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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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Friends in the Crucible

MOTA PACIFIC THEATRE || FLIGHT SURGERY AU

1: Welcome to Hell Island

Requested by the sweet @forsythiagalt

AU NOTE: due to a long-standing crush on real life heroine Ensign Jane Kendeigh and her work on Iwo Jima, the current ongoing anniversary of the battle and a hope to not step on the toes of any existing Nurse!xBuck pairings -I’ve gone with what excited my imagination the most and created an entire Pacific AU with our MOTA boys. If this AU ends up being as interesting and stimulating to y’all as it was for me in writing it, I’d be terribly down for exploring more scenarios with everyone in their new and varied roles.

Main paring: Gale Cleven and OC Flight Nurse Ensign Maureen Kendeigh…cameos by “Doc” Egan, John Brady, Ken Lemmons, Harry Crosby and Benny Demarco…and maybe a nod to a certain Marine Captain named “Andy” who I refused to let die, even though he was never on this island. You neither need to have seen HBO’s Pacific or know about the history for this to make sense, in fact it might help my ignorant writing go down better without it 😏

Warnings: WAR?! Graphic descriptions of wounds, battlefields, gore, foul language, period typical language: use of the word “Jap” and a joking insult of “fish eater” for a Catholic. Hints that John Egan is a terror to his nurses, Cleven having to take his pants off for a wound to be examined, brief mentions and emphasis on his never having been touched by a woman intimately, a nurse positioning a man’s member out of the way to his surprise, strictly professional tho. No joke, really. But they’re having a bit of a moment.

Only proof read once. So many thanks to Bee, Christi and Ashley who all enabled me into going this rogue with a simple request and for giving edits and assurances. Hope y’all enjoy!

There were a whole lotta jolts in the descent. Of course there were. Why, there were jolts and bumps even coming down to the runway at Pearl or San Diego, and there had been far more than jolts on the training tarmacs in Kentucky. She had been in enough planes, experienced enough banging about, and had enough wheels up landings that Maureen felt somewhat entitled to her opinion on the necessity of jolts or none.

So far, Major Gale Cleven had piloted this monstrous tin can like a limo, smooth, steady and with full warning for each bank and turn. Maureen had not even had to catch a single falling bottle so far and the rows of empty bunks lining each side of the plane had hardly rattled except in the same low humming frequency of the ever thrumming engine.

But now there were jolts. And of course there were, they were flying straight into a warzone. Cleven had gotten them to Iwo Jima two hours ago, and since that time he’d been circling the island in a wide arc, casually waiting for a pesky air battle between fighters to calm down enough for him to land. Sure, the beaches had been wiped clean and a landing strip had been carved out of volcanic ash and marine corps blood -cleared for their use. But still, there were Jap bunkers, Jap planes, Japs themselves and Jap equipment in that smoldering mountain and so far, no word had come down definitely as to when the island might be considered secure.

It was all very historic, Maureen has been assured -allowing a woman into a combat zone. First time ever, so they kept erroneously insisting. That’s why there was a man armed with a camera and not plasma sitting a few lines down from her on the cold metal bench. Maureen had once had plenty of time to ponder the historicity of her mission and that of her fellow nurses back in Guam, right now she wished she could focus solely on her training and ignore the ominous crack-pop of something hazardous in the air and the resulting wobble of Major Cleven’s steering.

Stupidly she wished the Major’s low voice would come back on through the near radio system and soothe them all back down like frightened livestock. Gale Cleven had a way of managing that even with his face obscured, and while it made Maureen blush to admit she needed any calming, the facts were she was 24 years old, practically untried and desperate to be brave enough to be of use. Rattling on the bench seat between equally nervous girls and a hawk-eyed journalist was no match for the cuticle picking anxiety.

Maureen chose to forcefully look up from said bloody cuticles and was met by Major Egan’s gum smacking grin across from her. How many carriers had he been on when they went down? Kamikaze planes jutting out the side of them, ocean water pouring in, sharks abounding and hundreds of patients under his care, in his charge to tow to shore?

Mild, scattered, poor-man’s flack wasn’t remotely disturbing to their flight surgeon. “He’s great, isn’t he?” Egan yelled to her cheerfully, the jerk of his head suggested his praise was directed towards someone in the cockpit.

Maureen knew well enough that much as Egan respected the co-pilot Demarco, it was no match for the love affair between him and Cleven, an appreciation that had Egan’s special request yanking his friend from Air Force to Navy to Transit. Such a series of bounces in a man’s otherwise distinguished career, all to chauffeur one charmingly entitled flight surgeon, was enough to put anyone into a bad mood -it would explain Major Cleven’s initial coolness on meeting them all at the departure tarmac.

Or maybe he was just businesslike. Maureen couldn’t fault anyone for that. He had been prepped, perhaps not as much as she had, but he didn’t act entitled in any way, and he kept the plane steady. Except for this mounting series of jolts.

“Yes,” she had chosen to holler back to Doctor -Lieutenant Commander? Bucky No Shits? Johnny? Doc “Smirky”?- Egan, knowing he’d want a favorable report on his friend, “it’s been remarkably smooth.”

Maureen was glad truth aligned with diplomacy in this instant. Although if any man could handle the outright truth it was John Egan, no matter what they all said. And “they” said a lot, he had once had two marine squadrons under his care and to them he was a Marine, simultaneously he’d had three navy squadrons to take care of and to them he was a Navy man. He’d even switched uniforms thrice in a day before. And now he was being flown about by his best friend to tend carcasses on a foreign strand, oddly suited to terrible conditions and bad scenarios, offering medical aviation expertise and poorly timed jokes wherever he went.

He’d trained her group of specialized Evacuation Flight Nurses the last three weeks of aquatic conditioning in the states, and he’d culled eighteen out of the group for getting winded after towing full grown men seven laps in the San Diego surf -all while puffing on a cigarette himself, seated with sunglasses on in an motorized dinghy. Maureen had come to hate him that day, and every day after she’d come to want to be like him. Kathleen Martin got her wings pinned first and Maureen right after, “well done, Candy!” Egan had praised while his fist drove in the tack.

“It’s Kendeigh, sir.” Maureen had dared correct for the hundredth time that training week, “Pronounced like: Ken-Day.”

“Cand-ay. Got it!” he repeated with jovial affirmation and that was that.

Major Cleven had given her the respect of calling her ‘Ensign’ as he shook her hand, a quick and firm squeeze and on to her next companion, she’d have judged him as too pristine in everything from mannerisms to features were his war record not ample justification for his bearing. The low cadence of his voice over the coms came in as a slight pitch to the plane and a swoop of decline in altitude became apparent under her—

“All personnel prepare for landing.”

Cleven was nothing like those pilots during training, barking orders laced with frantic warning in their voices. It was a cow pasture back in Kentucky and there they’d had no good reason for alarm. Here where there was real reason, Gale Cleven crooned to them and John Egan smiled opposite her as he took in the effect his chosen pilot had on his nurses.

“Like soothin’ a baby,” Egan sighed as he lounged a little deeper on his bench, long legs deceptively braced for impact, Maureen had long ago learned the man was nothing but smoke and mirrors of his actual intentions, “isn’t he great? In danger of fallin’ asleep with that guy at the wheel.”

To emphasize his point -or more likely to distract “his girls” from the imminent prospect of landing on a battleground, Egan leaned back all the way and tipped his cover over his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. Maureen caught him as he cocked one sharp eye open to see if she was still watching. She gave him a hopeless smile of recognition of his disguised kindness before forcefully suppressing a gasp of shock as the plane hit Amtrak smoothed gravel and ground its way down the beach. Egan hadn't budged by the time the momentum ceased and the plane became bizarrely still after hours of vibrating travel.

“Right. That’s us.” He straightened up, his cover and his posture, rising up in his seat and slapping at the metal ceiling of the plane, “Good job Buck.” he hollered and got no reply. “He’s still crabby about flying a C-47.” he divulged to no one in particular as they all rose and prepared to disembark, drilled for ages in this routine and finally let loose to practice it. Egan’s nonchalance was almost disorienting for such a momentous occasion.

The large cargo door was opened and a irreverently pleasant tropical breeze funneled through the plane, bearing with it the sounds of crashing waves and popping, far off gunnery. There was also a smell that came with it, sulfur and sweet. It was sickening from the first, and Maureen dreadedly wondered if it was from volcanic fumes and rotting vegetation or something more heartbreaking. With her kit on her back she followed her companions out the cargo door, finding Major Cleven blank faced and unphased on the tarmac beside it. Nothing but a smidge of sweat around his hairline to suggest the hours of flight he’d just clocked and the wacky landing he’d managed so well.

“Welcome to hell island, ladies.” he greeted in a droll monotone and Maureen’s gait stiffened without her permission.

There was no true tarmac, as they had been warned, just a strip of cleared back sand churned up by Cleven’s wheels. Lapping waves were on the left side and then a field of sheets to the right. It was the oddest sight. Rows and rows of camo tarp and white sheets blotted pink, hardly a spot of sand to be seen between. They’d been warned it was havoc here, the situation so bad that they’d finally allowed for this exception, allowed the sending in of specialized units to evacuate by air as the boats could hardly ferry enough of the wounded out in time to save them. But this -this beach of corpses was so daunting a task it seemed impossible to choose where to start.

