortunately Shawn. Olive and Derek are looking down and nobody makes eye contact with me except for Andrew and Shawn who both look pissed. “W-What’s wrong guys?” Shawn’s gaze drifts down to my neck before turning away, almost in disgust. “This is what’s wrong..” Andrew says with an exhausted sigh before showing me pictures on Twitter. They’re of last night.. Clear pictures of Harry and I kissing.. 

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE COMMENT!) 

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I have recently had a bad habit of rambling in draft posts while unable to sleep. Rather than delete the drafts, I’ll post them as I get to them but I’ll make them easy to skip.

This one was a rant about the way characters tend to skew wealthy, particularly in movies and tv. Or at least wealthy from my POV down here in the dirt...

Stupid reason for not getting enough sleep: waking up in the night thinking about how probably 80% of fiction is set amid the well off, the folks that seem rich to the rest of us but would claim to be middle class.

Last night I watched a movie about a couple that had seperated over their different ways of grieving the death of their baby. So far, so dramatically universal...but look at their lives. His business is failing, but his famous restauranteur father has a spare place to toss him. Her father can pull strings to get her into her college course of choice, then when she wants to quit strings are pulled again to let her finish her graduate school work in France. The parents name drop casually people like Itzhak Perlman and the Stones, because they live in that world, the famous adjacent...

This is not how most of us live. Heck, her parents’ kitchen was larger than the homes of a few people I’ve known!

I’m sure the people in the business of creating these upscale fantasies of “normal” would say it’s aspirational. It’s like the excuse for all the women in movies looking like fashion models and the men like jocks. People want beauty. But I something else at work too...

The people with the power to get  movies and tv made, publish books, and the like tend to come from that world.

People create from the worlds they know. In so many cases it’s a world where heartbreak can send you moving to France for six months, where a serious medical problem never bankrupts you, where paying for college isn’t a major source of stress, where you shop in high end grocery stores for imported artisinal goat cheese and where people buy brand new cars as gifts. 

I don’t live in that world. I think there are a lot more of us that don’t than do.

My problem with all this isn’t that I have to drive 50 miles for chard and can’t afford to find out what truffles taste like, while these people almost never even look at the prices in menus. What bothers me is that these fictions suggest a life of security most of us will never know.

They have a nerfed life. Probably the creators, but definitately the characters. They have the luxury to worry about their personal dramas without having to also worry about  shelter, food, medical care, cost of education, or other ordinary but necessary concerns. 

Poorer people do get stories, of course. Abject poverty becomes all about suffering, squalor, and the desperation to escape. Lower class working poor stories can be glorifications of some purer notion of family or a sneering at ignorance and prejudices, and often both at once. The shadow of superiority hovers over them.

Actually, it reminds me of the term “outsider art”. You don’t get the tag of real artist unless you are the right sort, so the rest have to settle for qualifiers. You have to have the right education and live in the right places, even when the art itself is indistinguishable in quality if the creator’s back story is unrevealed. The critics and the rest the snob crowd get to enjoy art by the wrong sort and smuggly pat themselves on the back for being so  clever as  to discover these nobodies. 

Maybe it’s just me, fed up with characters living lives so alien to my own. I am supposed to feel for them, but get distracted by how damn easy they have it. Sometimes I wonder if the writer realize just how privileged their creations are, or if their own backgrounds are incredibly comfortable. 

Look, I know I’m not typical. Instead of worrying about fashion, I’m busy sewing patches on ten year old jeans so I won’t have to buy new ones. I don’t look for an interior decorator but instead worry about my rotting down house becoming unlivable. The idea of landscaping makes me laugh as I hack at the never ending vines in the yard. When I cook I don’t have the help of a food processor or suchlike and the idea of wasting money on a dishwasher is insane.  I simply have no choice but to repair or take care of things on my own, and hope we can keep paying the property taxes. Never having my hair done in my life hasn’t hurt me, but loosing the woods probably would.

But that’s me, and I know I will never see my own life reflected in fiction. Many people that live completely normal lives don’t see themselves either. The rich and high end upper middle class may have all the issues of life and death the rest of us do, but it sure is easier with fancy meals, million dollar houses and the option to work from home when you can’t stop the tears from making your expensive makeup run.

I’m just saying there are huge swaths of the American public that don’t live in poverty but also can’t fly off to Europe every summer!

[finnicks]

i can't put this shit anywhere bc twitter has a character limit and i've p much just left the social media platform i'd post this on anyway.

i usually use tumblr for fun shit and understand other people do, too. this is for myself bc sometimes you have to dump thoughts somewhere, and i don't want to handwrite this bc my handwriting is horrible atm.

navel-gazing personal shit.

i feel like being a navel-gazer rn bc who reads personal tumblr posts? i figured i'd share this here bc i've been reblogging a lot of self-care and positive self-talk quotes for a while now and doing my usual rambling spiel in the tags where i've also offered bits and pieces of where my own headspace is and referenced my own mental health journey. i do hope those posts and even me screeching in the tags helps someone on their journey.

anyway.

for the last two months, i have been putting my mental health front and centre. thanks to a good friend, i realised that no one will ever put my mental health first and the only way that i would ever feel better about myself and break out of this vindictive and awful cycle i found myself in (and have been in for years) was to take the bull by the horns and guide it myself.

so i have been. and it's been fucking great.

it's been hard. it was hard when i first started bc i was wondering if i was doing the right thing or if i was even doing it right. (yes, it is the right thing, and yes, i was doing it right bc i was doing it for myself.) it's been lonely, too, for many reasons, some including the worry of how friends will perceive me and judge me, and also the fact that not everyone i know is even on board the "let's get better and do it ourselves" express yet. if i don't feel a connection with someone about the topic at hand, i don't talk to them about it. it's reasonable; talking about this is opening up a vulnerable part of myself. so, i kept it to myself a lot.

i recognised a social media platform that really let me flog myself. i recognised that it encouraged me to compare myself to others and that i was constantly seeking out shit that hurt my feelings. it sounds nuts but i sought this shit out for the sole purpose of opening up a negative dialogue with myself where i was derisive to myself. ever since being off of it, i have felt really great about myself. that's important to me. not being on there is important to me; if someone can't accept that, that's actually not my problem.

over the last two months, the way i talk to myself has changed drastically. i would like to think that if any of my friends knew how i spoke to myself that they would be saddened and devastated by it bc it's cruel and unkind. how i spoke to myself fed my negative self-narrative and i believed that negative self-narrative was the reality and the truth. it's not.

i know it sounds kind of trite to say "be kind to yourself!" but, seriously, be kind to yourself. pull yourself up when you think horribly about yourself. be your own best friend. it sounds stupid and super cheesy, but it really does work. no one will cape harder for you than you. when i started having a negative thought, i'd say "stop", force myself to reframe, and try and not dwell on it. easier said than done, i know, but it's possible if you really persist.

i changed a lot of my inner dialogue and told my inner voice to go take a hike bc i deserved a lot better. it's gotten to the point where i feel a lot more confident in myself. i still have my insecure moments (of course, we're all people, and this is just the beginning of my journey, too), but these days, i'm able to identify if it's being brought on by me being tired or if it's bc i'm being overly emotional and personalising a situation that doesn't even reflect who i am. i'm kind to myself in these moments (it's important to be).

i'm negl... since doing this, i feel clearer. i feel like i can see shit now. i can see my bad behaviours and toxic habits, and i can see i have power over them. i also feel like bc i've cleared out some space, positive space and energy has come my way, too.

i used to have serious fomo when it came to things and friends. i think it makes sense to not want to miss out on your friends. i didn't want my friends to lose their interest in me and so i felt the need to remain "relevant" to them and i did things that i didn't want to do and took on things i never had any interest in. if you have to be consistently present and in someone's face in order to remain "relevant" (i.e. constantly at the forefront of their mind and someone they talk to), then they're not really worth your time. i did this a lot with a hobby i'm in. ever since i stopped doing that (it's hard to break a habit like this), i felt a lot more fulfilled and less resentful. people will talk to you bc they want to. your friends will remember you and think of you and speak to you and all that shit if they are good people and good friends. i didn't trust people. i am now starting to trust them. (some people do make stupid ass decisions and that also does affect my trust, but, you know, i'm actually open to trusting people to show that they care for me. the whole stupid ass decisions is another thing entirely.)

no one will ever change how you feel about yourself. someone can compliment you, but if someone says you're great, your inner dialogue can rip that apart and call it insincerity if you have a poor relationship with your inner voice. i know; i used to do this all the time and then wondered why i felt like people complimenting me was insincere. (i no longer feel this way. instead, i'm working on stopping my inner dialogue from saying "you don't deserve this" to "i deserve this and i am grateful X complimented me".) i do appreciate the people who are happy for me and celebrate my wins. i am grateful for them. i wasn't grateful for a long ass time bc i could never allow myself to celebrate my wins before. (btw, friends who do not celebrate you are not friends.)

i started complimenting myself. i picked up a gratitude journal again and i write down a minimum of five things i'm grateful/proud of from the day that's been. i do this every night, no matter what. i do it on good days and i do it on bad days. it's important to identify the good. i now look back on my journal and i see all the things that made me happy. sometimes it's as simple as "i'm grateful for my cats" and it can be as detailed as "i'm proud of myself for writing 1,000 words of X fic and posting it." i also make sure to include one person i'm grateful for, especially in the form of an interaction, bc i feel like it's important for myself to remember that, when i feel lonely, i'm actually not lonely at all.

a good friend shared with me that people often make decisions without me i mind. it's not meant to be cruel; it's just a fact. and since acknowledging and accepting this, i've felt a lot better. less vindictive, less hurt. i won't lie, i used to make decisions with people in mind and then grew resentful of them bc i made those decisions, usually out of some desire to "keep" them. the thing is, no one can be "kept". people choose to stay. the moment i began making decisions for myself, i felt better.

i still have a long way to go. i feel like since i started this journey, i've begun to correct really bad behaviours and thinking patterns. by doing that, i've uncovered other ones. people are like onions, and i've begun to unwrap all those gross layers that make my eyeballs water. what drove my insecurities and negative behaviour patterns isn't going to be solved in two months, but in those two months, i've made some great progress. i think that deserves to be celebrated.

the things i feel like i need to work on and feel like sharing include:

accepting compliments; yes, they are for me, and i should be proud of the work that gained that compliment.

accepting that people like me for me.

accepting that people want to be there for me even if i feel like i don't need anyone.

complimenting myself further.

removing myself from situations. this sounds very weird but by removing the "i" from someone's choice has given me so much freedom.

continuing to do what i want to do when i want to do it.

being kind to myself. i am a busy person (my work is a lot) and i need to start angling my self-love to be understanding of that.

stop comparing myself to others. i'm me; i'm great.

appreciating the fact that i am me, and there are some great things about me that are worth celebrating that i won't list here.

accept that i am good enough for me. full stop. (if i'm good enough for someone else, cool.)

sometimes i worry that by me putting myself first in this way and changing the dialogue i have with myself will lose me some friends. maybe it will. some people feel comfortable with who i was before i started this. i have always believed that some people are meant to be in your life for a pitstop or for some part of the ride, and some people are meant to be there with you until you reach your final destination and join you on your next journey. people who can't accept and even celebrate me for who i am and trying to become are not people i want in my life.

understanding (and celebrating) that i'm me and not someone else has been important and great. i used to try and make myself be like someone else, but i'm not. i'm not the person next to me and i'm not my friends. i realised that being me is good enough (it's starting to be). after all, no one is me.

i am enough.

[medicslacks]

Making the Most of Clinical Placements

I’ll preface this with a warning. I am a slacker (in case you were wondering, the ‘slacks’ in 'medicslacks’ is not referring to comfortable trousers) and so the following advice is probably going to be pretty obvious, nay, ‘bare minimum’ to those of you who are infinitely more self-motivated than I am.

If, however, you’re interested in just a few key things I’ve found which make clinical placements infinitely more valuable and fun, I present to you 'Medicslacks’ Top 5 Tips To Making The Most Of Clinical Placements’

1- Don’t miss induction.

I mean… I know they’re frequently scheduled before 8am and never seem to tell you anything you haven’t already heard before, especially if you’ve had a previous placement at that hospital- but they’ll often tell you about opportunities for extra learning, or additional teaching sessions put on by the education department at the hospital. This is also when you tend to get your timetables, locker keys, Access Cards and IT logins.