“John,” she heard Major Cleven address Lieutenant Commander Egan as he dropped down beside her, “you’ve only got so many births, do what ya need to do to fill them, but I’ve got my orders. You’re not settin’ up a hospital. When we get the supplies off, get this plane full -we’re takin’ off. Full stop. I’m not gonna have us here like sittin’ ducks for the mortars while you fuss.”

“I hear ya.” Egan assured him in that remarkably unassuring way of his and lit a cigarette. “Alright nurses, gather round.”

Triage was crucial for such a mission, the prioritizing of wounds and necessary services essential for prolonging the lives of those in imminent peril, versus those with the likelihood of surviving on only the essentials found in a corpsman or medic’s arsenal. They’d be back tomorrow with another flight, and the day after that. Cleven was right that they weren’t here to establish a hospital, yet still the idea of how many would perish from being left behind, even by this first flight, was a sickening probability Maureen has been trained to ignore.

“Where are all the corpsmen?” Egan asked one pharmacist's mate who came to greet them, picking his way through the rows of groaning men. The boy couldn’t have been a day over seventeen.

“Up there,” the kid had nodded up to Mount Suribachi and its ominous veil of smoke, “or dead. Lost so many in the first week they started sending us in to substitute. We’ve done what we can. Sure glad to see you guys.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Lemons, sir.”

“Hell I can’t call someone a lemon, now can I?” Egan’s grin was infectious and the boy grinned back like he was seeing his first friend in ages.

“Then it’s Kenny. Sir.”

“Yeah alright Kenny, let’s get to it.” Egan had drilled you all so thoroughly you could have performed even without the aid of the grounded pharmacists and their mates, yet still it was odd to see such a mass of wounded and so few to tend them. The desperation and chaos was tangible.

Maureen had barely set off out from under the plane wing when Gale Cleven’s brusque reprimand arrested her steps as forcefully as a tug to her flight suit would have, “That bunch don’t need your help.”

The terse judgment in his tone gave her sharper eyes to notice that the particular section she was headed towards all had sheets pulled over their faces. Her own face blanched at both the misstep and the sensory overload of so much sorting to do. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself, not here, not when faced with the easy part of all this, and she wasn’t going to be crippled by criticism while enduring her first trial by fire. “Right, thank you, Major.” she agreed with him as stoically as possible and ground her heel back around on the sand and tromped off towards the direction of sheets that were visibly alive and writhing in misery.

That changed as soon as they saw her girlish form walking amongst them. Sounds of dying anguish changed to cheerful wolf whistles and happy greetings. It made Maureen’s heart swell with pride at the unbreakable spirit in each of them.

She spent the next hour and a half amongst those men.

Gruesome was a word that Maureen swore to herself that she would never use lightly again. She wasn’t one given to hyperbole anyway, and her years apprenticing in the hospital in Manilla and her most recent training for exactly such wounds as these, understandably led her to believe she knew the mettle of such a word.

But no.

Gruesome, she decided as she began her task again and again, applied only to this: the way the tiniest slip of her hand on any part of this poor boy took skin with it, charred and soupy flesh squishing off meat and sinew like the flaky crust on a prime bit of brisket. It was the only comparison fitting. His own flamethrower had bitten him as he tried to take a countless next pillbox. He’d said it like a joke even as his teeth chattered too hard from pain to deliver the punchline.

Maureen wasn’t here to contemplate ironies, or the unfairness of war, she was here to find some intact vein through which to stab her needle and begin giving him back the blood that was slowly leaching into the black sand beneath him. Ensign Smith was holding up the bottle, throwing a shadow over his charred form that helped Maureen discern a bit better, giving the boy a kind word or ten of reassurance about home and pain relief. Maureen bit through her own tongue when she finally slid the needle home, deep and pulpy, she could only pray it would hold the blood they gave back.

“Alright, bandages, Smith.” Maureen decided and did her best not to jump as a mortar thumped on the sand, hundreds of yards away, but still, they were getting ever closer, proving Major Cleven’s grim prognostication to not be unfounded. He was confirmed that the Japanese didn’t give two shits about red crosses, much less cargo planes carrying in supplies and taking away wounded. Maureen tried not to dwell on it as she and Smith began cutting away filthy uniforms and wrapping their patients' flesh in the Vaseline soaked bandages. It was a terrible business for the first few minutes before the interlaced numbing agents in the gauze took affect and made their care something less like torture for the poor men.

Some of them could walk, a missing leg being a mild injury comparatively, they just needed the helpful shoulder of a technician and off they went to amble into Cleven’s plane. There the Major met them despite it being beyond his purview, handing out cigarettes even though he himself abstained and kept an eye on the Navy mechanic refueling his plane from a bullet riddled jeep. When he wasn’t doing that he was scanning the sky, aviators turned up and reflecting a cloudless sky. Maureen’s mouth grew chalky at the thought of what he was looking out for.

Once wrapped and tended, the men were ready to be hoisted on stretchers and taken to the plane. But those men were select ones, ones that Egan had decided upon. He had a particularly odd way of triaging, one that upon initial observation appeared rather callous and aloof to his nurses who had been trained as much in medical practice as in solicitous decorum.

Doc Egan moseyed through the ranks of wounded, keenly aware he was not as popular as his pretty faced nurses, but making up for it with such easy-going banter that chuckles followed him wherever he went, making the men forget that he was deciding who got relief and who did not. Who were to be permitted the cooling sheets of Elysium by nightfall and who were to be left burning on the sand. Puffing a cigarette and making small talk, he clocked each injury and each likelihood of recovery without giving a bit of it away.

Nearing Maureen’s own patient of the moment, she felt him crouch down beside her and take in the hopeless gut wound she was ineffectually trying to stuff with bandages. A sturner superior would tell her not to bother, to move on, save such determination for someone with a longer life expectancy than five minutes. Maureen found it hard to make that call herself when met with the pleading eyes of someone’s dying son.

“C’mon Candy, move over, lemme try.” Egan murmured and his hip knocked hers gently as he crouched over the boy, perfectly aware of the futility. “Hey bud, breathe for me, breathe. You wanna smoke?”

Egan’s now bloody fingers reached up to his own lips and plucked his fresh and third cigarette of the hour and brought it down to the boy’s chapped mouth, shifting until he was fully seated on the sand, arms around the kid’s shoulders, gently taking the refreshment away when he puffed out, then replacing it for another inhale.

Maureen knew better than to linger. Beside this scene of brotherly last rites was another dying man and a hundred more beside him, so she moved on, seeing only vaguely the way the kid coughed blood as he laughed at Egan’s conversation. The topic seemed to be on the boy’s dog back home. The Sergeant she was tending added in a bit of teasing over the name -who names their dog “puppy”?!

Maureen had barely managed a tourniquet on the sergeant's arm before she could suddenly hear Egan’s gentle chatter turn to low shushing.

The sergeant looked away to the other side.

Maureen noticed the discarded cigarette laying on the sand, it had been smoked to a stub.

The heaving rattle of panicked breath beside them stopped.

Egan shifted onto his knees again and his long, bloody fingers dragged those sightless eyes closed. There was the brittle clink of dog tags being checked.

The sheet was tugged up all the way.

That triage was over.

Maureen politely ignored Doc Egan’s harsh sniff beside her -it was dusty here- but clocked the way he rose to his feet, a rough brushing off of his flight suit and his brusque inquiry regarding her morphine distribution in sector 2.

“All tended-“ she had begun when a shout from the far off plane rang out-

“-JOHN!” That was Cleven’s unmistakable bellow and Egan, despite being in a human sea of potential Johns- responded like he’d been made to hear that one voice alone. “Incoming, west!”

“Shit.” Egan spun westward and sure enough there were fighters with a blazing red sun, rushing straight down at them.

They were such a distance away still, Maureen doubted Cleven’s sight for all of fifteen seconds before horror set in. “They wouldn’t-?” she looked up at Egan whose bitten lip suggested that they would indeed strafe these poor men given the chance.

“Stretchers!” Cleven yelled again, “Get ‘em under the wings!”

There was a callous logic to it. Those men already prepped to be saved might as well be prioritized this much more. Fairness wasn’t something promised in war and Maureen chose to hate Gale Cleven instead of some ephemeral “war” for verbalizing the awfulness of that necessary.

“Do it.” came Egan’s agreeing order and Maureen and Smith took their respective sergeant down near the waterline at a run, fifteen other nurses and the various techs mimicking them. They deposited their men under the relative safety of the flimsy wings and dashed back out for more, leaving two techs behind to hoist the poor fellas into the cargo hold and deposit them in their respective bunks.

“Come onnnnn.” Cleven’s warning yell was drowned by the commencement of allied anti aircraft higher up the beach, trying to pick off the fighters before they reached the landing strip.

Maureen hardly noticed the closing drone of the fighter’s approach, nothing but her heart beat and memorized lines of her training on repeat in her ears. She’d been trained to fight hand to hand if necessary, her folks knew the risks of their daughter volunteering for such service but there was a sour dampening of resolve at the idea of being picked off from the air, not even allowed a bit of struggle to go out with.

All she could do was lift, hoist, run, deposit, do it all again.

They were getting near to full. On one pass through she saw Cleven counting berths and scolding poor Ensign Courter for her rushed method of securing her charge- “five feet drop to the floor on my first bank, oughta be just what that chest wound needs. For God’s sake, I’ll do it!”

He had a cold sort of fury to him Maureen found obnoxiously potent, and she felt a judgment rise in her for his obvious haste in wanting to get out of there. To his credit, when the planes did go by and everyone hit the ground, he was still standing yanking on the straps to secure the top bunk. Bullets punctured the side of the plane and riddled it, tiny specks of light flooding into the dark hold. One man was grazed as he lay in there.

“John!” Cleven warned again after they’d gone by.

“I know, I know damnit.” Egan snapped back from yards away, “There’s just not enough corpsmen -let me finish my damn job.”

“By the time you finish yours I won’t be able to finish mine.” Cleven retorted and the obvious finally occurred to Maureen -perhaps it was not his own safety that preoccupied him but the fragile capability of his riddled plane being able to evacuate once full. That, was indeed, his job. Still, such sentiments expressed as they were from the shelter of the cockpit and from a man who favored a silk blue neck scarf identical to the shade of his eyes, rankled Maureen.

The returning buzz of the Japanese fighters coming back around only cemented her futile rage. Her arms were aching and the sand caught at her boots and her mouth was dry with dust and there were so many, so, so many more left to help. Ensign Smith had been called away to assist with lifting another, and Maureen was knelt beside the man they’d managed onto a stretcher, doing her damndest to find how many bullets were embedded in his left leg and how deep the shrapnel was on his right. There was so much blood and filth it was impossible to tell and Andy, as his name was, couldn’t give her much help besides informing her it hurt like hell and she sure was a sight for sore eyes.

“Egan! At your three o’clock!” There was Cleven again.

Maureen grinned back at Andy and forced it to stay on her face as the buzz of the approaching fighters grew imminent and the dreadful thwump of machine gun fire thudded into the earth yards up the beach. It hit the section of the dead first, a further injury and dishonor. Maureen felt a lump in her throat at the realization she had no one near to help her lift this stretcher and that Andy himself hadn’t a usable leg to spare.

“Go.” her patient told her with a clear look of realization on his face as the leaden spatter of strafing began to elicit responses from those wounded men still alive enough to react.

“No.” The refusal came out of her mouth about as naturally as taking the next breath.

A shadow threw over them for a second and Andy’s facial expression grew surprised, but, stubbornly focused on her patient’s face, Maureen assumed it was the plane passing by at last and chose not to spend her last seconds watching what was going to kill her. “Ensign Kendeigh, lift.” Major Cleven’s voice was so close so suddenly it spooked her flat on her backside until she saw him, squatting down and casting a shadow at the head of the stretcher, poles gripped in both hands, ready to hoist. She scrambled to the foot and took the wood in hand, lifting for the twentieth time that day and running towards the plane.

Time was slow and fast all at once. Cleven’s shadow had come before even the first fighter. But as they ran it zipped by, bullets flinging up sand into their eyes, a near miss. The second one was close behind and as they ran near to the wings, they saw no room was left under them, as crowded as an awning at Coney Island during the height of summer.

Maureen squatted fast and lowered the foot of the stretcher, feeling Cleven mimick her movements behind her. Before she could turn ‘round and enact her training, there their pilot was, body draped over the battered Marine captain, his back as stalwart and protective as the wings of his plane. Maureen threw herself to the ground as well, propping herself over Andy’s battered legs. Together they made a turtle shell of sorts and, damned to be caught cringing when death took her, Maureen kept her eyes open and stared back at Gale Cleven’s gentle face as the -thud-thud-thud- passed them, a micro expression of assurance twitching his mouth and eyes as death passed over.

Who needed to look at the sky when you could find God in those eyes his mother gave him?

For as long as she lived, Maureen would never forget the gust of his spearmint scented breath on her face, the first sensation she registered as soon as the planes were past and they yet remained, alive, locked together above a man they’d both risked dying for.

“Major, you shouldn’t’ve.” Andy’s rough voice spoke Maureen’s own dazed sentiments as they straightened up, Cleven picking up his fallen aviators from the sand, “You gotta fly us outta here, you die an’we’re all sitting ducks.”

“Eh, that’s why we have co-pilots, Skipper.” Cleven grinned before glancing back at the sky, his face morphing into anything but carefree.

“Is that how Lt. DeMarco feels?” Maureen teased wearily.

“I’d never presume to know how Benny Demarco feels.” Cleven replied levelly but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, “Ensign Kendeigh, give me a task.” he demanded.

“Sir-“

“I want us outta here in ten.” His tone held no room for argument, “What’s somethin’ even a dumb pilot can manage? Egan!” He yelled as the Lieutenant Commander approached them at a jog, his dark face the picture of rage for the men in his care being further hurt. “Out in ten.”

“Not gonna happen, still got supplies to distribute-“ Egan was visibly inscenced.

“-one more pass on my plane and we’re not gettin’ up. Look at that back wheel” Cleven replied, nodding at the deflating tire. “Hand me your shit, what’re we supplyin?”

“Aren’t you queasy for needles?” Egan balked, finding time for teasing despite himself.

“Hand me the damn syrettes.” Cleven stuck his hand out.

“You're under Candy’s orders.” Egan stipulated, pointing to Maureen and Cleven nodded.

“Yup, and we leave in ten.”

“Okey Buck, go, go, go.”

The nurses that had gone before them had tagged and labeled each, making it easy for Maureen and Major Cleven to squat along the rows and complete what help could be given. Her other companions were doing the same, each staggered at a few yards and assisted by Corpsmen and pharmacists. And despite the tension from the strafing and the dismal prospect of having to leave so many behind, the hum of chatter soon picked up again on the beach.

“Shit, shit, shit, no-I hate needles!” Marty, eighteen years old but with eyes that had seen a little too much, bore his dressing with tired stoicism until Cleven pulled out the morphine syrette.

“Son,” Gale murmured with barely concealed amusement, “your side looks like a bear cub teethed on it, you’ll be fine. And this’ll help.”

“Don’t ‘son me’ you baby faced glamor boy.” Marty spat back, marine corps superiority coursing through his admittedly impressive veins.

Gale was midway through a good natured snicker at Marty’s venom when the heavy shock of lobbed mortars began to thud the beach again. “Jesus.” the Major sounded more annoyed than surprised and had the wherewithal to place a restraining hand on Marty’s chest as the kid began to scramble up in panic, displacing Maureen’s dressing on his ribs.

“Cleven, they’re chewin’ up our strip!” Demarco yelled to them from the cockpit and sure enough, craters were beginning to form at the end of their taxi-able stretch of beach.

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave Major!” Marty suddenly clutched at Cleven and the Major had to wrench his arm free. “Calm down, private, you’re on a stretcher.” he then ducked his head as he moved round to seize the poles, “And if there’s one thing you should know,” he went on in a low murmur just for Marty’s benefit, “it’s that Doc Egan doesn’t waste his stretchers on dead men.”

Carrying Marty’s stretcher to the plane was Maureen’s last jog down the beach. She ran up the cargo ramp and Cleven was after her, handing over the task of racking the private into a bunk to one of the nurses before sternly ordering a path for himself through the crowded belly up to his cockpit. Demarco had the full radio system on, the better to communicate with the nursing personnel as they prepared for take off, and everyone aboard could hear his exasperated greeting as his reckless officer took his seat.

“You really game enough to try to get this Goony off the ground with less than a thousand feet of strip?” Benny’s broadcasted doubt made most nurses pause in their work and Maureen met Andy’s eye from the third bunk halfway along the plane wall.

“I thought he said that’s why they have co-pilots.” Andy joked to her quietly.

“Mm,” she agreed mischievously, “I guess co-pilots are one thing, co-Clevens are another.”

“Should find a way to mass produce.” Andy sighed, “War would be over in five seconds.”

Gale Cleven hadn’t even refuted Demarco’s concern verbally and already the crew shrugged it off, if Major Cleven couldn’t get them off Hell Island then no one could, and that was that.

“John Egan, get your ass onboard, it’s wheels up.” Cleven’s yell out the window blasted through the radio, too, and the girls grinned at each other -Major Egan wasn’t one to get bossed about. But, as if to challenge everything they knew about life and their own superior, mere seconds later, John Egan was hopping up into the belly of Cleven’s plane with his empty sack dangling and sweaty hair in disarray. “We’ll be back Kenny!” he yelled to the young pharmacist’s mate left on the sand as the cargo door was hastily wrenched shut by Brady.

“Honey I’m home.” Egan yelled up to the front and Demarco’s snicker echoed along the walls of the tin belly.

“Everybody stow your gear,” Cleven’s order came through, the pounding vibration of nearby mortars shuddering the plane even more than the engine’s revving, “we’re gettin’ outta here now. S’gonna be bumpy.”

“That’ll be one word for it.” Demarco snarked, “Death by bumps.”

The human cargo in the plane, those not groaning or insensible, let up a unanimous chuckle. It helped to have been to hell and back, a quick death as a plane failed to get air and plowed instead into a sand bank was hardly the worst prospect these men had faced.

“Believe, Benny, believe.” Maureen could hear Cleven’s soft smile in his voice as the wheels began to roll.

Brady, their engineer, navigator and the lone crewman besides the pilots aboard this transport, kindly manhandled Maureen to a seat between his legs on the rattling floor beside Egan’s built-in desk, his hand fisted in the back of her jumpsuit collar like she was a kitten. They kicked their legs out together and braced as they gained speed and the plane began to jostle into the milder craters at an ever more intense pace.

Shell fragments made a series of charming bangs off the side of the wing nearest her and Maureen could hear Brady whispering behind her in repetition “God spare the oxygen, God spare the oxygen, God spare-“

“50-“ Demarco’s countdown was unfortunately broadcasting like some morbid game announcer and Maureen could see Egan’s jaw ticking in stress under the harsh overhead lights.