They also sometimes have mandatory fire training -_-

If for no other reason, go to Induction because it’s usually registered and if you don’t you’re going to get a sarcastic/ threatening email from your medical school.

2- Go in every day in the first week.

I say this for several reasons. First of all, it gives you an overview of the weekly timetable for the ward/ team/ department you’re assigned to. It’ll let you figure out what a typical week is like so you can work out the things you might want to go to (specialist clinics, surgeries, random teaching opportunities), the things you have to go to (Consultant ward rounds) and the things that provide free food (Grand Round). 

It’ll quickly allow you to see what your schedule over the next few weeks looks like and you can use that to figure out when you want to do what. 

Going in every day initially also lets you effectively pull off the next tip.

3- Become a part of the team.

Establish yourself as someone who is willing to learn and do things in order to learn. If you show that you’re keen to actually get something out of your placement, doctors often go out of their way to help you out (in exchange for you filling out a feedback form or two for them… I kid, I kid… kind of). 

Offer to do the grunt work, like taking bloods and putting in cannulas. Ask them if you can tag along when they go to see a patient or do a procedure. If you need to present a history, go ahead and ask them to let you know when they’ve got a minute (they never do but if you don’t tell them you need one, they won’t find one for you). If you’re going down to get a coffee, ask if they want one. The favour is always returned.

The thing is, I realised in my 4th year that a lot of the doctors were only a few years older than me and actually didn’t have anything over me other than experience and the degree I too am working towards. Also, 95% of doctors in this age are extremely friendly, nice people. 

Once you realise that doctors are just people, you stop being intimidated. And once you stop being intimidated… you kind of just start having fun. 

In a few years, they will be your colleagues, your friends, your mentors. Just relax, have fun and show some enthusiasm and not only will the doctors put in the effort to help you learn, you might find that placement becomes something you actually start genuinely enjoying. 

4- Interact with patients!

You’d think this one would be pretty obvious, but you’d be surprised how easy it can be to get through certain placements without ever really talking to that many patients.

I used to find this one pretty tough if I’m honest with you. You always kind of feel like you’re being a bit of a pain when you approach a patient, and sometimes you feel useless or like you haven’t got any kind of clue as to what you’re doing. The only way to get over that is to just talk to more patients.

Say good morning or good afternoon, tell them you’re a medical student and you were wondering if they had some time to talk to you a little bit about why they’re in hospital. Most of the time they’re bored out their mind and are more than happy to talk to you. We joke about Agatha the 87 year old who talks non-stop about her 32 cats… but when you are an actual doctor you won’t have time to talk to your patients about their cats unless they’re allergic and contributing to their respiratory condition.

If you have the patience, let your patients ramble for a little bit and use it as practice on how to get conversations back on track (it’s alarming how often you find yourself using medical school communication skills in your day to day life). 

When you’re starting out, take a partner in with you and take it in turns to ask questions/ examine. Tell the F1s you’re a bit stressed about taking histories and ask them which patients are easy to talk to and can give clear histories. 

The people who are good at communication skill OSCEs are the ones who have actually communicated with lots of patients. The people who are good at examination and practical skill OSCEs are the ones who have practiced so many they aren’t even having to think it through any more. 

I can basically venepuncture blindfolded I’ve done so many at this point, so even though I accidentally threw my blood bottles in the bin with the actual rubbish after the venepuncture OSCE, I still passed the station. 

Just… trust me on this one. 

5- Don’t waste time.

This is one I think people might disagree with me on when I explain what I mean, and I’m open to that. But hey, this is what works for me, if you try it and it isn’t working for you, do whatever does.

Don’t waste time on placement. 

If you’re really just not feeling like being in, there is absolutely no point sitting in a corner of the Doctors’ Office hunched over the Oxford Handbook like a sun-deprived gremlin just to be seen as having gone in to hospital. 

If you have nothing to do, ask if there’s something that needs doing. 

If not, and you don’t have anything scheduled… just go home. 

Or go to the library. 

Whatever. 

Some days you just don’t feel like clerking or examining patients, or you have exams coming up and you’re stressed out. Or some days, you’re just fed up of a never-ending degree which lasts for 6 years and which pays less than someone who gets to taste biscuits for a living. 

Take a day for yourself and relax. It’s okay. You’re allowed a few of those.

Medical school is exhausting, clinical placements can be draining. If you feel yourself burning out, take care of yourself and don’t just keep grinding through because you feel like you have to.

Don’t just stop going in to placement entirely and say “Oh well a final year medic said it’s okay.”, that’s not what I’m saying. 

What I am saying is that clinical placements can be stressful, but they’re also incredibly valuable and can be really enjoyable as well. Medicine is a career you have to love else the downsides just aren’t worth it.

So… make it work for you.

Well, those are just 5 little things that have helped me. I hope they help you too. If you have anything else that helps you on placement, let me know. 

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Usual Suspects- Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,349

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual,

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

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“My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m 27-years-old. I’m dating the hottest Winchester and being stuck in this room is starting to get old. Oh, yeah, I forgot, I didn’t kill anyone. But, I know who did or rather what did. Of course, I can’t be for sure since I was rudely interrupted, no thanks to you air heads. But my theory is that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.” You said, looking at Diana who was seething.

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“You know, Casper the ghost but hungrier for blood than friendship. Tony Giles, he saw it. I bet you everything I had that Karen did too. However, the most interesting thing is what it leaves behind. For some weird reason, it’s trying to communicate and tell us something.

“But communicating across different worlds, is very difficult and sometimes, the spirits gets words jumbled. Of course, you know all about ‘REDRUM’, right? Well, it’s the same concept. Sometimes it’s word fragments and other times it’s anagrams. See, Sam and Dean, well, they thought it was a name. Dana Shulps.

“But after some serious thought, since that’s the only damn thing I can do in here, I knew it wasn’t a name. It was anagram. Ashland. Whatever is going on, I’ll bet you my life it’s rooting there.” You finished, smiling at the camera before looking at Diana.

“You wanted the truth, you got the truth. Believe it or not but it is.”

“You arrogant bastard. Tony and Karen were good people and you’re making jokes.” Sheridan said, glaring at you.

“The only joke here is you. You’re a fool if you don’t listen to me. More people will die if you don’t let me and my friends go.”

“You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis!” Sheridan yelled.

“Oh, yeah, that wasn’t me. You see, that was a bitchy shapeshifter that only looked like me. But I can see the confusion there.” You said, grinning at him. That seemed to snap the coil in his body because he got up and hauled you up by your collar, slamming you against the wall.

“Pete, that’s enough!” Diana yelled at him.

“Yeah, Pete, listen to your girlfriend,” You whispered, having an intense staring contest. “You asked for the truth, I’m just providing it.”

“Lock her ass up.” He said, shoving you into two cops who entered the room just in time. They slammed you into the wall, face first and you groaned.

“Wow, didn’t know you guys were so kinky.” You said as they began cuffing you. You grunted out in pain when the handcuffs bit into your skin. They shoved you to the door and you looked at Diana who was quiet.

“You’re stupid if you don’t listen to me. I’m telling you the truth! I have no reason to lie!” You yelled, walking in front of the cops who took you to a cell. They threw you in and left you there.

“Hey! At least you can do is uncuff me!” You sighed and sat on the bed, sighing. You wonder if Sam ever made it out of here or if Dean was okay. It sucked that you couldn’t see them at all. You missed them.

“Hey, get up. Diana would like to speak with you.” You opened your eyes and didn’t move from your position.

“What if I don’t want to go?” You asked, tired.

“Suck it up. You’re going.” The cell door opened and you sighed when the cop reached to grab you.

“Don’t touch me. I got it.” You snapped, getting up on your own. You walked out of the cell, knowing where you were going, the cop trailed behind you and opened the door to the interrogation room for you.

“Such a gentleman.” You said, looking at the cop before walking in. He cuffed you to the table once more and left, leaving you all alone in the room. Just after he left, Diana walked in and she was very nervous.

“You know, can we make this quick? I’m a little tired from being harassed by your partner.” You said, looking at her.

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier.” She said, sitting at the table. You lost your arrogant façade and bit your lip in worried.

“What happened?”

“Uh, I’m not sure myself.” She rubbed her neck but you zeroed your eyes on her wrist.

“Hey, where did you get those?” She had bruises on her wrist just like Karen did. She pulled up her sleeves to reveal just how deep those bruises were. This was bad.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t there before.” She said quietly.

“You’ve seen it. You’ve seen the spirit.”

“How did you know?” She whispered.

“Because Karen had those same bruises on her wrist. I bet Anthony had them too. Look, I know you think I’m crazy and you’re probably right but Tony and Karen both saw this thing and they died. So, that means you’re next. Do you understand me?” You said, catching her eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.” She said, scared.

“You need to get to Sam. Hopefully, he made it out of here. If Dean isn’t out, let him out. They can help you. They can end this. I’m not the killer. I didn’t kill anyone.” You said, pleading with her. You knew you weren’t getting out of this one. But they could.

“You’re going to give Sam up?” She asked.

“Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Jim Rockford is how we find each other when we’re not together. He can help you, okay? Arrest him if you need to but let him save your life first. I mean, I would but we all know I’m not getting out of here.” You sighed.

She looked into your eyes to see if you were lying but you weren’t. She sighed and nodded, getting up and leaving you in the room for the cops to take you back to the cells again.

“You know, this is pretty illegal, I have to say. Taking some girl to St. Louis at two in the morning, all by yourself? Well, that can’t be good.” You said, looking at Pete who was driving the car.

“Does Diana know what you did? I’m assuming you’re scared so you’re lashing out right now. People sniffed your trail and you’re scared, putting the blame on someone else, right? It makes it easier? Seeing as I’m the only one in here, I’m assuming Dean got out with Sam. So, go ahead, do whatever you want to me. I’m more skilled than you in every department.”

Pete pulled off on the side of the road, fed up with your crap. You knew Sam and Dean would come look for you so you only had to buy time for them. Pete got out of the car and walked to the back, opening the doors.

“You know, I think I’m good in here, thanks.” You said. You grunted out in pain when he grabbed you by your cuffs, making them dig deeper into your skin. He threw you on the ground and you hissed in pain, glaring at him.

“You’re so cocky and arrogant. You think those people in St. Louis are going to buy that crap you’re selling? But here’s the thing: You’re not going to make it back to St. Louis. You’re going to die trying to escape.” He pulled out a gun and he aimed it at your head. Your eyes widened, just realizing how crazy this guy was.

“Look, wait, don’t do something that you’re going to regret,” You said, now scared. You could only keep up this façade for so long. Pete cocked his gun and smirked. “Or maybe you do.”

“Pete! Pete! Put the gun down!” You looked up to see three people advancing to you. You saw Sam and Diana, seeing Dean trailing behind them. You let out a relieved sigh when you saw him. He was okay. That was all that mattered. Now you just had to get this loaded gun away from you.

“Diana? How did you find me?”

“Pete, I know about Claire.” Diana said carefully.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Pete said angrily.

“Put the gun down!” Diana yelled.

“You see, you think you’re faster than me but you’re not. This whole thing wasn’t my fault. Claire was just trying to turn me in. I had no choice!” Pete yelled. You looked at Dean, wondering what you were going to do. Well, there was one thing you could do but you would really need to concentrate.

“What about Tony? Karen?”

“Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything. It was a mess; I had to clean it up. I just panicked.” Pete rambled on.

“How many people are going to die over this?” Diana asked, trying to buy you some time.

“There’s a way out of this. Y/N is a gift. We can pin this all on her and her friends. We can kill them here so there wouldn’t have to be a trail.” He raised his gun more and leveled it with your head. You jumped in fright and you knew Sam and Dean were holding themselves back or else they would have killed Pete.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on all the things that made you angry. You thought about Dean, how he looked so broken and bruised the day of the big accident. Seeing him hurt was enough to get you angry. You thought of the feeling it made you feel.

You were dying inside at the thought of never seeing Dean again. If he died, you didn’t know what you would do with yourself. You loved him with all your heart and knowing he was hurt, made you hurt. You felt that familiar buildup of power the more you thought about it.