There was a terrible blast in front, the sound of shattering glass or metal and a jarring shudder went through the plane, “Damnnit.” Cleven hissed but the acceleration remained.

“You hit?”

“No. Read me, Benny-“

“80-“ Demarco obligingly resumed counting.

“C’mon Buck.” breath gusting on Maureen’s neck behind her, as Brady had begun to direct his prayers to the Major now and as if in answer, the stomach swooping feeling of flight took over them seconds later as the cargo plane let out a mighty roar of strained endurance and lifted with a wobble that had more than a few bunks puking their guts out. There’d be over five hours to clean the plane floor and attend to housekeeping if they could just level out and stay up long enough to get out of range.

Down the way from them Egan was still seated, one hand holding aloft a not yet hung plasma bottle and the other gripping a support bar. But his head was starting to nod like a dancer keeping pace with the band’s ever growing tempo. The engines had a beat, if you’d been personal with a plane long enough to pick it up, and Maureen paid attention to Egan’s stippling fingers on the cross bar as they mounted and mounted, little bursts of enemy gunnery causing a comparatively mild wobble to the plane body every few seconds. She figured a veteran like Brady would know when it was safe to let her go; judging by the grip on her collar he was still highly dubious of their lasting success.

“Fighters, -everyone brace.” Cleven’s voice warned about as cooly as if he was pointing out the drip of ice cream slipping down a cone.

“Ice man.” Andy praised from his bunk to the agreement of his companions as the fighter zipped by without so much as a shudder from Cleven’s steering.

Plenty of the passing bullets had punctured the belly and one man got a direct hit. “Candy!” Egan commanded from his place checking the unfortunate man’s pulse, “Go remind Buck that we haven’t got the oxygen to go full bomber, he’s gotta keep low and -Candy! When ya come back, time to start throwin’ on blankets. Brady, get our pumps going. This is as steady as it’ll get.”

“You got it, commander.”

More than a little sure her mission was more provoking than necessary, Maureen still obeyed and followed Brady up the length of the plane and towards his electrical station, then past it to poke her head between the pilot’s seats.

“Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise, getting car sick, kiddo?” Demarco joked, “Hey, I get it, I’d find it hell back there with no windows to look out.”

Their front window was partially shattered and the metal on Cleven’s side was gnarled.

“Those mortars obligingly made a few.” Maureen joked back.

“Anybody hurt?” Cleven asked, and to her surprise, he turned from his panel to look at her with unmasked concern.

A joke was ready made there about everyone quite literally being shot to hell but she sensed he’d not appreciate it and following some uninterpreted impulse of desiring his good opinion, she hardly wished to repay his earnestness with flippancy. “Only one.”

“How bad?”

“He looked -dead.” Maureen admitted. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the man moving past him but she’d seen Egan’s treatment of the body and it wasn’t promising.

Cleven’s jaw worked overtime at the news and something snapped in his mouth, followed by a soft curse from lips too full and soft to always be so stern. Maureen thought he may have broken a tooth with all that tension but he spit out two halves of a blooded toothpick instead. It fell to his pant leg.

“Major Cleven, sir, you’re bleeding.” It had drawn Maureen’s attention to his wet lap.

“That’s what I said.” Demarco agreed.

“It’s somebody else’s.” Cleven shook his head.

“You know if you pass out on me-“ Demarco warned, completely ignoring Cleven’s denial.

“-that’s why we’ve got co-pilots.” Cleven finished for him with a maddening smirk that made Benny Demarco throw his hands up.

“Can you check him?” he asked, “I mean -you are a nurse!”

“What? Hell no!” Major Cleven spooked for the first time all day at the suggestion, glancing quickly from his reddened trousers, behind him to Maureen Kendeigh, and back again. “I’m fine.” he declared in a firm tone that dettered her almost as much as the challenge of getting over the instruments and a steering column to pull down his pants and look. “Ensign Kendeigh, was there a purpose to your visit?” He redirected, resolutely ignoring Demarco’s unabated concerns.

“Yes sir,” she replied, meekly as she could, “Doc Egan asked me to remind you that you’re not flying a bomber. To mind the oxygen, sir. And that it’s cold.”

Cleven let out a mirthless little laugh. “We’re full of holes Ensign, of course it’s cold.”

“I know sir.”

“Yeah, ‘course you know,” his eyes lightened for a moment and Maureen almost deluded herself he was being chummy when he murmured next, “you’re smart like that. Tell the Lieutenant Commander I’ll keep her nice and low, so low the Jap navy gunners can blow the floor out without a sweat.”

“Much obliged, Major.” Maureen chirped, pleased to have been trusted with a bit of morbid humor -it was the truest test of being taken seriously a woman could hope for in the service.

“Thank you, Ensign.” And with that she was dismissed.

By the time she got to the belly again her assigned job of doling out blankets had long been accomplished by her fellows. Brady had the place lit up like an operating theater and there was the added drone of medical equipment added to Cleven’s engines. She liked to think of them as his now, Maureen realized, a tiredness seeping in now that the rush was over, now there was just six hours of the same until they touched down again in safety. His engines stayed with them, consistent, steady, dependable yet a little absent, just like the man himself.

“Major Cleven said he’ll keep her low, Doc.” Maureen reported dutifully but whatever humor Egan once held when sending her to the cockpit was now gone, a bloody mess on his hands as he and Ensign Dormer worked over a head wound.

“Good.” Egan gritted out, “I need a monitor on vitals and I need new gloves, c’mon Candy, c’mon!”

The hours passed like this, no way of telling time in the artificially lit tube of metal. Some men needed a cup of water and a kind smile, others required every bit of grit and intelligence to keep even the faintest pulse discernible above the hum. When one of them passed away in the anonymity of the top bunk, Egan didn’t bother to cover his face, the man looked to be sleeping and it suited the morale better if his fellows were not disillusioned on that score.

It was impossible not to think for a split second on the unfairness of it all -live to be finally evacuated and only die before getting safe. To think how someone else less tore up might’ve been given that bunk and survived the trip.

“Can’t dwell on it.” Ida Brady, their headmistress back in Manila, had said -and she had been right. But seeing her brother Lt. Brady cross himself now in recognition of a soul passed did something to Maureen’s own spirit, a grieving sort of fury possessed her which matched Egan’s own as they worked on the next unsalvageable man until he became a likely contender for seeing his wife and kids again.

She had been up for nineteen hours, flying for ten of those, nursing for four. She was bone tired and yet there was always someone to be tended and the thought of leaving one of these poor men without even the slightest of their needs met felt impossible. Maureen didn’t even think to pause or lag in her expertise, neither did the nurses around her and up there at the front somewhere, Cleven’s eyes were sharp and focused as ever, she knew it, and knowing it brought a calm over her that made her sympathize with Egan’s own superstitious preference for the man.

Brady came through with coffee, an abnormal duty he picked up as a result of trusting no one else with the process or the electrical requirements to make it. “Figured our pilots could use it.” he explained before passing out a passel of paper cups to the girls filled with the peppy stuff, belying his practical excuse, before taking two to the cockpit.

He came back out with a funny look on his face- “Benny says he needs a pan.”

“What the hell for?” Egan balked.

“Or a condom.” Brady dutifully amended the petition.

“I repeat -what the hell for?”

“They’ve drank a lotta coffee sir.”

“Any of you fellas got condoms?” Egan asked his patients with a laugh and got a series of predictable replies. “Gale Cleven sure as hell don’t.”

There were light hearted moments like that, many of them in fact, but six hours of flying with wounds as bad as the ones they were tending was no joke, there were bits of laughter and there were times of quiet and there were restless sleepers whose terrors not even morphine could dim.

“Forty minutes out.” Major Cleven had gone quiet over the coms for so long it was like hearing from God again when he came on, gentle and steady.

Those they couldn’t get comfortable were at the height of their groaning as the cold and the endless buzz got to them. Helplessly the nurses offered pillows and water and irrigated the burns with saline and checked needle positioning. Maureen had taken to charting, something too often neglected in high stress environments but something that proved terribly crucial as soon as they landed and handed over their charges to a new set of professionals. On the left side of the plane she held one man’s wrist after another and noted their pulse. On the right side she did the same, one man’s left hand after another, wedding band or sans wedding band, in her notes it was only ever:

“94, 57, 88, 91, 63, 82”

The lights had been dimmed, hopes were some rest could be gotten by those in any shape to manage sleep. It made for a drowsy atmosphere, only the flashlight in her teeth illuminating the veins under her fingers and her co-workers faces, Egan’s face was a shiny mess of freckles in the torch light despite the chill, exhaustion seeping out of him but not a hint shown in his workmanship. It made the dull chorus of groans in the dark all the more ominous and Brady remarked to Smith on one pass that maybe they should have brought a record player.

“Twenty minutes out.” Maureen and every other soul on board was living for those little updates from Cleven.

Men told to hang in there and not die before they could be gotten to surgery suddenly had a goal in mind and the suspense was growing brutal. Stashed and stowed, secured and checked, landing preparations were already done and it was last minute tending before taking seats. Maureen found herself nearly piddling by one young private, trying to soothe him with a washcloth as sepsis fever wracked him when over the intercom came the oddest lulling hum, like a far off jazz intro.

It was too soft initially to be recognized but the surety picked up, something about the tone unmistakably belonging to their pilot, his hums about as characteristic of him as his laconic speech.