You remembered the doctors, trying to save his life. You remember John, dying to save his children. You remember your mom and how she died trying to save you. This was all too much for you and before you knew it, you were yelling out, the magic bubble inside you burst.

This was one of the smaller ones since you were only remembering what it was like to feel those emotions instead of actually living in it. The magic shot out of you and into the sky, knocking into Pete along the way. He wasn’t expecting it and stumbled back a bit, his gun no longer a threat to you.

Diana took that opportunity to shoot Pete in the stomach and that is when Sam and Dean took action. Dean ran to you and pulled you away from the fight while Sam fought with a bleeding Pete.

“Dean.” You said, looking up at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m right here.” He said, pulling you up and against his chest. You winced out in pain when he dug into your wrist.

“Dean, my wrists. The cuffs are too tight, they’re hurting me.” You said, looking up at him. Before he could answer, a shot ran gout and you watched as Pete fell to the ground at the spirit’s feet. As bloody as she was, she was happy he was dead. A white light appeared and she disappeared, probably to find peace now.

“Diana, you have the keys to these?” Dean asked. She nodded and took them out, tossing it to Dean. He easily caught it and unlocked them. You hissed at the pain and Dean started to rub them gently, trying to ease the pain.

At least this was all over. You hoped you weren’t going to jail.

In the morning, Diana was still reeling over the events of last night. She couldn’t believe her eyes but everything that happened was real.

“How are you doing?” You asked her, concerned.

“I’m not entirely sure. What happens to Claire now?” She asked.

“She finds peace. Look, I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with us now but please, consider this: We do this for a living. We help people and take care of the bad guys. We do what you do just in a different sense.” You said, biting your lip and holding your left wrist in your right hand. Damn, they still hurt.

“I guess that I could turn around and you could walk off. Say that you escaped.” She said, sighing.

“Can’t you lose your job or something?” You asked, thankful she would do this for you.

“Trust me, I can handle it. I would just sleep better if I knew that you were out saving people,” She said, turning to go back to her car. “Listen, just watch your back because they’ll be watching for you. Be careful. Now, go because I have to radio this in.”

“Hey, you happen to know where my car is, by chance?” Dean asked.

“It’s at the impound yard down on Robertson. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. You won’t get away with it.”

“It's okay, don't worry. We'll, uh, just improvise. I mean, we're pretty good at that.” Sam chuckled softly. He turned around and you and Dean followed your hand in his. You were glad to be back in his presence.

“Well, that was a wild ride.” You said with a sigh.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?’ Dean asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You smiled at him.

“Hey, what was that, back there with the magic? I thought you had to be angry or hurt for it to work.” Sam asked.

“I need to try and control it. Who knows when I’ll need it. There are still so many questions I have and I’m not sure who can answer them. In the meantime, I can try and control it and so far, it’s working.” You said with a shrug.

“Our lives are weird.” Dean said, walking down the road with his girlfriend and his brother.

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967@essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus@nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265@starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in–place@dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822@alexandriajanae4 @li-ssu @just-another-winchester

Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spn-applepie-imagines @tahbehonest @carribear31@tacklesackles @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl@missselinakitty @iam-a-cutiepie @kristendansmith

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @spn-applepie-imagines @hadleymcallister2177 @destielsangels @spnhybrid @oreosatmidnight @valerieshubin

[lafislife]

Title: Casualties and sorrows. Fandom: Hamilton Pairings: Lafayette x Reader Rating: M for blood, alcohol mention, some curses and smut. Rated U, for unreadable, because extremly slow burn. Word count:  16421 (around 35 pages on drive) Tagged: @serkewen12​ I am sorry for tagging you, but considering it is a birthday gift… Era: 1700s. Author’s note: Reader has not a specified gender. As such, this can be read as any gender. Have in mind that some of them will bring out historical innacuracies. More on this at the end of the fic.

You saw him for the first time as he talked with fellow soldiers, when the battalion he was part of settled camp near your parent’s farm. He conducted himself with resolution, but even then his bouncy steps gave him an air of informality you were immediately drawn to. He was excitedly talking about something, hands flailing around him as he explained it to the others, a thick, foreign accent masking his words. He seemed as young as you, maybe one or two years older, but his jovial ways could be deceiving you. He was immaculate, dressed in the continental army’s trenchcoat, blue and gold highlighting his features, hair neatly kept on a fluffy bun. You, on the other hand, were scrappy and disheveled, clothes mended so much they were beginning to tear, and your demeanor was so forgettable you could barely hope to be noticed when addressing someone directly.

Yet he looked at you.

Not only that, but he SMILED at you, soft-looking lips stretching in a gracious gesture. His friend was the one talking rapidly now, rambling about something you couldn’t catch, but his eyes were on you, gentle smile turning playful when he saw you looking at him dumbfoundedly. You quickly turned your gaze away, cheeks burning as your shame consumed you, picking at the hem of your shirt nervously, and you were so distracted belittling yourself in your mind that you did not notice his approach.

“It is lovely to have new recruits each passing day”

You looked up faster than lightning. There he was, eyes expecting, smile comforting, and your knees were suddenly weak. He was taller than you, looming a bit over your head, and although you were feeling bashful, his soothing voice and encouraging manners relieved some of the anxiety that had overtook your body.

“I am no recruit, sir. I am here helping my father sell whatever we can, Sir” you said, eyes glancing at your father as he bargained with the man in charge of the camp’s finances. But the man in front of you paid no mind to him, tongue clicking before he laughed. You had never heard someone laugh so beautifully before.

“And I am no sir, farmer” he answered, and you would have been offended by the title if it wasn’t said in a joking manner, his playful banter making you feel more at ease. “It is a shame you are not joining our efforts” he added, now looking at your father with little interest in his eyes. “We need all the help we can get. You are not on the british side, are you?” he asked bluntly, the jest hiding a serious question. You watched him carefuly, but as hard as you tried, you saw no malice in his eyes, and probably there wasn’t any in his question either.

“We are on the hungry side” you answered, “and hunger does not take sides”.

The man in front of you squinted slighly, smile turning sour before disappearing from his face as he fell silent. You felt uncomfortable, shifting a little bit from side to side and avoided looking at him directly, wondering if you should have said something different, or maybe just laughed, or maybe-

“Well-” he started, and you cowered a little bit, hoping his retaliation would not be too hard, “it isn’t every day I have the chance of meeting someone as intelligent as you. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

You blinked, confused, and dared to raise your head. You first saw his hand, stretched in front of you, and then his smirk bearing face, eyes confident and pleased. You felt something close to pride, warmth pooling over your stomach, a buzzing sensation sizzling its way from your core to every part of your body.

“(L/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you answered, stretching his hand carefully, and you were surprised his were incredibly soft. “It is I the one honored to meet you, sir…?”

“Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette” he said simply, and you were now painfully aware of your common origins, your humble clothes and your dirty face. “There are not many people such as yourself,” he said, hand firmly holding yours, “It is a shame even fewer than that decide to join our ranks”.

“People like me?”

“Quick witted, smart and humble” he stated, matter-of-factly.

Your cheeks reddened. “I am flattered, sir, but we have just met. I am sure that, time given, you would be able to find in me as many faults as you could find in any other commoner such as myself” you said, undeterred by his kindness.

“Then I would be gladly find those faults of yours, if you were to join our ranks and spend time around here”

He was smirking at you, and when your confused look was replaced with a understanding smile, his smirk grew even wider. You were now a strange mixture of pride, shyness and excitement, and you were unsure of how to keep the conversation going at that point.

“I hope you are not bothering this poor man, (Y/N)” you father said, and you got out of your trance, shaking your head. He had approached you both, bringing both your horses by the reigns.

“Not at all, sir. We were having pleasant conversation, not much more” Lafayette said, saving you from having to answer yourself. Your father watched him wearily, as he was no older than you and his accent thickened his words, but he finally nodded. He was never a man of many words.

“Well, we need to get going now. Sun is setting soon and we have to be back home before that happens”

“Understandable. I wish you have a safe journey then”

You smiled at him shyly before mounting your horse, following your father’s trail. You couldn’t help but glance behind, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he was watching you as you left, smile still plastered in his homely face.

For the first time, you were noticed.

The second time you saw him was when you were enlisting. Since your encounter, a month ago, you had not stopped thinking about this Gilbert du Motier and his cause. It was also true that the crops and cattle of your family’s farm were not looking up this year, and in your family there were now more mouths to be fed than bread on the table. The decision didn’t come hard to you, being the eldest, and one rainy summer morning you took your best horse and, after brief farewells, rode until the encampment.

You arrived well entered the afternoon, wet and hungry and muddy, but they were welcoming of any new faces that wanted to serve for the Continental army. You gave your horse away, and hugged yourself, waiting for your orders and clothes to be given to you. You scanned the place with your eyes, noticing that now a few wood cabins replaced the tents you’ve seen a month ago. The place was bigger too, taking a bit of farmland, and busier, with people coming and going everywhere.

You were a little bit disappointed that you hadn’t encounter him when you arrived, but you had expected that to be the case: a campsite this big, with so many soldiers and recruits wanting to join was rumbling with activity, and any person (even him) could be lost in this sea of people.

You were assigned a tent near the edge of the campsite, along a few of the new recruits, and you lost yourself in mundane talk about the weather, family and farming. You were so absorbed in your own thoughts you had not noticed a small troop entering the campsite, a few soldiers marching behind a rider in a white horse. You didn’t even noticed the rider issuing the troop to march ahead as he approached you until you almost crashed against it.

“Beware!” the rider said, and your eyes shot up immediately, recognizing his voice. He tried to calm his mare, as it shook its neck in nervousness “You should watch where you are going, (L/N)” he laughed “this one has a foul character. I would not get on her bad side” he said, dismounting and giving someone the reigns of his horse. He patted himself clean, stretching his uniform a little bit. You opened your mouth to answer him, but he spoke before you could say anything.

“I notice the uniform you carry under your arm. Have you finally decided to join us, (L/N)?”

“I have”.

“I hope that you did not feel the need to do so because I insisted on it”.

“Not at all” It wasn’t entirely true, but you didn’t have the heart of telling him otherwise, “My family needed fewer mouths to feed”.

“Not at all?” he repeated, arching a brow while looking at you, a curious but playful question as he ignored the second part of your statement. You laughed a little bit, a bit ashamed of how easily he saw through your lie. “I am completely distraught! I thought I was far more convincing than I actually am, then”

You should have expected him to actually be happy about convincing someone to join.

“Well, maybe you managed to stir me to action, sir” you admitted, and he smiled, satisfied with that answer. He walked with you until you arrived at the tent you were assigned to, enjoying the quiet chirping of birds and whinnies of the soldier’s horses.

“I am assigned to a cabin near the center of the campsite” he pointed at it until you spotted it, standing tall in the distance. “I would be glad to be of some help, whatever you may need”

“You are too kind, sir, but I wish not to be treated differently from anyone around here”

He seemed surprised at first, but then he smiled warmly at you. “I expected no less from you, farmer” he jested again, and you felt yourself smiling at the complicity of a shared in-joke. He nodded his head to salute you, and then made his way down the camp, shaking hands with soldiers and recruits alike.

It wasn’t until dinner that you realized he had remembered your last name, and your meaningless conversation.  You heart did a flip and your stomach filled with butterflies, and you almost dropped your small ration, realization hitting you hard.

If anyone had payed attention to you, they would have noticed your bright, red cheeks and the discrete, but genuine smile that adorned your face.

The third time you saw him, he was smiling brightly as a few soldiers helped him inside the medical bay. He had a bandaged wound on his leg, and was ignoring every worried look they gave him as he limped towards a makeshift bed. You were stationed there too, a few beds away from him, after a strong fever had taken hold of you, and you pushed yourself up too see what was going on.

“Thank you” he said as they let him rest, nurses buzzing with exitment about having a french man (and nobleman, no less) in their bay. Lafayette seemed radiant for a wounded man, and he paid no mind to the fumbling around him. You had hoped to encounter him more frequently during your stay in the camp, but war did not allow you to have much more contact than a few, discrete nods in each other’s direction as you both hurried from place to place, following orders.