“Is that whadda friend we have in Jesus?” Demarco’s voice overtopped the gentle melody.

John Egan was wheezing in a chuckle beside her as Maureen shook her own head in disbelief.

“No,” Gale murmured, humming paused only briefly, “it’s ‘Leaning on the everlasting arms’ -you fish eater.”

“You gotta be jokin’.” Benny was wheezing too but Cleven was back to his gentle humming, words actually forming this time and filling the tired plane with a timbre that could put Bing Crosby out of a job.

“What have I to dread, what have I to fear

Leaning on the everlasting arms?

I have blessed peace with my Lord so near

Leaning on the everlasting arms”

It worked, the sickening drop in elevation was -if not noticed- bravely pushed aside for a hymn sing, Brady leading from the back and Cleven from the front. And for a brief moment, men from Kansas to Florida, Oregan to Rhode Island, strapped in a flying coffin of flickering souls, were seated back in the pews of their childhood, trusting something larger than themselves. Even if that something was Gale Cleven’s steady hands or the justness of a cause worth dying for or God Almighty, it was something big and above the pain of right now.

“Leaning, leaning

Safe and secure from all alarms

Leaning, leaning

Leaning on the everlasting arms”

The Navy station at Gaum had a runway, in fact there were five Cleven could have picked at whim, and there was no feeling so beautifully civilized and sure as the smooth roll of plane tires on asphalt after what they’d just left. “Flaps at quarter!” and they were slowing, the deflated back wheel only causing some slight disturbance, and then they were stopped.

That bizarre stillness settled again as the engines were cut. Egan gave Maureen a smile so soft and telling that her heart about seized in realization -they’d managed it. “Well that’s us.” he repeated for the second time that day, voice gone raspy with cigarettes and fatigue. “Welcome to American soil, boys.”

There were so many lights outside the cargo door, searing white flashes in the nighttime, jeeps and ambulances and all manner of medical personnel at the ready, it was overwhelming in the exact opposite way the beach at Iwo had been. Maureen hopped down onto the tarmac with Ensign Mann, ready and prepared to stay with her charges until the transition could be made. Clipboard in hand and kit on her back, she’d go in with her select five until they’d been admitted and charted meticulously in the various wards.

“How’s it feel to make history, Miss?!” -some of those lights, Maureen realized with a dull throb behind her eyes, were flashbulbs. Journalists were thick as thieves, snapping and hollering, others respectfully keeping a distance, “You're the first woman to step foot in a combat zone-“ Maureen kept her hand on her stretcher even as she watched Cleven limping over to a jeep and piling in after Demarco. Her mouth set in a sour line of suspicion regarding his claims of being unscathed. He’d be in interrogation and she in the wards for the next hour, she’d have to find out later.

A couple of hours later John Egan was sat with Captain Crosby in the administration office, nothing but a small alcove at the front of the ward, his legs spread wide in his chair and good scotch whisky being slurped from a cleverly injected orange while reviewing the charts. Croz was a whizz at this, meticulous and careful to a fault and John adored him for it because men who gave a damn were scarce after this many years of grueling loss and, also, because it allowed himself to wind down sooner than he was technically free to do so.

“Two men lost, that’s -that’s still good odds.” Crosby couldn’t manage an upbeat tone, he felt those two lives as deeply as Egan did, but facts were facts and over all, this experimental mission had proven beyond successful. Now to tell that to the families of the two men now being carted to the morgue instead of surgery and salt baths.

“Yeah, my girls were Trojans out there.” Bucky sucked his teeth, the squint in his eyes beginning to relax with a boozy sort of calmness. “Speakin’ of Trojans! —Candy!”

Maureen approached the little alcove at a tired gait, not above reprimanding Egan for his loud voice with all those occupied beds just feet away. “It’s late, Commander.” she reminded with hinting softness that only made him crane his head back and grin sloppily at her.

“It is, it is.” he agreed, reaching up to pat her arm and she squinted at the smell of whiskey, Crosby’s sudden and transparent busyness with the charts confirmed her suspicions. “You should get some shut eye, Candy! Back at it tomorrow.”

“So should you.” she hinted kindly.

“Mm,” he hummed in negative, “apparently my ‘specialty’ is needed elsewhere before then.”

“And so the booze?” she struck back and Crosby’s pen briefly dragged along his tidy line in shock at her daring.

“Steady hands, Candy darlin.” Egan responded, lifting two sticky palms up and showing, indeed, not a tremor. “I’ve got a surgery in less than an hour -working with Brady’s old sister, of all people, the one who snuck out of Manila after?- anyways, she’s 90 pounds of spit and vinegar. Starved for two years, but she takes three weeks off and a round of anti-parasitics and she’s all ‘let me back at ‘em.’ Hell of a dame. Anyway, surgery with her. I need this.”

“Well,” Maureen Kendeigh knew when to let go of a fight with a man who’d as yet never failed her or anyone else, despite his habits, “I can confirm it does nothing for your eyes bags.”

“Kiss ‘em better?”

“Not in my purview, sir.” she couldn’t help but smile, “Perhaps lieutenant Brady will be obliging?”

“She scares me.” he objected.

“And I don’t?”

“Only in the ways I like, Candy Darlin’.” he insited.

“Ah Major!” Crosby’s strained greeting drew their attention away from this over rehearsed banter and Egan straightened up fast upon sight of his friend.

“Buck!”

“John.” Gale Cleven was in the same uniform he’d been in for hours, flight jacket undone and scarf hanging loose. He must have come straight from interrogation and standing in front of the administrator's desk he was turning his cover over and over in his hands. Maureen was certain that were she to devote two hours a day to brushing her hair she could never bernish it to the golden brilliance that twelve hours of flight-sweat gave his. On a more concerning note, his was pale as death except for those lips. “I came to check in on everybody. Load of journalists out there.” He thumbed back behind him at the public area, “Mostly curious about you, Ensign.”

“Historical.” Egan affirmed and sent Maureen a sly look as she sighed over the fuss being made of her mission.

“I’m one of twenty.” she reminded.

“I hope you were nice about her.” Egan goaded his buddy and to her confusion, Gale flinched as if that were a remarkably successful mode of attack.

“O-of course.” he frowned severely and Maureen had a desperate urge to thumb those lines away. “I told them the truth.” he defended, mildly heated.

“Which is?” Egan was enjoying this and neither Maureen nor Harry Crosby could seem to puzzle out why.

“They did remarkably.” Cleven didn’t budge.

“Better than you thought.” Egan prodded.

“Yeah. Admittedly, far better than I thought. Jeeze, John.”

“But were you nice about her?” Egan insisted.

“What?”

“You said they were particular about Candy.” Egan said, “So what did you say?”

Maureen grew concerned that with such a level of fluster in the Major’s face not a stitch of blood seemed able to raise a blush.

“How ‘bout you read it in the paper.” Gale replied, coolly mean before clearing his throat and straightening up, back in possession of himself. “I came to see how many -how’d we do?”

“Twenty eight.” Egan confirmed.

“Outta thirty?” Cleven asked for confirmation.

“Yes sir.” Crosby answered him.

“Alright.” The Major accepted that, hat still whirling in his hands, a strange contrast to his perfectly contained posture. It drew Maureen’s eye to his hips and that deep red stain running down his pant leg.

“How’s your hip Major?” she asked, seeking to break the silence before Egan did so with some new and regrettable subject.

That did bring a flush and a sheen of sweat broke out on a face Maureen knew would be feverishly hot were she to touch it. He looked peeky, truth be told. “It’s fine, ma’am.”

“Hold up,” Egan stood from his chair and leaned over the desk to glare blearily at Gale’s trousers. “You're hit.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“Scratches don’t keep bleedin’ like that.“

“Well, mine do.”

“Hey, I don’t go tellin’ you how to fly your planes-“

“-you do though.”

“-so you don’t go tellin’ me what’s a scratch and what’s a wound. It’s still drippin’, that makes it a wound.”

Cleven moved his boot to the side impatiently and only succeeded in proving his friend’s point as a line of fresh blood smeared the white tile. “I was gonna just -“

“-What?”

“-Clean it in the shower.” Cleven sighed, defeated but with an edge that suggested he might yet do it .

“Oh, just gonna rinse mortar fragments outta of your thigh, yeah?”

“It’s not that bad. Dunno if it really got hit.” He protested, “Might be scratched.”

“Or you might have a piece of your instrument panel snuggled up to an artery.” John affirmed sarcastically. “We’re goin’ up again tomorrow. I need you fit, I need you good.”

“I am.”

“You’re gonna get checked.” Egan commanded and Gale looked back at the double doors leading to freedom and a pack of journalists and sighed. “You’re on the ground now, flyboy, I call the shots.”

“Ok.” Cleven mumbled, “If you’re so goddamn eager to pants me, do it.”

“I am, I am but I’ve got even better things to do.” Egan rounded the desk and flung an arm around Gale in parting, bringing him in close despite Cleven’s stiff necked antipathy that hid only the deepest seated endearment, “Like putting a left lung back where it should be and trying to get Lt. Brady to smile at me.” Egan expounded, letting go and beginning to actually leave, much to Cleven's sudden concern, “Which is, naturally, on the left -the left lung, that’s where it goes.” Egan went on.

“Wait, aren’t you gonna-?” Cleven called after him.

“Pantsing is more of Ensign Kendeigh’s purview.” John replied cheerfully. “Don’t look so appalled, I'm sure she’s seen smaller.”