But now he was here (and if Washington had sent him, according to the gossipping nurses, he was to rest here for a while), and every smart thing you wanted to say had escaped you entirely. You fussed a bit, angry at how pathetic you must have been that you could not bring yourself to say something. Finally, after two hours of fighting yourself over what to say, you decided to go for the most bland, painfully boring salutation you could think of.

“We meet again, Lafayette, sir”.

You almost punched yourself, and expected him to actually confirm what you have said, almost 4 months ago: you were boring and stupid, and if any smart comment had surprised him before, then now he would confirm that it was luck who helped you say them, not brains. But instead, he laughed heartily, fingers scratching his eyes as he snorted several times.

“To be honest, (Y/L/N),” he said, voice cracking with laughter,  “after all the time it took you to talk to me since I arrived, I expected something else”

You were completely ashamed, and your face must have shown so (mouth ajar, red cheeks and mortified eyes) because he broke into another fit of laughter, so hard and lively the nurses had to ask him to lower his voice. He shook his head, a hand resting over his hurting stomach, “I am sorry, friend, but are bearing the funniest of faces”.

You were shaken. There was too much to process right now. For instance, he had called you friend, and although a polite way of addressing you, it was something that made your stomach turn. Secondly, he had noticed you lying there, probably as he entered hours ago - even between the chaos of nurses and soldiers. Your heart was beating fast, and your mind raced for something to say before you made an even worse impression of yourself.

“You could have said something first, then” was the first thing you said, and then cringed at how demanding and disrespectful it sounded, so you quickly added, “sir.” But he just chuckled, taking it lightly, as he always seemed to do. You were not used to banter, but with a person like Gilbert it was relaxing, and it made you feel more self confident.

“You have me there. But I guess that, in the end, I had no smart introduction in mind either” he admitted, looking a bit ashamed himself, and you knew he was probably lying, just a way to make you feel better. You smiled back, and it was a silent, intimate moment until realization hit him, and his face turned serious all of a sudden. “Why were you sent in here? Have you been wounded in battle?”

“No, sir. I’ve been suffering from a recurring fever that refuses to leave, even in these warm days. But the head nurse says I will be up again in no time” you answered, and he seemed to relax at that. “You, on the other hand, seem gravely wounded. May I ask what happened?”

“‘Gravely wounded’ is giving this minute thing too much importance, my friend. It seems I angered lady luck somehow, and she had me punished for my indolence. It is barely a flesh wound though, and I expect to be on the battlefield again soon enough”

“You should take your time to rest, or you could get sick from it”

Lafayette sighed dramatically. “Now you are speaking just like Washington. And the soldiers. And the nurses. I expected more of you, (YL//N)”

This time you just laughed, certainly knowing it to be a joke. “I am sorry I am bringing disappointment to you, 'my dear friend’-” you mimicked him, “but I am much more concerned about your well being than about your concept of me”.

Lafayette laughed, and then stayed silent for a few seconds before answering, “I am certainly flattered to hear you say so. Back in France, you had to truly care for someone for you to sacrifice their good concept of you, even if it was for the sake of that someone’s well being”.

Before you could even think of it, you spat “Then it must be a horrible place to live”

“It is, if you do not care for pretensions and hypocrisy” he said, tone dead as he shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“And you did not, my friend,” he smiled again, though it was half heartedly, “but for all the hate I have for its traditions and customs, I do miss my country the most. I left a lot I cared for behind when I came here”

You stayed silent, afraid that anything you said would aggravate the man even more than you already had. You looked at him, and although his expression was unreadable, there was a glint of melancholy in his eyes.

“You will see your homeland again, I am sure” you tried to console the man, but he barely nodded, eyes seeming distant. You wanted to say something, anything to fix what you have said, but you knew best, and remained silent.

Sometimes there are things one cannot fix with words.

The next week was one of the best you ever have lived. His brooding demeanor from the first day had gone as fast as it came, and the next morning he was beaming again, talking excitedly about the battle he partook in. Defeated as they were in Brandywine, he took pride on the organized retreat, and talked very highly of the men that held their position so they could safely avoid the british soldiers on their way back to Chester.

He helped the wounded and the sick keep their high spirits, and it was a good thing to have him around. He would talk excitedly about why he had decided to join the american revolution, and although you had first joined because of pragmatism, you were now finding a new meaning in this messy war. You realized now that he was, indeed, convincing, not because he particularly tried to be, but because his passion showed in every word, eyes bright and words determined, a flame that was quick to spread to the hearts of man and woman alike. He had even rejected to be moved to a more private room (being that he was here on Washington’s orders), on the pretense that he was to be treated like any other soldier.

Although he was one to enjoy conversations, he spent a lot of time reading, either books or letters. The latter he answered promptly, most of the time after dinner, and you found that the scratching sound of his quill against the paper, or the tinkling of the feathertip against the edge of the inkwell helped you fall asleep. One day he caught you as he wrote one of his responses, late at night, and he smiled.

“I hope you are not peeking what I write” he said, without even giving you a sideways glance. “I would be ashamed if my secrets were spilled so carelessly. You seem like a person that enjoys gossiping”

You clicked your tongue, feigning insult at his words. “I am most certainly not. And even if I did want your secrets to be spilled, I would have to find other means to do so, since I am not able to read”.

Lafayette turned to watch you immediately, eyes wide in outright horror. "You are not able to read?” you shook your head before resting it against your pillow. “And what about writing?” you shook your head again. “How come you have never learnt to do such things?”

“Not all of us are born lucky enough to learn. As a farmer, you do not need to write fancy letters in nice strokes” you said, moving your hand in the air as if you were writing with an imaginary quill. “You need to plow the fields, ride a horse, and take care of the animals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But what about your family? I am sure they must be waiting to hear from you”

“And they will, if something were to happen to me. Until then, I guess that no news means good news”

Lafayette seemed deeply unsatisfied with that, but did not comment further, and you did not want to push it either. You turned your back to him and blew the candle next to you, closing your eyes as you snuggled your pillow. You heard as he shifted, the distinct quick scratch the quill made when he signed his letters signaling the end of his writing.

“What if I taught you?” you heard his voice, and although you were already drowsy, you opened your eyes at that. He was putting away his letters, his writing tools already discarded on his bedside table.

“I-” you paused, unsure, “ I do not know why would you want to do such thing. There is no need for that. I am a commoner and-”

“And you deserve to be able to read and write like any other. The question was not if you deserve it or not, the question was if you were willing to learn” he said, and there was an edge of authority to his voice that made you think twice before answering.

“What would you want in return, sir?” you asked, carefully, and he scoffed, this time really offended. You did not know if it was because of the formal way of addressing him, or because you thought he wanted something in return.

“I want nothing in return!” he spat. So it was the latter.

He took the time to calm himself before continuing, “I just want you to learn. You may not need this particular ability as of now, but it may turn useful in the future. And there is much delight on using your leisure time to read a good book” he added, and you were moved by his kindness towards you. Granted, you were not strangers anymore, but considering his high birth and your low one, you would never had expected him to willingly teach you.

“I-” you started, but you stopped in the middle of your sentence, completely speechless.  "I would be delighted" you finally mustered, and his response was a content, satisfied smile before he blew his nightstand’s candle away.

You didn’t know it was going to be this hard. A task that seemed so mundane to him was actually a headache to you, the many shapes of the letters and the words they formed were already making you dizzy. You struggled with particularly long words, and you were shy of reading out loud to him (even when he insisted on it), afraid he will laugh at your lack of talent.

But he did none of that. Instead, he watched you patiently as you read, slowly at first, but gaining speed day after day, and he was sure to encourage you when your motivation faltered. Even his corrections were said in such a gentle manner you did not once feel ashamed of making a mistake.

His wound was making great progress too. It was the fourth week since he arrived, and although a small fever had taken over him, he was now looking strong. His wound was practically healed now, and he enjoyed short afternoon walks around the ward’s perimeter. You had joined him, once or twice, but you were warned against it after a persisting cough had taken over you.

You had stopped to watch him interact with other soldiers in the ward. Lafayette seemed the kind of man anyone found agreeable: smart and kind, with keen ears and a big heart. A man that could so easily be the centre of attention every day of his life prefered instead to sit back and enjoy quietly as other men told their stories, smiling and laughing and mourning alongside them.

You had also come to understand him better. The crinkle on his nose when something displeased him, the soft shaking of his head, eyes narrowing as he tried to understand something he did not, the small tilt of his head when he truly enjoyed a conversation. You could even tell the difference between his real smiles (eyes gentle, its corners wrinkling, mouth relaxed in a beautifully curved shape) and his fake ones.

So you knew something was definitely wrong as he stared out of the window, the book on his lap completely forgotten, fingers tracing random patterns on its surface. It was a rainy day, ugly dark clouds covering the entirety of the sky.

“You seem distressed lately” you stated.

He glanced at you, smiling shortly before looking through the window again. “I am, my friend. I do not enjoy being idle while there is a war to be fought and won out there”.

“But you are not idle,” you were quick to answer, “you are healing. You need to be healthy before you get out there again” he glanced at you, lips pressed together into a tight line. He seemed restless, and you knew that the fact that he could not even go for a walk was getting on his nerves. “You are going to be ready in no time, Lafayette. There is no use in losing your mind over it.”

He deflated at that, shoulder dropping into a hunched position. He stopped fidgeting with his hands, and he fell in a deeper silence than before, brow now deeply furrowed and eyes displeased. You did not know if this defeated state was even worse than his previous anxious one.

You felt you needed to do something about it. Anything to make the man smile again; it was all you could do after all he had done to you.

“I was always curious about France.” you blurted out. Lafayette looked at you, confused, and you cleared your throat to regain composure. “I want to know about the parts of it you did like after all” you said, and his face lit up at the request. As much as he hated his country’s ways, he was excited to share the stories he had lived there, the people he had met and his favourite places to be. He had already shared about his infamous escape as he made his way to America (and to this day, you weren’t sure if he was joking or not when he said he dressed as a woman to do so), and the entire ward had exploded in laughter when they heard him tell the story of his dance with Marie Antoinette.

"What would you like to know in particular?” he asked, excitedly, and you melted when you saw him smile again, truthfully this time around.

“What about food? Is it really different from the food we have here?”

“Oh, mon innocent ami, you have not the slightest idea of how different it is” he said, and he sounded almost pained. “I miss the cakes the most, the rich strawberry cream and the fresh baked bread of the bakeries.” he said longingly, and you wondered if he missed France’s food more than he missed its people.

He rambled on about all the food he liked, but you were distracted by the way his hair seemed to bounce at his every movement (just like its owner), or the way his eyes gleamed as he brightly smiled. He was a handsome man (you knew that since the day you met him), but you were just now noticing the small things that made Gilbert, well, Gilbert. Your favourite part, though, was his laughter. It was always heartfelt, deep and rich, and for you it was a balm against hopelessness.

There was nothing you would not do to hear the man laugh.

You had hoped to keep him in high spirits, but a rainy day had become rainy weeks, and the mugginess of the air had you relapsing on your fever. You had been moved to a ‘private room’, a way to described a small, single-bedded alcove with barely any contact with the exterior but for a small, dirty window you were too tired to open. They have said that you needed something weird, a long word you could not remember, and they locked you up like a rabid dog.

Not that you could complain about the room. You could barely keep yourself awake, so most of your day was spent sleeping, and when you did manage to get up, you were too weak to even hold a quill. The first few days you had spent entirely alone, but on the fourth day of your quarantine, an armchair was placed in your room,  and Lafayette was there, reading in silence.

It made you feel at ease, and had you  been able to gather enough strength for it, you would have thanked him properly.

By the fifth day, you could manage to keep yourself awake for a full half an hour before succumbing to sleep. Your body ached in many places, joints tight and unmoving, and your sweat clung uncomfortably to you. You were dizzy most of the time too, and eyes were so sore that reading gave you an almost instant headache. Lafayette was constantly there, or so you thought, because anytime you awoke he was sitting across the room, most of the times reading or writing under candlelight.

Lafayette had been positive at first, smiling at you anytime you two talked, but you realized soon enough that his optimistic demeanor was a facade to make you feel better. If he was restless before, now he was outright frantic, and he constantly pleaded the nurses to check on you.

“Lafayette?” you whispered one night, and you saw something shift on the armchair. It was late at night (you knew because you could not hear the usual rustling of the kitchen workers, a floor below), and you did not expect him to be there.

“Yes, my dear?” he said, placing his book on a tiny table besides his armchair before walking up to your bed.

He waited patiently as your brow furrowed. You did not understand. It was so late at night, but still he seemed to be there, reading. He said nothing, and although your vision was blurry, you could see him worriedly looking down at you.

“You aren’t sleeping” you stated.

“No, I am not. I do believe I am awake, talking to you” he said, and although it meant to be a joke, it was delivered humorlessly.

You kept yourself silent. You knew what you wanted to say, more or less, but was either too tired or too confused to actually muster it. When you did speak, it was slow and slurred, and it took you a few deep breaths to even form a full sentence.

If Lafayette minded, he did nothing to show it.

“I know. I meant it is late, and you are not sleeping”

“It seems sleep has decided to elude me tonight. But please, do not worry about me, I am sure I’ll be able to get plenty of rest soon enough.”

After that, you both stayed silent for a bit. Your head was a blurry mess of ideas and words and things you wanted to say to him, but none of it stayed long enough on your mind for you to actually say something.

You spotted the book he abandoned on the table, and before the question could escape you, you asked,“Were you reading?”. He nodded at you. “I haven’t been able to read” you said, and when he did not say anything, you continued, “I do miss it”.

He sadly smiled. “You will be able to read soon, my dear. Have patience”

You kept quiet for a bit, shifting in bed. “Could you read it outloud for me?” you finally asked, “you don’t have to start over. I just want to hear someone’s voice, and I do not think I’ll be able to hold a conversation”

Lafayette watched you carefully. You were too dizzy to tell his expression apart, and lamented not being able to do so before he turned around and sat down on his armchair. He grabbed the book carefully, opened it up where he had left, and began reading. You immediately realized how patient he had been with your own reading: the words flowed perfectly out of his mouth, and although his accent was thick and you could not understand many of the words, his intonation was perfect.

He read for a while, and although you were trying to pay attention to him, your condition was deteriorating by the minute. Your dizziness worsened, your stomach churned and your body ached so badly that even the smallest of movements had you cringing in pain. You were feeling weak already, and the worsening of your symptoms was not giving you much hope.

Lafayette seemed to sense your discomfort, because he promptly closed his book, crossing the room in two long strides. “(Y/L/N)? How are you feeling?”

Your breathing was labored by this point, and you were a shuddering mess. You were feeling scalding hot and extremely cold at the same time, and you had broken a sweat. “Body aches a lot.” you said trembling, “And the room is spinning”. You know It was coming.

Lafayette’s horror stricken face seemed to confirm it.

You heard him shift for a while before he placed his coat over your body, trying to add an extra layer of warmth.  You wanted to complain, since this would mean he would be cold now, but he did not allow for you to even speak.

“Is there anything else you would like?. Water, or some food? I’ll have a nurse-” he stuttered anxiously.

“Lafayette-”

“-bring you some hot soup from the kitchens if you need to eat. And i could tell them to summon-”

“Lafayette, I-”

“-a doctor so he can check you up. You cannot give up now, my dear, just tell me what you need and I’ll-”

“Gilbert!” you exclaimed, aggravated.

He stopped at that. The silence was so sudden it  became deafening; He was still, so still you could not even hear his breathing. Had you not been able to see him, you would have thought you were alone in the room.

“May I ask you to do me a favour?” it was hard for you to speak, and you were glad he was so silent, because most of it came out as a whisper. Lafayette came closer to you, uncertain, and he gulped when you looked him so directly in the eye.

“Whatever you need, my dear. I am here for you”

You sighed. You had luckily rehearsed what you were going to ask, many times in your head, so even if you had a pounding headache and an intense fever, you were sure of what you wanted to say. You had been since they locked you up in that jail cell of a room.

“If I were not to survive this-” you started.

“But you will survive this!” Lafayette exclaimed, distraught at how easily you seemed to be accepting your demise. “This is barely a fever. When the rains are over, you will recover in no time, (Y/N)”

“I know. But listen to me. If I were not to survive this” you said, and you paused,expecting his interruption. This time, there was none. “Could you go to my family?” you coughed. “Not write. They do not know how to read either” you said, and you shifted until you found a somewhat comfortable position. Your hair was sticking to your sweaty forehead uncomfortably, but you could not gather the energy to move it away. “It doesn’t have to be as soon as it happens. Just-” you sighed tiredly, “would you let them know?”

He was silent. His expression was unreadable, as it always was when he was deep in thought, and when silence became too uncomfortable to bear, you regretted asking such a thing of him. You were about to ask him to forget it, to forget such heinous request, when he spoke:

“Of course I would, my dear” he said, taking one of your hand on both of his, “Of course I would”

You smiled, mouthing a small ‘thank you’ as you closed your eyes. You felt weak, and tired and sleepy, but there was relief in you, the terrible request not weighing you down anymore. You enjoyed the way his soft hands enveloped yours, his warmth pooling all over your freezing skin.

Had you been able to see him, you would have caught the way his breath hitched at your smile, brow incredibly furrowed in despair. If you had stayed awake, just a little longer, you would have felt the way he drew your hand to his lips, mumbling desperate prayers against each of your knuckles. Had you been able to see him there, alone in the dead of night, you would have noticed the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.

And then maybe, just maybe, you would have understood.

Your fever had passed just as Lafayette predicted, when the heavy rains and damp air gave way to cold, sunny mornings with breeze so crisp that made your whole body feel lighter. He had stayed by your side undeterred, even against the warning of nurses and doctors alike, and he seemed truly happy when you showed signs of recovery. You were able to keep yourself awake longer each day, and Lafayette even dared, under your constant insistence, to go out and enjoy a sunny walk around the park.

You were able to return to your reading and writing soon enough, and Gilbert was there to teach you. You still got stuck in the longer words, and sometimes you had to re-read a passage to make sense of it, but your improvement was astounding. You were also able to write longer paragraphs now, and although your penmanship was not as refined and curly as Lafayette’s, you were able to write legible letters.

Although you hadn’t noticed straight away, you realized you had taken to use each other’s first name. The sudden awareness of the informal adressing had made you blush, but ultimately you felt happy with how close you two had become over the days. He did not mention anything about it, either, and you decided you were not going to comment on it.

After two weeks of care you were ready to leave quarantine, and you were able to go back to the common room. You had missed the window next to your bed the most, and when you looked through it, you were glad to see Lafayette briskly walking down the park, enjoying the scenery. When he looked up, you casually waved at him, and when realization hit him that you were finally out of confinement, he rushed to you as much as propriety allowed, giant smile never leaving his face.

As happy was you were about being able to be back in your room, you were quick to notice that you were not the only one that was healthy.

Lafayette’s wound was already healed. He could perfectly walk, and there was no longer a risk of infection, although it had left an ugly-looking scar behind. He seemed happy about it, yet he seemed to be stalling his departure time and time again, even if weather have been good for days on end.

One day, when the nurses allowed you, you had joined him on one of his afternoon walks. He had been silent, deep in thought, and you had learnt to respect his silences by now, enjoying instead the comfort of his presence besides you.

“I’ll be riding soon. It could be as soon as tomorrow after lunch” he said after a while, without glancing in your direction. You felt a pang of pain in your heart, but dismissed it, focusing on him instead. You knew how much he wanted to return to the battlefield, and you were glad he was finally able to do so. You even wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner, all things considered.

“Those are great news!” you smiled, but your lips trembled, your smile tight and insincere.“Where are you going to be stationed now?” you asked, trying to ignore your heartache, and the tight knot that was rapidly forming in your throat. You had enjoyed his company, and were now too attached to it. The thought of being alone once again hurt you more than you thought.

“I am going to be leading a division down in New Jersey” he said, and you knew he was trying to keep his excitement at bay. You did not understand why. He stepped right in front of you, stopping you on your tracks.

“I have to be honest with you, my friend. I waited two months for this day, and now that it finally came, I can’t help but feel nothing but disquiet.”

You frowned at him, extremely confused. “Why?”

To that, Lafayette did not answer. Instead, he looked away from you, down the hills that stretched far beyond eye’s reach. Sunbeams from a setting sun were filtering through the dying leaves of an old oak, and casted weird light patterns on Lafayette’s face. His shoulders were tight, and although you could not see them, you knew he was fidgeting with his hands behind his back.

He started walking again, pacing to and fro the pathway. You looked at him, without any idea of what to say or do, so you waited him to do it. After a few minutes of tense silence he finally sighed, shoulders relaxing as he walked towards you.

“It is I now the one that has to ask for a favour, my dear”

His term of endearment did not go unnoticed. “You know you can ask anything of me, Gilbert - I owe you a great deal”

He nodded and he felt silent again, and for a second you thought he wasn’t going to ask anything of you after all. But then he glanced at you, eyes deep with emotion, and he seemed to finally have made his mind up.

“I may need to make a confession first” he said, tone grave, and your mind raced with every little thing that he may have kept hidden from you. Nothing came to mind. “It was not a selfless act of mine teaching you how to read and write. I knew this day would come, and I could not bare leaving knowing I would not receive word from my dearest friend. So I selfishly imposed on you my desire, and now I impose myself on you once more” he said, and there was a hint of desperation in the way he spoke, as if he was afraid of the answer you would give him. “I would like to be updated on your condition, and by your own hand, if you may”

“You are asking me to write you letters?” you asked in disbelief, not because you weren’t completely thrilled by the idea, but because you had not hoped he would want to keep in contact with you.

“Only if you would have it” he said, quickly, misinterpreting your question for unpleasantness.  “I would not like you to feel forced to do it”

He seemed surprised when, instead of rejecting him, you grinned at him. “It would be my pleasure” you admitted, but were quick to add, “on the condition you try and answer them, from time to time. I know you will be busy, but I would like to hear from you, too” you said, and he was practically beaming, a weight clearly lifting from his chest. Even then, he tried to keep his composure on check, but the bright eyes and dusty pink cheeks gave him away entirely.

“Thank you, my dear” he said, holding one of your hands on his, a habit he had taken up during your sick days. “I would not have had the heart of leaving you behind like this otherwise”.

You tightened your grip on his hand, and gave the only response you could think of: the most sincere, grateful smile you had.

The next two months you spent in in the company of other soldiers, but they came and went so quickly you did not have much chance of making close relationships with them. You had sent word to Lafayette as often as you could, and although sometimes he delayed, he always made sure to send word back.

For that, you were grateful.

He had the thoughtfulness of leaving behind several books from his collection. You treated then with the utmost care, and have taken to even read outloud to sick soldiers, when the weather did not allow you to go for a walk. You did not want to admit it, but the ward lacked energy since Lafayette departed.

When your sickness had passed, on the first few days of the New Year, you were as ready to departure as ever. Now that you could read, you had read as many pamphlets and declarations as you possibly could have, and you could not help but understand why Lafayette had been so passionate about the American cause. He had convinced you to join before, but now your energy was completely renewed.

You were to join Washington’s forces down in Valley Forge, and you promptly told Lafayette about the good news. You had expected to meet him there, but he was sent on an expedition to Canada by the time you arrived. You were disappointed, but you have decided to put your head and body to work, having to make up for the time you lost being sick.

When you arrived, you were completely shaken by what you saw.

Camp was a mess: food was lacking, most of the men were disease ridden, and the situation seemed to worsen by the day. Winter was not helping either, and although you were happy to be back on the field, you discovered that soldiers were treated with little dignity, or none at all. Most of them had not much to eat, fires were weak and sparse, and there were many tents dedicated to the wounded and sick.

Why Lafayette had not told you about this, you had no idea.

It was not until the last days of April that you saw Gilbert again. You were usually helping the sick and wounded, as you have learnt how to do so during your time on the ward. The rise in temperature seemed to work wonders for everybody’s health, but stray cold days still threatened to do harm. You were trying to light a fire when the sound of war trumpets signaling the approach of allied forces broke around camp.

You went outside, and saw him just as he dismounted, walking rapidly into General Washington’s tent.You barely caught a glimpse of him, but he seemed to be fine, and you limited yourself to see if any of the newly arrived needed medical attention.

He came to you when night had already settled, crickets screaming forcefully into the cold air. You had been reading a pamphlet, just outside your tent, holding your candle just above it so you could see the fainting words.

“Does it say something interesting?”