“John!” Major Cleven and Maureen both inflected his name like twin, scandalized parrots.

“You deserve each other.” John laughed, “Ensign, do your duty.”

“This is the kinda behavior that has you gettin’ write ups for bein’ a terror to your nurses!” Gale growled after him in remonstrance but it did nothing to slow Egan’s tactical withdrawal.

“Bulshit, everybody on this ward loves me!” John dared to claim even as he was berated on his way out by more than a few wounded marines for being a little too jovial at two in the morning.

Cleven didn’t wait for the doors to fully close on Egan or for Maureen to collect her professional demeanor and clipboard before he was leaning over Captain Crosby at his desk, large hands splayed on the fresh paperwork, assuming the pose of a supplicant before a lawyer. “Harry, Captain, do me a favor this once and take a look fo-“

“-Major Cleven sir,” Harry Crosby interjected levelly and with the utmost respect, “I’m an administrator.”

Maureen composed herself, the sight of this stoic man losing a grip on himself due to the prospect of lost modesty was surprising, it was also motivating to find her own professionalism and put him at ease. “Major, if you’d follow me?” she nodded her head towards the ward and started clopping down the dim aisle toward one of the last empty beds. He didn’t need to lay down for it but she needed her instrument tray, an isolated light and, if his shyness was so severe, drawing the sectioned curtains would hardly be amiss.

When she arrived and turned round to instruct him, he was obediently there to obey. Something about that dogged respect for authority he possessed and his compliance with her own profession filled her with an odd protectiveness and she motioned him into the space gently, tugging the curtain closed behind him. He was taller than she realized, made more apparent as he took the initiative and tugged off the bulky weight of his flight jacket, methodically laying it out in a half fold on the bed, nothing but a lean line of him left in olive green.

Lanky, her mother would call him, a long drink of water. He looked all of twenty four, suddenly, soft and in need of a meal. “Your leg, yes?” she reaffirmed, jotting it down in the chart. She had found that men found it easier to talk of injuries when she wasn’t making eye contact.

“Yes.” His voice was low as the grave and hushed too, “And -I think maybe my hip.”

Maureen’s eyes flicked to the place in question, recalling how she had suspected his lap in general on the plane. “Right.” she made the customary jot down of the detail and then an arguably unnecessary note beside it, the longer to give him a chance to cool himself. “Your pants Major, if you would.” she filled in the date and the time, cursory information so as not to be idle while he undid his belt, the clank of the flat uniform clasp deafening in the space where he seemed to hold his breath.

She was used to discerning the moment when it was safe to look up. Often there was a brief period after the sound of pants hitting the floor where one might have the misfortune of catching a man adjusting himself to a preferred side. She was prepared to give him that moment in peace but his voice called her to attention.

“Is this?-“ he didn’t finish his sentence and she looked up to see his vague gesture as he stood in briefs and boots, jacket hung open, too.

“Yes I think we can manage with those on.” she smiled reassuringly, discerning his query. His skivvies were blood stained on the right and clinging to him but the wounds appeared to be above and below their coverage, “I’ve always got scissors if need be.”

“Scissors.” He repeated with a nod, teeth savagely dug into his lip.

“Jacket off, this could get messy.” She ordered and something about her decisiveness seemed to soothe him like she knew it would, he shrugged it off gracefully and laid it beside the sheepskin, and yanked at his tie to relive his bobbing throat. “Please, sit Major.”

He sat down on the bed, a little stiffly, and she reached above her to turn on the large overhead lamp, shining it down on them both and in the harsh glow of it she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so beautiful as Gale Cleven’s blushing face fixed upturned towards her own.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, looks like.” she attempted to make conversation and got a mere nod instead, once she stepped nearer, his eyes devoutly focused themselves somewhere to the right of them, on the floor.

She rinsed the area first, wiping away the crusted blood until his smooth, lightly haired skin came into view, little jagged tears visible in it with small fragments embedded. It wasn’t bad at all, but deep enough to keep it bleeding.

The touch of cool water made him jolt in surprise. What it didn’t do was make him shrink. She saw his hands curl, white knuckled around the mattress pad beside him as she gently dug out the metal, and she had a suspicion it wasn’t from the pain.

As unabashedly as her profession had taught her, Maureen tugged up his boxer leg until she was satisfied she’d uncovered the last little shard and did what was necessary, reaching atop the wet fabric and moving his heavy member up and away. He about bucked off the table at that mere touch of positioning and Maureen backed away out of pure animal instinct to avoid getting reflexively kneed.

“I'm sorry!“ he rushed out, his chest suddenly tight like an elephant were sat on it and his blood thudded in his ears, “Ensign, I apologize, I don’t know why-“

“It’s fine.” she insisted, stunned and pitying at the realization she probably was the first woman to touch him this way. To touch him at all. “I’m sorry this requires it.” she admitted.

“Please don’t -“ he took a large breath and began again, actually managing to meet her eyes out of sheer willpower, “-I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re doing your job, i don’t know why I get- it’s unprofessional of me, I'm sorry.” he repeated firmly and straightened his spine as if he could discipline a most human reaction away.

“It’s not at all uncommon.” She whispered, feeling compelled to be unprofessional herself if only to make him stop berating himself, “We nurses deal with this all the time, quite normal after combat, particularly.” Maureen paused for a moment and weighed the joke on the tip of her tongue as she dabbed iodine on a cotton ball and prepared to go back into the dreaded zone of his thigh crease, “It’s to be expected, the manual says; your blood is quite literally UP.”

Stood there in suspense between his legs with the iodine swab waiting mid air, Maureen waited until she saw a flicker of amusement twinkle his sad expression and a snicker escape that sober mouth. “Tell me about it.” he rasped, exasperated at his own body. “Every damn time.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” she teased, bringing the swab down and ignoring the sizable jolt his whole body and appendage gave at this dab to his thigh or the way his belly caved in with his deep intake of breath, “I’m telling you it’s normal.”

“Damn, you are sweet.” He declared suddenly with gut wrenching emphaticism that finally broke Mauren’s own precarious composure. “Not just to me,” he hastened to add in response to her melting expression so close to him, “to everybody out there. You were incredible today.” He paused and Maureen swallowed hard and tried with great difficulty to find the capability to thank him for the compliment. Before she could, he added with youthful honesty, “But you are -sweet to me.”

“Right back at you. Major.” she insisted, daring to stay that close and look back into those eyes she thought would be her last sight on earth for a second there on the beach earlier. His shuddering breath suggested he was recalling it, too.

“It’s nice to have friends in the crucible with ya.” he explained and Maureen felt her heart glow.

“Your poor hands.” she whispered, dropping her swab to gather his shaky hands in hers, the large palms engulfed her own even as she tried to cradle them. Never a hint of this anxiety while flying them, yet here he was shivering with it afterwards. “Probably blood loss.” she gave him an out, some men weren’t ready for talk of flight exhaustion or strained nerves.

“Then why’s it wasting all I’ve got to spare on…that?” He actually managed to joke back and Maureen actually allowed herself to laugh -god help her, she laughed at a man’s joke about an ill timed erection.

“John would say something about hope springing eternal, right about now.” she wheezed even as he groaned, his hands still placidly jittering in her grip, “I enjoyed your singing, by the way.”

“Mm, yeah, well,” he cleared his throat, “you didn’t see the hole in the wing or the busted flaps all the way home. That landing didn’t promise to be as pretty as it was.”

“But it was pretty.”

“Yeah. Not too bad.”

“A gorgeous landing.” she insisted and his eyes started to water under the harsh light. Impulsively, and in an act of unprofessionalism she would have never recognized before today, Maureen Kendeigh drew his hands close to her chest and pressed a kiss to his lined forehead. The way he sagged against her in a shuddering lunge suggested her impulse was a good one. “Doc Egan insists whiskey is good for this.” she whispered into hair that smelled so strongly of his musk and the wool of his cap she about buckled from it.

“Mm, but is it g—good for him?” he responded rhetorically, a gust of moist breath against the open throat of her flight jacket, his usual irony still remained with only a hiccup of nerves interrupting his speech. Maureen wasn’t sure anymore, what saved a life, well, it had saved a life, so why demonize it? She was here to force things to keep living in environments so hostile wildflowers gave up. Some men needed their booze and some men needed to be held in the hospital ward at two in the morning until their shakes calmed. As if he could read her mind, she felt Gale turn his head to the side a little for breath, face still pressed to her chest as he uttered quietly, “This is working. For me.”

“Good.” Nose buried in his hair she took a few measured breaths herself, feeling that odd calm still radiating off him, even as his body was shot to hell and giving off the overtaxed jitters. “You bring people calm, you know that, Major? It’s why Egan picked you for this, deep down, you make a plane load of dying men hang in there. That’s a gift. But when you’ve got a cup you keep pouring out of, it’s bound to go empty. Gotta refill yourself, sometimes, yes?”

“I thought this was blood loss.” Gale replied softly and it took Maureen a beat to recognize the sad mischief in his blue eyes.

“Alright. I’ll speak for myself.”She conceded with a huff.

“You must be exhausted.” he noted, suddenly as sober as they come.

“A little tired.” she admitted, questioning the way she instinctively tightened her hold on the back of his neck as he stiffened to pull away. Entirely unprofessional, she wasn’t a medicine spoon or a needle, he had every right to pull away.

“So what would fill your cup back up?” he asked in that low voice that sent a million varied undertones crashing through her, whether he intended it or not.

Too tired to be much more than plainly honest, or as honest as a woman should be with a half undressed patient cradled to her chest, Maureen admitted the half of it, which in many ways was the whole, “This is working for me.”she repeated his own words to him and watched them take effect.

Like a sudden reanimation had occurred, Gale Cleven untangled their hands with emphatic surety and then, in an act of kindness Maureen never expected, brought them to her shoulders and tugged her down for a solid embrace. “A hug and a nap then.” He prescribed, his solid shoulder beneath her cheek and his legs parted for her to step between. Only the bandages kept him from bleeding further on her.

“Not a nap,” she smiled, an inexplicable warmth and calmness flooding through her in his hold, his back was broad and lean under her hands, “we should go to sleep.”

“No such thing as going to sleep in the military, Ensign.” Gale murmured, “Sleep -that’s what happens when your mama tucks you in and you’ve got a whole night to waste. Naps. That’s what we take.”

“Alright, a nap, and a hug.”

“Alright.”

“You know,” Maureen dared with a little smile as some part of her slotted back in place and gave her the boldness to be a little too much, “there’s this thing people came up with ages ago where you hug and take naps at the same time.”

Pink cheeked but with a jaw clench that had defeated warzones, Gale Cleven pulled his head away and gave her a heavy look of admonishment, “Marriage.” he stated unamused.

Well, she had meant sex, and she wanted it, always had after danger -but Cleven had a point too.

“Uh, yes, that’s the most common-“

“-If I were to marry you, Maureen Kendeigh,” his voice took on a teasing lilt that was somehow more devastating than all his commanding earnestness, “there’d be no nap taking.”

“Oh.” A single utterance was about all she could articulate in the face of that smirk and gentle refusal. Both flattering and painful all at once. “Well, that’s not for us then.”

“No.” he pondered, full lips twitching downwards in disappointment, “At least, sounds like a decidedly post-war endeavor. No naps.” he clarified.

“Oh -yes.” she caught on, well used to the code of superstition all around her that didn’t allow men to spell out any sort of lasting, long term hope. “A postwar endeavor.” she agreed, never having heard marriage so smartly categorized.

“Uhuh,” his hands trailed up from her ribs to squeeze the sore muscles of her deltoid, “for now -naps. Back up tomorrow.”

“Alright.” she agreed, stepping a small distance back and looking him over, this time his presence didn’t shrink, in fact if anything he expended in the small room and it made her chest ache, “You're alright?” she made sure one last time.

He held his palms flat up and Maureen could attest they were indeed steady, terribly large, too, and his watch on his wrist was careening towards three o’clock. “Looks like it.” he rasped. “But you’re in charge here. Can I go, Ensign?”

Regretfully Maureen nodded, “You’re dismissed, Major.”

When he stood up from the bed he was by necessity in her space, looking down at her rather fearlessly as he yanked up the waist of his trousers and gathered the belt closed around his lean waist. Maureen felt her cheeks burn but couldn’t look away, if she were to glance away from those eyes she might see something even more tempting before he’d secured the fabric.

“Got any more duties after this?” he asked, breaking the moment as he bent to arrange his trouser hems over his boots.

“No.”

“Then I’ll walk you to your billet.”

“For naps.” she clarified cheekily.

“For naps.” he agreed with mirthful vehemence, finger pointed at her with almost paternal caution to not push his patience.

“Do you want your shell fragments?” she rattled them in their dish, the pieces she'd pried from the shallow muscle of his hip.

Cleven paused with his hand on the dividing curtain, shaking his head in amusement, “Give ‘em to Egan,” he suggested with a wicked little smirk, “knowing him he’ll make a talisman out of them or something equally useful.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, lemme head your thots or screams! Xoxo

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added for my MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

#mota fanfiction #mine #archive #friends in the crucible #Gale Cleven x OC #Buck Cleven x OC #Buck Cleven #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #masters of the air #Bucky Egan #doc Egan #Maureen Kendeigh #iwo jima #hbo war #john egan #callum turner #Callum Turner fanfiction

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saturnville · 2 months

Text

the man in the suit.

pairing: miguel galindo x afro latina fem oc (eliana)

prompt: miguel becomes infatuated with eliana, the owner of a popular coffee shop in town.

an: I was asked to bring back the Miguel Galindo fics by an anon. it's been over two years since I've written anything Mayans, but I'm always willing to revisit old fandoms, so, here we go, I hope you enjoy.

Her coffee shop was a staple in the town. Known for the rich Colombian coffee beans ground with intentionality, brewed with love, and served in mugs crafted by her own hands. The aura was always calm. Busy, but never so much that guests couldn't enjoy their time. They, just like she often, would get lost in the melodies of indie music that played from the speakers and drunk off caffeine and oat milk. The Tranquil Lounge was a blessing to Santo Padre.

Saturdays were the busiest days in the Lounge. College students stopped by to grind out assignments due the following day at midnight, entrepreneurs chugged coffee like water to finalize funding proposals, and others snuggled by the window with a good book. They were lively and invigorating; her favorite days in the shop.

She danced around her employees, humming a Marc Anthony tune as she topped off a cup with cold foam. Vivir mi vida, la, la, la, la, she hummed to herself.

"I'm very impressed. Most people don't know the lyrics passed the chorus," said an unfamiliar voice. Her teeth gleamed as she smiled softly. Her head still down, she placed a lid on the cup and slid it to the other side of the counter.

"I consider myself determined when it comes to learning song lyrics," she replied. "What can I get you?" Finally, she lifted her head, and she struggled to fight the instinct to gasp. How had he found her little coffee shop in town?

Miguel Galindo was notorious in Santo Padre. A businessman with illegal practices. The government hated him, men envied him, and women wanted him. Everyone in Santo Padre knew who he was and they knew better than to cross him. Their families could end up missing within hours if they upset him. It should have struck fear in her heart, but his presence did the opposite.

Her eyes scanned his attire. Bold of him to wear a white suit to drink coffee. But, it looked beautiful against his olive complexion. It was perfectly tailored to hug his broad shoulders. Her eyes followed its outline.

His brown eyes scanned the beautifully curated menu behind her. Bright colors against the blackboard. Sunflowers, rainbows, and bees decorated the menu. Creative, he noted. "I'll do a hot caramel macchiato. Medium, please." He handed her a twenty-dollar bill. She halted. The drink was $4.

Miguel looked unamused when she parted her lips to object, so she simply took the bill from his hand and thanked him with a smile. "Enjoy, hope to see you back soon."

He nodded. His eyes dropped to her nametag. Eliana, Founder. "Thank you, Eliana. You have a good day, quierda."

She smiled bashfully, "Gracias. You too."

Miguel Galindo was enamored by her. He saw the silhouette of her figure when he closed his eyes to rest at night. He heard the southern twang of her accent as he listened to music on the radio, and he saw the richness of her eyes in the mounds of chocolate chips scattered in Christopher's pancakes.

He made frequent appearances at the shop after that. Catching her friendly grin and gentle hands as she passed his cup to him was one of the few highlights of his day. He cherished it, craved it, and adored it.

He felt lucky when he waltzed into the shop one Saturday morning to find it empty. He thought it was a slow day, but she'd closed it for cleaning. And rather than turning him away, she welcomed him in.

"Your usual?" Eliana questioned. She propped her broom against a stable surface and turned to move behind the counter. "On the house."

"Oh no," Miguel waved. "You're not even open, I see." It was Eliana's turn to force an object into his hands. His usual--hot caramel macchiato; medium with a smiley face drawn on the side of the cup.

"You keep me in business, Mr. Galindo," Eliana replied teasingly with a smile. She was so pretty to him. The woman with a mahogany complexion and soft eyes with an unexplainably gentle aura.

Miguel's eyes dropped to the floor as he chuckled bashfully. He had a tendency to pay more than was due, but he credited it as paying in advance for future visits. "I just like to support where I can." Eliana picked up her broom and hummed, instructing him to get comfortable in the cushioned chairs near the window.

His eyes scanned the marvelous artwork that decorated the dark walls. Murals of people parading in fields of palm trees with drums, colorful skirts, and baskets of fruits, vegetables, and grains. They were all of deep complexion. His eyebrow rose.

"Where are you from?" He found himself asking.

"Costa Chica of Guerrero. Mexico." The area where Black Mexicans were the most populated.

"Tu familia?" Your family?

Eliana shrugged a shoulder and bent over to sweep the dirt unto the dustpan. "En México. Conseguí una beca para estudiar aquí. Se graduó con un título en negocios y decidió quedarse. It's a long story." In Mexico. I got a scholarship to study here. I graduated with my business degree and decided to stay.

Miguel mimicked her actions and gestured to the empty seat across from him. "I've got the time if you do."

They were polar opposites. She was an extrovert, he was introverted. She loved the fall, yet he found it one of the sadder seasons. Tea was her favorite, though she owned a coffee shop, but coffee was his holy grail. He grew up without his father present, but hers was her rock. So many new discoveries that he basked in like warm comforters on a winter day.

“I enjoyed today,” Miguel said as he walked her to her car. Hours had passed, the sun had set, and their day had come to a close. “I’d like to see you again.”

Eliana hummed as she tapped her key fob. Her vehicle chirped excitedly. She reached for the door handle, but Miguel beat her to it. She thanked him gently and slid into the seat. “Well, you’ll know where to find me, Miguel.”

He chuckled and nodded. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, but. he liked that. Effort was required. He liked a challenge.