Your face lit up at his voice, and you abandoned the pamphlet as soon as he spoke, a wide smile adorning your face. He seemed delighted too, although very much tired.

“It is good to see you again, Gilbert. Letters could never replace the joy of talking to you in person.” His smile was as wide as yours, and you could see in his eyes that he was as happy as you were. He was about to say something, but you quickly added, “or must I say General Lafayette?” you said, raising a brow.

He scoffed. “You should, my friend” he said sarcastically, “although you have me confused. Should I use soldier or farmer?”

You laughed, and before checkin no one else was watching, have him a tight squeeze of his shoulder. He immediately took your hand, squeezing it gently “I am glad you are back. How long will you be stationed here?”

“For as long as General Washington deems it necessary” he answered.  “Rest assured I won’t leave without at least having you read me your favourite passage from Phillis Wheatley”

“I did not know you for a man that liked poetry, General Lafayette” you said playfully, your fingers gracing the soft skin of his hand.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, dear. Many things”

You kept meeting with Lafayette, more often than not during nighttime. You shared bitter ale as you jested with each other, and talked until you both were so tired that you could not keep yourselves awake. In particularly calm nights, you shared walks around the darker parts of camp,hands holding each other tightly.

During the day, you barely met. You had caught a glimpse of him during the French Alliance celebration, as he stood firmly next to General Washington. Dressed in blue and gold, with his sword dangling from his belt and his hair perfectly tied in a tight bun, he had almost looked regal (and you both laughed at the irony of it, when you commented it that same night).

Two weeks later, he approached you, face serious. “What happened? Favourite ale is over?” you jested, but when he did not respond, you started to worry. “Gilbert, is something the matter?”

“I am to leave camp soon. We need to asses Barren Hill before we decide on any course of action”

“When are you to march?”

“Tomorrow morning, midday at most” he said, mouth tight.

“I see” You both shared in the silence of the night. It was moonless, so besides your candle there was not much light to lit up the place. You tried to look into his eyes, but they were harder than usual. You did not know if he felt tiredness or disappointment. Probably the former. “I am sorry to hear that. I would have hoped you had more time to rest after your exped-”

“Come with us” he said suddenly, and when you looked at him incredulously he just cleared his throat, abashed at his blurted-out request. “I mean, you could join the battalion, if you wished to do so”

You stayed silent for a while, before smiling “Do you want me to?”

“I do not think your decision should be based on what I desire, my friend”

“But do you want me to?” you insisted. He stayed silent, studying your face with a mixture between admiration and something else you could not quite decipher. But you just smiled reassuringly, and after a while he just sighed, defeated.

“I do. I would like you to.”

“Then we better rest, my dear Gilbert” you said, and for once you were the one to take one of his hands on yours, “we have a long journey ahead of us”.

It was the 20th of may when you had first met war, face to face. Until now, you had only dealt with its results: hunger and sickness and blood and pain. Now you knew what it really looked like. It was death.

You had been surrounded during the night, and when the left flank fled in chaos, they have failed to notify the general. Lafayette heard of the attack almost too late, and immediately organized his troops. He had approached you, the first time you had seemed him so angry and disheveled, atop his white mare:

“I need you to go to the southern outcropping and shoot from the woods” he said, between pants. You have never seen him like that, breath ragged and face reddened with effort, and you were completely paralyzed “NOW” he screamed, and you went scrambling, taking the lead of a small group of men as you made your way up the outcrop and into the forest.

You kept shooting the enemy, time and time again. You could see, from up there in the outcropping, as the chaos of his forces had become an organized retreat, down a road the british had failed to blockade.

The british attack was a complete failure.

When the retreat was done, you (and those who had survived the skirmish around the woods) made your tiring journey back to Valley Forge. You arrived way past midnight, hungry and thirsty, and were immediately dismissed to rest.

Lafayette met you the very next night, and he seemed worried sick. “My friend, my dearest friend” he said, grabbing one of your hands and taking them to his lips, an act so caring and passionate you were immediately reduced to a blushing mess, “I put you under such danger. I am so sorry.”

When you could finally gather your bearings, you covered one of his hands with yours, and caressed it lightly, “You have nothing to be sorry about, Gilbert. I am pleased you could bring your men back safely”

He sighed, taking your hand with his until he had it laying flat on his chest. “You are a gentle soul, my dear” he said, but you knew there was something more behind those eyes, a pain you could not yet comprehend, “I could have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you”

You blushed so hard you had to look elsewhere, afraid he would be displeased with your reaction. If he saw it, he mentioned it not.

If you thought the Battle at Barren Hill had been chaotic was because you had not yet lived the inferno that was the battle at Monmouth. The heat was so strong you were sweating even before the battle broke out, but when it did, and bodies and horses started clashing at each other, you swore you were in Hell.

The air was so dusty you could barely breathe, and your chest felt so tight you felt as if it was going to collapse on you. You had shot, and pierced and blocked with your bayonet, but the battle was so confusing you weren’t sure you were aiming at the right people anymore. So you stood there, panting desperately, trying to get a sense of direction under a cloud of dust that allowed it not.

Screaming was the worst part after the heat: it pierced your ears, and it was making you want to run away in panic. They issued orders, they pleaded, they wailed. You heard it all: people that screamed for water, for help. You could listen the anguished cries of soldiers as they were either shot, stabbed or trampled. You could listen to the sobs of dying men, that in whispering pleas asked you to kill them, to end their misery.

It was maddening.

By midday you could barely hold your gun straight. By sundown you had collapsed under the heat, panting heavily and throat burning. Your mouth felt dusty and your body ached in every place it could. It wasn’t until well entered the night, when temperatures had dropped,  that you could muster the strength to get up.

“Please…”

You were barely up when you heard that plea. There was a hand barely raised in your direction, a man with his back resting against a tree stump near the edge of the forest, 30 yards from you. You walked feebly, swaying from side to side, as you approached the man.

The red coat gave him away.

“Please” he repeated, watching at you with sullen eyes. There were bloodstains in one of his legs, He was shot somewhere around the knee, if not in the knee itself. “Please help me. I cannot walk”

You eyed him, eyelids heavy with tiredness and thirst. You could barely held yourself up, much less hold the weight of another man.

“Please” he wailed again, and when you tried to answer him, you realized you could not, throat throbbing in pain. You took a hand to your neck and swallowed painfully, and you could feel sharp bits of dust gnawing the flesh of your throat. Your face cintorted in pain, and when your mouth tightened, your lips blistered. “I have water”

The soldier pointed at a skin bag that seemed half full. It was probably not his, as it was laying a few feet away from him, and no other soldier seemed to have spotted it in the middle of the fray. In fact, it was a miracle it was still intact, considering the chaos of the battle.

You practically lunged over it, hands trembling heavily as you took out its lid. You raised it against your lips, and you sobbed painfully when water hit your throat, tears spilling out of your eyes. You drank, and drank and drank, but stopped when your eyes opened and you saw the blurry shape of the englishman.

His lips were as blistered and dry as yours.

You lowered the skin bag. He did not plead anymore, instead choosing to watch you carefully. He flinched when you approached, but his eyes widened when you offered him the skin bag.

“Drink” you said, but your throat was still sore, so it barely came as a whisper.

You did not have to ask the man twice. He drank the rest of the skin bag, relief hitting his face as much as it had yours a few seconds ago. When he was finished, you took the skin bag out of his hands, put the lid on it and threw it over your shoulder.

“Creek nearby” you said, trying to use as few words as you could, “can limp?” you asked him. When he nodded, you helped him to his feet, and cringed when he screamed in pain. Blood was not gushing out of his skin, and you realized the bullet must have cauterized the wound as it pierced it.

The next hour was even worse than the time you spent sick at the ward, more than 6 months ago. Your legs were weak, and the added weight of the wounded man was wearing you down quicker than you thought it would. The water ration had helped, but you were still feeling heavily dehydrated and hungry, and if you did not find a river soon, you would both probably die.

You had walked, and walked and walked, and there was nothing but silence and the mocking screams of the crickets. You would have cried, but your eyes were dry. The englishman weight was becoming unbearable,  and you would have given up had not been for what you saw, just a few miles down a hill.

Small fires in the distance. Flame light dancing over french and american flags alike. You had made it back.

Your legs trembled, and you wanted to scream for all that was dear to you. The voice would not come to you, and although you kept going by sheer will, your steps were staggering, knees weak. You were going to fall down soon, unable to hold the weight anymore. Your body burned with exhaustion.

You were so close. Just a few more steps.

And then you broke down. You sobbed tearlessly, and pleaded and prayed to whichever god for the guards to see you, for them to be watching in the right direction when they patrolled around the camp’s barricade, as you took step after step after step towards it.. And when your knees bent in the wrong direction and you fell down, you screamed in rnge and frustration, a scream that hurt and burned and tore your throat apart.

But you did not care. You had failed.

When after a while you heard rushed footsteps and screams of soldiers, you closed your eyes tightly and thanked, thanked whoever have heard your pleas. When you felt the tug of your fellow soldiers as they ushered you to your feet, his orders falling on your unhearing ears, you turned around, eyes filled with joy, as you tried to look over your british companion.

He was sprawled perfectly still on the ground., face pale and eyes dim, and his head was bent in a weird uncomfortable angle, his lips red with dried blood. He was being nudged with soft kicks and a few pokes of a gun, but he remained unresponsive, eyes towards the sky, and for a second, he looked almost peaceful.

You had wanted to scream, and struggle, and just outright yell at him for giving up on you, for yielding as quickly as he had. Instead, you fell down in the hands of your helpers, body limp, and you shut down to the world entirely.

There is so much tragedy one can take on a day, and you have had your fill.

After that, days became a succession of raising and setting suns. Summer had slipped by without you giving it much care, and when you could stand up again, you were sent home to rest for a season without much more than your pay and a pat in your back.

If Lafayette had heard about your return, he showed not a sign of it.

So you had marched home, ashamed and soul-broken, wondering what was next, if there was even a next. But when you came home, late in august, you were received by the kind embrace of your mother and the pain eased, and you knew that maybe, just maybe, you needed to give it a little more time to heal.

You did not receive word from Gilbert, but at that point, you were not expecting it anymore. Instead, you were focusing on helping your father with the farm and your mother with your siblings, and tried to find solace in the way their love and happiness was slowly seeping into you.

So when a cold november morning your father said you had visit, you expected your friend from the farm across the hills, or maybe Gilly, the girl from the bakery that came to your farm for milk and eggs.

Instead, you were greeted by the warm brown eyes of major general Lafayette, dressed in blue, and gold, and white, and for a second you were confused, believing you were dreaming.

“Are you not going to greet me?” he said, and as much as you had wanted to know what he was feeling, there was nothing, not a glint in his eyes or a tug at the corner of his lips, not even the tone of his voice, gave him away.

“I am sorry, sir” you answered when prompted, “I had not expected to see you around here”

“Is this a fellow soldier, (Y/N)?” your father asked after you two fell silent, and although you gave your father a compromising look, Lafayette’s eyes stayed on you, boring you down.

“You have already met him, father, but allow me. This is Major General Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette” you introduced, and just then did Lafayette’s eyes leave you, shaking hands with your father. “General LaFayette, sir, this is my father, (Y/F/N)(Y/L/N)”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir” Gilbert said. “But I do admit I am on a rush. Would you be so kind to give me leave to talk with (Y/N) alone?”

Your father looked at you confused, and although you pleaded him to not abandon you with your eyes, he gave Lafayette a nod and entered the house again. You sighed, defeated, and stayed in silence, not knowing really what to say.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and you looked at him confused.

“I’m fine, thank-”

“Then walk with me, (L/N)” he said coldly, and started to walk. The use of your last name did not go unnoticed.

You looked at the comfort of your warm house behind you and wondered if you could just run inside and hide from Gilbert’s wrath. You were fine with leaving the army behind, the cruelness of starvation and disease now a distant memory in your mind.

“(Y/L/N)” he called again, and it was said with his authoritative voice, and you have become so used to following orders you started walking towards him. You were suddenly reminded of your walks around the medical ward, a year ago, but the setting was so different that for a moment, you wondered if you were mistaken memories with dreams

You walked in silence, down a road that gave way to your family’s orchard, and Lafayette only stopped when your house was barely visible through the apple trees’ branches. He started pacing back and forth, as he always did when he felt uneasy. When he made up his mind, he turned around you, hands held tightly behind his back.

“You left the army” he said, matter-of-factly.

You feigned looking over his shoulder. “I don’t see you leading a battalion either, General, sir” you said, and his mouth flattened, as if he had tasted something sour.

“I am on leave. I am to go to France as soon as I am able to” he answered, and you felt your blood freeze. You did not understand what was he doing here if he was to leave the country. Was it to berate you? To mock you? To call on your cowardice, for leaving the army?

“You must have lost your way then, sir” you said, sarcasm filling your voice. You were getting so tired you could not help but answer in a mean-intentioned jest, “the harbor is miles away from here”.

Lafayette’s brow furrowed at your comment. If he was angry before, now he seemed livid, and he was starting to use the height difference between you to loom over you. But you were having none of it. This time, you stood your ground

“So what is your reason for leaving, the army then?”

“They gave me leave. I was sent home to rest” you answered, but his face told you he was not satisfied with that. You were getting tired of his attitude towards you. “I almost died out there”

“By helping a british soldier, I heard, yes” he spat, and you were immediately filled with such rage that you could not feel the cold around you anymore. You have never felt the desire to punch someone as badly as you felt it now.

“By helping a wounded soldier” You said, and he seemed to back down at that, so you pushed further, “by helping a person”.

“He was the enemy (Y/L/N)!” he said, exasperated.

“You have your ideals, and your honour and your dignity. Nothing of that matters! War can label us however war wants! Enemies, allies, french and british and american” you started, a knot forming in your throat as you spoke, “But hunger does not discriminate, Gilbert! Disease does not. Death does not! And I am not about to.”

The next thing you knew you were pressed against a tree trunk, and he was close, closer than he ever was to you before. His eyes were on you, and there was such fury behind them that it took all your might not to cower in fear. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and unpleasant, and his lips were so tightly pressed together that all that remained was a thick, pale line.

“You could have been called a traitor!” he said, and his voice was stiff, like it required him all his strength not to lash out on you. “You could have died!”

“But my ideals would have not!” you answered, defiant, and you cowered when he rose his hand. Yo heard the dry sound of the tree trunk being hit, and when you opened our eyes again Lafayette had his eyes closed, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His fist had landed right besides your face.

You both stayed still for what seemed like hours. He was slowly relaxing, and you heard him exhale tiredly, his other hand lifting so he was encircling you with both his arms. You did not expect to find grief in his eyes when they opened, and yet again, there was that unmistakable something you could not quite place.

“You do not understand”  he stepped back, hands falling limply at his side “You never seem to” he added, and he seemed almost disappointed.

“General, I-”

But Lafayette scoffed angrily, clenching his fists again. He shook his head, and turned around, starting to walk down the path that lead to your house. He had turned around to you again, pointing at you, as if he were going to say something, but he sighed, defeated, and lowered his hand.

“I am glad you are alright, (Y/L/N)” he said before turning once again, this time not looking back. You followed him with your eyes, until he was out of your sight, and then allowed yourself to crumble to the ground, quick shallow breaths coming out of your mouth, as all the courage from before dissipated into thin air.

He was here, and he hated you and he was going back to France, and you would never see him again, and the only thing you could do, your final goodbye, was berating him even more.

So you cried. You cried bitter tears of pain, of frustration, of fear. Not once before you were allowed to do so, but now you could not contain them anymore. It was a relief you did not know you needed, since you have numbed yourself down with family affairs, and now it was all coming out in ugly sobs.

So you let it all out. You wailed, and you screamed and you whimpered, and you kicked and you punched into the air until there were no more tears to be spilled, no more memories to cry about, no more pain to hide behind fake smiles.

You didn’t return to your house until well into the evening

You had not seen Lafayette for almost three years now. You have returned to the army after spring of 1779 had come around, now fully recovered from your heat stroke. Your family was reluctant to let you go, but in the end, they needed the money more than they needed a child, and you have had your fill of farm duty.

You had rejoined the war efforts, and in doing so, were aware of Gilbert return from France. You had thought about sending him a letter, but ultimately refrained from doing so, as you both had left your friendship in the most unpleasant of terms. If he had not contacted you in three years, then you were not going to impose it on him.

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And fighting.

You wanted to keep yourself motivated, but hunger and exhaustion were plaguing the troops, and enragingly low wages were being paid in return. Those who have joined in hopes of finding sustenance for their families had encountered themselves with worthless money in return, and those who joined because of ideals were starting to have second thoughts.

The thought of leaving the army after you saw its miserable state had crossed your mind, but the prospect of going home was not one you were fond of. You loved your family very much, but you could hardly ever tolerate its dullness, and they did not need you back. They needed you earning money.  You were trapped between a rock and a hard place, and it was making your life miserable.

So you kept fighting. And marching. And sleeping. And being bolder in battle.

And each time you came back alive. You had realized that you were seeking an early death, being as careless as you were being on the battlefield, but you could not stop yourself from doing it. You did not have any other place in the world for you but the army, no one cared for you, no one expected you to come back. Not even your family was waiting for you: they needed your money, not your presence.

And if dying meant other soldiers would not, if it meant they were going to survive this war and go back to their parents, their homes, their wives, and husbands, and children, then you were going to do everything you could for them.

In your eyes, you were disposable. They were not.

When you were put under Lafayette’s command, the summer of 1781, you were so deep down the rabbit hole of self depreciation that you did not even care about it. You had become bitter and daring to the point of recklessness, and you paid no attention to anything but the orders you were issued on the battlefield.

So you fought, and marched, and killed, and slept.

You had been scouting under Brigadier Wayne, when you fell into the British trap set by General Cornwallis. Chaos raged around you but you paid no mind to it. You were no longer scared, you were no longer confused, no longer petrified. And when the order came for your battalion to lead a charge with your bayonets, you were the first one to jump into enemy lines.

It was a miracle you were still alive after that, with barely a scratch to the shoulder.

When you were making your retreat, many soldiers have tried approaching you, fascinated at your lack of fear. They tried to both congratulate and warn you, but their words fell on deaf ears. You were glad they were alive. And you dreaded the fact that you still were while many others have died.

The next thing you know, Major General Marquis de Lafayette had summoned you to his office, and he is right in front of you. It is late at night, not long after your retreat, and although you had time to wind down while you patched your wounded shoulder, you were still high on adrenaline.

He said nothing as he paced the room. He looked older than you remembered (that was not much of a surprise), and his bouncy way of walking was now reduced to firm, long strides. Everything else had remained the same: beard cleanly cut, lips full and hair neatly tied into a bun.

You had been standing in front of him for what seemed like hours, with him just pacing around the room like a caged lion. You were growing impatient, and sleep made you even bolder than you already were.

“Sir?” you prompted impatiently.

“You must know by now that rumors do not escape me, soldier. I know what you did on the battlefield”

You frowned. “I did what I was asked to do, sir. Brigadier Wayne did order us to lead a bayonet charge” you explained, even if he had not requested you too.

“And you are the first to jump into it?” he asked, without looking at you. The grip of his hands on his back tightened.

“I did as I was asked. If not me, another soldier would have been the first one to charge” you answered, irritated. You were tired, and even if you were defeated, morale was stronger than ever. You had deserved to enjoy the night without being reprimanded, not even by him.

“You do like risking your own life, (Y/L/N)”. He laughed, while shaking his head. You could tell he was trying to contain his anger.

“I enjoy fighting for my country, sir. Nothing more.” you answered sourly. You knew he was not trying to flatter you when he said that.

He frowned at your answer. “Fighting for a cause does not mean stupidly dying for it” he barked, but you remained stoned-faced. That seemed to fuel his anger even more. “You broke line just so you could throw yourself against the enemy line!”

“As I was ordered to!” you spat.

“You were ordered to charge, not to die!” he screamed at you. You were going to reply, but he spoke before you could, hand raised to keep you from saying anything “I don’t know what have taken to you, but this is not the first time I’ve heard of this ‘heroic acts’ of yours. You need to stop”

“Why?! I have not once disobeyed orders!”

“Because you are going to get yourself killed!” he approached you, fists clenched, brow furrowed and eyes hard, and there was something in his warm brown eyes that told you he was not going to tolerate your behaviour much longer.

“Soldiers die on the battlefield every day!”

“That does not mean you have to push it, (Y/L/N)! That does not mean you have to risk your life. Do you wish to be just another number in a war report, another grave in the middle of nowhere?!”

“Well maybe I do!” you said, looking directly at his eyes, and just now you realized there were hot tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eyes. He looked completely horrified. You both stayed in silence, him in shock, you trying to compose yourself.

“Maybe if I die,” you started, shakily, “someone else gets to live through the day. Someone else gets to see their family again” you were clenching your jaw by now, “Someone else-”

“And what about you, (Y/N)?” he interrupted, and his voice was not longer angry. Instead, it was pleading, voice full with emotion, “What about your life, your future?”

“I don’t care for it, sir!” You hissed, and it took all your might for you not to break down and sob in front of him. It was easy to feel that way, but admitting it outloud was harder than you thought it would be. “As long as I get to save someone else-”

But you were cut right away by the press of his soft, full lips on yours, your body backing until it crashed against a wall. Lafayette’s lips were crushing against your own, and the world spinned around you but you did not care. You did not care for war, or death, or memories, you did not care how much it had hurt you that he did not try and reach you before.

You only cared about him.

You immediately held him by the shoulders, and when you did not push him away, he pressed even further, body flushed against yours, catching your lower lip with his own, sucking on it and then kissing you deeper. You could feel his neatly trimmed beard scraping against your face, his hands firmly holding you by the waist, and you almost moaned when his tongue made its way into your mouth.

The kiss was hot, desperate and it held years of frustration and restrained feelings, and by the time you parted, you were both panting heavily. You felt your heart clench when you saw his sorrowful eyes looking down on you. That maddening glint of something else was again there too.

“Then what about me?” he whispered. Tears were running down your cheeks, no longer restrained, but he carefully wiped them away with his thumb, “What I am going to do if you die?”

You understood now. What he was trying to say years ago.

You were completely speechless, and whatever smart comment you could have thought of had deserted you when he kissed you like that. He took his time to breathe, exhaling a long held breath, his thumbs drawing small circles on your cheeks with the most feather like of touches.

“I almost lost you once, (Y/N)” he barely whispered, and you noticed that his hard, stoic facade from before was melting away. He rested his forehead against yours. “Do not ask me to be indifferent to it. Do not ask me to watch you risk your life and stay silent about it. I am not that strong”

By now you had started to whimpering, but by the time he finished speaking you were sobbing, hands clenching his coat’s shoulders. Tear after tear fell from your eyes, and no matter how hard you tried, you could not seem to be able to keep them in check.

Lafayette lips kissed every one of them. When no more tears could be spilled, he kissed your swollen eyes and your forehead, and embraced you so tightly that you felt all your broken pieces fall back in place once more. And as you fell to the ground, still in his arms, you felt that you had a home, a place to come back, someone to care for you.

And you did not feel alone anymore.

From there you had shared plenty of time together. You would sneak out of your tent, deep at night, and would cross the field over to the little farm house he was stationed in. You would talk about battles, and glory, and freedom, and you would share the most intimate of kisses under the secrecy of the summer stars.

Lafayette had become your source of relief. Every night before a battle you would see each other. It was often a silent meeting, in which you sat between his legs on the floor, and he held you to his chest as closely as he could.  All that needed to be said was said in caresses, and kisses and embraces, and you would relish in the way he weaved his fingers through your hair whenever the idea of battle got you restless.

“How much longer now?” you asked lazily, snuggling against his chest.

“Not long, sweetheart” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he rested his head on yours, “probably a week or so. We are closer than ever” he said, running a hand down your neck, kneading its back softly with his thumb.

His other hand was your captive. You traced every crease, every line on his palm and every scar on its back, and when you have done that, you traced the long shape of his fingers with yours. “I just want it to end” you said, kissing each of his fingertips  lightly, “I am worried about you”

Lafayette wanted to laugh, but instead, he smiled warmly, kissing your head. He took your hand carefully, fingers interlacing with yours. “With your recklessness I am afraid you are the one who is going to disappear” he said, jokingly, but when you his your face against his chest he knew you were serious, “It is going to be alright, kitten” he mumbled against your hair. “I promise”.

You closed your eyes tightly as you breathed his scent. You wanted to believe him, to believe there was going to be a day that you both could like this, sharing kisses without having to worry about death, and war and enemies. You wished for a night you could spend stargazing, without swords on your belt or guns on your hands, without hunger nor plague.

You wished for nights where you could stay with him until sunrise.

“(Y/N)?” he called you. You sighed and looked up at him, knowing what was coming “You need to go rest” he said, helping you both out of the ground. He kissed the hand he still held, and smiled reassuringly, “We will see each other tomorrow night again”

You smiled softly. It was your everyday promise, your everyday prayer. You got into your tiptoes and kissed him on the lips lightly, his hands ghosting over your waist as you did.

“We will”

You had taken the redoubt that day. Four hundred soldiers under Lieutenant Colonel Zweibrücken had broken the defenses of Redoubt N.9, and word had came that the men led by Alexander Hamilton had successfully taken Redoubt N.10 that day. To say the celebration that night was big was an understatement.

When the battle was over, your body tingles with adrenaline and excitement, and you still felt it way entered the nighttime. You had screamed in joy with fellow soldiers, and drank ale besides them as you sang revolutionary tunes. There were drums and trumpets, and horns, and ale run down everybody’s throat as quick as water down a waterfall.

You had glanced at Lafayette as he watched over the redoubt from its highest point. Your eyes had met his, and when you saw him say his farewells to Colonel Zweibrücken, you decided to take the celebration to his office, inside the building. You found him in there, as he was feeding the fire of the hearth, and he stood as soon as you entered the room.

He had said something you could not understand, the music outside too loud for you to hear. “What?” you asked, still playful from the celebration outside, and you saw him approach you in quick strides.

Soon your bodies crashed against each other, mouths hungrily pressing together in a sloppy kiss. Your tongues met, and you teeth had clumsily clashed against each other, but none of you cared.

He had stopped to see you in your eyes, and a wave of electricity had surged through your body, as warmth began to pooling in your core. His brown eyes, that previously had been all warmth and happiness, have now darkened, and they held an unspoken question you had perfectly understood, even in your tipsy state.

As per response, you pecked him lightly on the lips.

As if you had released a spring, he was unto you in seconds, hands roaming every inch of your clothed body as he attacked your neck, kissing and licking and nipping. You moaned, surrounding his neck with your arms, hands tugging his curls.

“Gilbert, I-”

But he gave you no chance of saying anything. His mouth was on yours again, and his hands were unbuttoning your uniform, hands almost clawing at it. He was desperate too, as desperate as you, and when his hips pressed against yours, you had moaned so loudly that you were afraid someone had heard. But no one did.

Your hands were not quite either. They had taken his cravat away and were now fumbling with the complicated buttons of his coat, and he laughed you you made a frustrated pout. He  kissed you, this time tenderly, and helped your hands take away his garments. You admired his lithe constitution, fingers tracing the shape of his chest, and abs, and ribs.

He was even more beautiful than you could have thought.

When your lips met again, he finished undressing you, and he effortlessly lifted you from the ground, and when your naked sex met his hard, clothed one you had both moaned into the cold night.

Lafayette’s mouth was on your chest, nipping softly at one of your perky nipples while one of his hands played with the other one. Your head fell back in pleasure, deep gasps of ai and your hips rolled against his in search for much needed friction. His mouth freed your body, and he elicited a small moan.

You could happily died listening to his moans and grunts.

He tore his own pants away, growing painfully impatient. You gawked at him, and you were suddenly very aware of what was going on between you. Lafayette seemed to sense your discomfort, because he suddenly stopped his ministrations.

“Tell me,” he breathed out, “tell me to stop now and I will. Tell me to leave you alone, and I will”. The hand in your waist was gripping you almost painfully, and you knew it was taking all his willpower not to thrust into you mercilessly, and fuck you until both of you were spent.

And then you knew. You knew how much you have yearned for his kisses and starved for his touch. You knew how much you have needed him, as close to you as he was now, or even closer. You knew how much you loved him.

So you kissed him. And it was feverish, and intense and it lacked the poetry of first time kisses between young lovers, as they met under a full moon. Instead, it was the raw, emotional passion of a deeper kind of love, one that burns through your body so slowly that by the time you notice it had lit your entire soul aflame.

And he was in you. And you had screamed his name into his lips, fingernails running down his back as he pushed further and further inside. And by the time he had settled, you were a whimpering mess, holding as tightly to him as you could.

You wished you never had to let go.

He seemed to be thinking the same, because when your lips parted, he was watching you as you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world. “(Y/N)…” he said, between shallow breaths, and you had rocked your hips in response, half lidded eyes enjoying the way his closed in pleasure.

And when his hips began to roll, pumping himself in and out of you, he was the only thing you could think of. He was all around you, his flushed skin, sweat beads rolling down his toned bodies and mixing with yours as they fell down, ragged breaths brushing your neck as he panted.

He was in front of you, over you, all around you, and the only thing that fell from your lips was his name, over and over again, in whimpers and moans and pleas. You were already getting close, and your hands tugged his hair when he hit your sweet spot in a particularly rough thrust, pleasure seeping to every fiber of your body.

There was nothing but you and him in the entire world that mattered.

“I’m close” you moaned breathlessly, “I am-”

“Say you are mine” he demanded, as he pushed you harder against the wall, and he bit your shoulders to avoid moaning out loud. “Say it” he said through clenched teeth as he thrusted into you with more force.

“I am yours” you cried, and his lips were once again on yours, hips thrusting erratically against you, and when he rammed against your sweet spot once more, you came undone

around him, screaming his name as your shaking legs ushered him closer. He followed suit not much longer, and held a deep thrust as he spilled his seed in you, biting down your neck to muffle his own breathy moans.

You stayed silent, and slowly the world around you was coming back to life again. You heard the loud music blasting outside the redoubt, the cheering of the soldiers, the crackling of the fire of the hearth. He was looking at you in such a way that was making you bashful, and he smiled at you when you turned your gaze away, unable to hold his.

He had help you dress again, and his fingers took their time to trace every curve of your flushed skin, and he made sure he went twice over each scar. His lips often found yours, as they kissed you slowly, tongues playing instead of clashing against each other.

There was no words that night.The aftermath was as intimate as it was silent, but when he held your body against his, you knew there were many things he felt and could not say. And you were not going to push him to, you decided, as you parted with a small kiss and a tired smile. You still had tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day after the war was over.

You had all the time in the world.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Muddy water was seeping through your coat, and its cold fingers crawled and tingled as they spread through your clothes. A shudder had you drawing in a shaky breath, curses unheard as chaos raged around you, gunshot wound oozing thick, red blood from your left side, just above your second rib. Your legs were completely unresponsive, and you watched helplessly as horses and boots flew over your head as they made their way to the enemy.

For a while you were able to hear everything, the screams, the orders, the pleas, backed by the fast paced music of the marching drums and war trumpets. Now you were almost deaf, a humming sound standing between you and complete, utter silence, and you wondered if this was even worse than the maddening screams. You tried to move, but your fingers barely twitched, fingers frozen stiff.

You moved your head to the side, the sickening itchiness of mudwater against your face becoming too much to bare. Your feet and legs and hands were freezing, yet your wound was hot, blood pouring all over your vest with every movement, muscle and flesh stretching painfully as you drew careful, short breaths. You tried bending over, tried assesing your wound, but you ended up clawing the mud around you as you squirmed, hot white pain spreading to every part of your body. You cursed, breathing ragged, face crunched as you suppressed a sob, a wail, a scream.

You were not going to cry. You did not want to cry.

But each passing second the idea of staying strong dissolved in a fussy mess of pain and tiredness. Your eyes were closed now, unable to keep them open any longer, and you were left alone with the smell of horseshit and sweat and death, and the unpleasant taste of gunpowder and blood.

Death was not the glorious thing they always portrayed.

You were feeling sleepy, and although you had manage to open your eyes just a bit, you wondered if the sight of a cloudy sky was worth the trouble of keeping them open. You were not scared, you realized. You were not scared of dying, you were not scared of leaving this world. You had known happiness. You had known friendship. You had known love.

The last thing that crossed your mind was Gilbert’s face. You smiled.

And then you shot down.

When you woke up, cold and dizzy, the first thing you noticed were his warm, brown eyes watching you, silent tears running down his face. He was holding one of your hands in his, pressing it tightly against his lips, and you were suddenly reminded of your time at the infirmary all those years ago. His eyes were filled with such agony that you would have thought that you had lost the war.

The celebrations outside confirmed you had not.

You wanted to say something, everything, but your dry throat and drowsy state did not allow it. When you tried to, he shook his head, and put one of his warm hands against your cheek, his soft thumb falling limply against your lips. He smiled, faintly, as you automatically kissed the digit.

There were not much words to be said. You were dying.

It did not surprise you, not in the slightest. You knew you were going to die as soon as you fell down your horse, the force of a bayonete’s bullet throwing you hard against the battle-ridden soil. And until now, you had not minded death.

But now, as he took your hand and placed it against his shaking lips, you knew you had made a mistake. Not one thousand wounds like your own could compare to the soul shattering pain you were feeling right now, as he broke down, unable to keep his composure anymore. He was speaking in rapid french, and although at first it has seemed a bunch of unintelligible words, you were now noticing a pattern.

“Je suis désolé” he said, over and over and over, as he wailed. There were so many emotions flooding him: the self hatred in his voice, the pain in his heart, the grief in his eyes. And you realized something you had not seen before: he was blaming himself for your demise. And he always have had. Since the day you arrived at camp he had been blaming himself for anything bad that happened to you. That was the weird glint in his eyes. It was not hate, or love, or anger.

It was guilt.

And when you finally understood, you sobbed and you cried and you clung to him, because there was nothing you could do in whatever time you had left to ease his mind. There was not a joke, not a word, not a smile that would ever bring ease to him, not when he felt that he had pulled the trigger on you himself, the day he had ushered you to join.

So you pulled him onto you until he is laying his head on your lap, and you both sobbed, and hurt, and grieved together, until all your tears were spent. Then, you stayed silent, wanting the best, and expecting the worst.

“Je t’aime” he whispered, so faintly you are not sure you heard him right. You opened your dazed eyes, and tried to focus them on him. You were barely aware of your own body, but you knew he was holding your hand. “I love you and I let you die” he mumbled, and when tears threatened to fall from his eyes, he pressed your hands against his lips and willed the tears back, his hand clenching yours painfully.

You don’t complain. Not now, and never about him.

You wanted to say so many things that your thoughts were clustering in your brain. You wanted to return his feelings, you wanted to reassure him and you wanted to embrace him until your warmth and your love reached him.

Instead, you tug weakly at his hand, and his eyes are instantly on yours. He looked uncertain, maybe even terrified, and you realized he thought his confession had been unheard. You tugged his hand, again and again until he understood, until he is lying besides you, and when he is, he immediately hugged you against his body, legs intertwining with yours, and arms sneaking around your body until you are not certain which part is yours and which is his anymore. There were not rules of propriety, nor of decency that could keep you apart tonight.

And as you closed your eyes, satisfied and comfortable, you realized that there were not another place in the world you would rather be than in his arms, and no other place you would have chosen to die but by his side. You finally felt at home.

“I love you too” you finally answered

This time, he stayed with you way past sunrise.

You did not.

You father had seen the approaching horse when dawn broke, its pace slow, as it carefully treaded the ground, covered in the first snows of the season. It’s rider swayed from side to side with it, deep blue and gold shining in the distance.

But when the rider stopped in front of your house, you father did not see you, your small frame coming down the horse. Instead stood by him a tall, dark-skinned men he had seen many years ago.

“Monsieur (Y/L/N)” Gilbert said as he removed the hat from his head, pressing it against his own chest.

He had a promise to keep.

And that’s it! I hope you enjoyed it. I apologize for the rushed ending, and the bad writing and the grammar and so on. English is not my first language and I suck at finding synonyms and better ways to express myself.

About what I said in the author’s note: If you read it as a lady, I had in mind that there were probably passing up as soldiers, specially poor ones like farmers and town merchants. If it bothers you too much, then I apologize. I will do better in the future.