“I do,” he replied. “Be ready tomorrow evening. Be safe tonight, Eliana.”

Her brown eyes are twinkled with curiosity. She stretched up and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Wear a white suit.” And with that, she started her car and sped off into the night, leaving Miguel to bask in the eagerness of seeing her again.

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #miguel galindo x black!reader #miguel galindo x black reader #miguel galindo imagine #miguel galindo x reader #mayans mc #fx mayans mc #angel reyes #ez reyes

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melit0n · 7 days

Text

Delicate Is The Flesh

- Chapters -> Prologue

- Chapters will be updated as they are posted.

- Obsessive! Demon OC/Reader

- Word Count: 2.7k

- Warnings for chp: None

- Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/140685856

Like the early morning star, your phone sends a bright, artificial light flooding throughout your darkened room. With each notification, it buzzes and hums against the wood of your nightstand, echoing against your four walls like a swarm of bees in the otherwise quiet room.

Being a light sleeper, something you picked up from years of waking up early to your parent's alarm to try and get a glimpse of their faces before 5pm, you’re easily awoken by the constant stream of messages pouring light into the tranquil, warm room.

Under the covers, you lie comfortably and in a drowsy state of drifting in and out of the dream world while the consistent noise pulls you like ocean currents back to the reality of your dim room. Your body begs for more sleep, but your mind whines at you to check your phone; this amount of notifications at what has to be the middle of the night must mean something important is happening, right? But you’re so warm…surely this can wait ‘till the morning when you’ve had a little bit more sleep?

To your sleep-deprived delight, the notifications seem to cease, and your room returns to its darkened state. Happily, you turn over, away from your phone, and cosy yourself further under the covers. A small, pleased grin graces your face as you slowly drift back into the warm, inky hold of sleep.

Bzz...bzz...bzz

But, much to your chagrin, the notifications keep on coming.

“Shut up…” is mumbled into your now warm pillow, your eyes snapping open to stare blearily at your ceiling before rubbing your face and closing them again.

Bzz bzz…bzz bzz…bzz bzz

Each damning notification wakes you up further and you become uncomfortably aware of how warm you are. Of the sweat on your face and trickling down your back. Your muscles groan and ache with the odd, uncomfortable position you’ve found yourself in as well; legs and arms twisted in on yourself like a pretzel.

“Okay! Okay…fine, I’m up…” Groaning loudly, you unfurl yourself and grasp fruitlessly at the air next to your bed stand, before accepting your fate and finally opening your eyes and finding your phone. A slew of notifications, all from a very familiar group chat named ‘The Loggers’ meet your strained eyes.

With a grimace, you recoil at the bright light of your screen before turning down the brightness and squinting at the messages that your half-awake brain can barely compute. Quickly skim-reading the conversation you were not yet privy to, you find your friends, well, two of them, fangirling over some abandoned site that they had ‘found’. By found, they mean there are multiple extensive articles written about it, a surprising abundance of YouTube videos and at least 4 threads of it on Reddit, all of which you can’t be bothered to read through at this time. You wouldn’t remember jackshit in the morning anyways.

As you��re about to put your phone back down on your nightstand and attempt to go back and get your dearly needed sleep, a message directly addresses you:

Jeanne: @Y/N read this:

It’s followed by a long link which, after clicking on it with a tired sigh, you’re half sure may or may not be a virus from the number of pop-up ads crammed into the site. You shuffle yourself further upright on your bed, back cracking with the movement. Carefully, you eye the small words in the article, reading:

On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit almost mummified after being deserted for so many years.

Neuhaven, a rebuilt mining town founded in the 1950s, sits unoccupied after a factory break out of, at the time, unknown, harmful toxins released into the air that made it uninhabitable for human and animal life alike on the 11th of June, 1972. The toxins caused irreparable damage to the human respiratory system, inducing almost plague-like symptoms of coughing up blood, extreme drowsiness, blueish colouring on the tips of fingers as well as auditory and visual hallucinations…

Below the paragraph lies a series of gory photographs; blackened lungs, missing fingers and bedridden children. However, one of the more disturbing photos that catches your eye is of multiple people with missing eyelids staring into the camera, or rather, staring right past it. Even through the pixels of your phone, you can see the utter terror contained inside their pupils.

You frown, almost clicking out of the article before your eyes glimpse the next paragraph.

…Unfortunately, the harmful chemical breakout was not noted to citizens of the town at the time. The full extent of the damage done only became fully clear when many of the aforementioned citizens became chronically ill; exhibiting signs of mental hysteria. Continuous hallucinations, paired with a debilitating illness no one seemed to be able to figure out the cause of, led many of the people of the God-fearing town to believe that this plague was a punishment from The Almighty Judge Himself. Or, perhaps, something more malevolent.

Well, your friends always had an interest in the morbid and macabre, didn’t they? All of you grew up inhaling online creepypastas, pixelated ARGs and horrifying LiveLeak videos like it was Oxygen, so, it was safe to say all of you were desensitised.

At least, to an extent.

Still, with the images of missing eyelids burned into your mind, which something inside of you told you were self-made, had you questioning why exactly your friends were so interested? Even from the few paragraphs you read, something put you off of this place.

It seemed less of an abandoned city and more of a mass graveyard.

Growing unnerved by the perturbing history of the town, you scrolled down further in hopes of skipping any more grisly photos.

After the official closing of the city in late June of the same year, the old town quickly became a hotspot for violent crime and drug dealings.

Oh. Brilliant.

Bodies of missing persons from across the country found their way down the river that flows between Rosholt and Neuhaven, almost like souls travelling down the river Styx, along with what morticians noted as ‘perfectly preserved’ corpses appearing and disappearing in the series of apartment blocks that Neuhaven houses and is, to this date, now most famous for.

Okay. Not worrying or terrifying at all.

However, across recent years, it has become a hub for urban explorers and true crime junkies alike. As well as this, the old town has begun to gain traction across social media due to its supposed ghost sightings.

At the word ‘ghost’, you perk up a bit, shifting upright in your bed. The covers rustle loudly in the light silence of your room.

Popular Urban Exploration videos turn into ghost-hunting videos that garner thousands of views. Despite this, many people believe that the ‘ghost’ sightings are simply hallucinations from possible leftover chemicals in the air (although a study of the area’s air by the state in worries of this shows no such thing) and the few that are caught on video are a result of electromagnetic waves coming from the radiation plant that provides power to Rosholt causing issues with any recording gear. Or, quite simply, many videos are believed to be edited. Nonetheless, they still make their rounds on social media.

Even with its recent boom of popularity, the city lies cornered off most months due to continued police investigation over drug dealing and by order of the local council due to plans to further expand Rosholt and demolish Neuhaven. Nevertheless, people still find a way to get in…

Another notification hangs over the top of your phone screen, which you tap on, only to see one of your friends sending links to YouTube videos, all with similar thumbnails of ‘Ghost caught on camera!’ or ‘Dead body found!’.

For the sake of your sanity, you go against watching any of them.

Jeanne: thoughts @Y/N @Helen? We're on break and we need something to do

Helen: Looks fun but the drug dealing, dead bodies and the whole being patrolled by the local council and police is a bit of a no-go for me. Has Noah already said yes?

Noah: Yeahh, it looks interesting from what I’ve seen, it isn’t every day you get the chance to see an abandoned city anyways. Plus, I’d rather Jeanne didn’t go alone and get done in by cops again lmaoo

Jeanne: Id be just fine on myself asshat <3

Jeanne sends a quick-fire response to Noah's 'insult' before attempting to convince Helen again.

Jeanne: I get u but when are we ever gonna be able to explore a whole abandoned city? Even if we only do certain buildings per night?

Helen: There’s so many other abandoned towns that aren’t patrolled by half a city’s police force. Plus, didn’t one of the other articles say that that town was radiated from a leak at the power plant in the big city as well? Getting radiated so I can’t go out in the sun ever again is putting me off a bit.

A video, a screen-recorded one instead of a link, is then sent over of some dude wandering around with what looks like a very damaged Geiger counter as he roams what you guess to be the shell of the city. Not a single bit of what would be considered dangerous radiation is picked up; at least nothing over the typical 20 counts per minute.

Noah: That fix your worries? Lololol

Helen: It’s still picking up something?

Noah: I know I help you out with Science sometimes but were you MIA when we did radiation or something? That’s just natural radiation, same amount you probably give off

Helen: Is that meant to be an insult? Lol.

Noah: No?? Of course not

Jeanne: @Y/N, what do u think? Stop looming over the convo Batman I can see ure online

Shit. You completely forgot they could see that.

For a couple of minutes, you go back and forth, trying to type a digestible response that doesn’t look like you just keyboard smashed, and, y’know, also contemplating if you really do want to go see an abandoned city and run the risk of seeing a corpse. Or, even worse, get tied up in watching someone become one.

You: Looks cool but the dead body thing definitely isn’t. Plus, if people are talking about there still being chemicals in the air, I’d rather not run the risk of getting whatever the fuck those people back in the 70s got

Helen: Thank you.

Jeanne: u two are such pussies! U know how articles like that like to blow stuff out of proportion, and anyways that stuff with all the dead bodies was ages ago, nothings happened for years

You frown at the response. Dead bodies are still dead bodies, even if they did appear years ago.

You: I’m still not too on board with walking around in what is basically a massive grave site

Noah: It’s only an hour and a half’s road trip away, closer than anything like Pripyat or Pentedattilo, and they said they plan to demolish it soon as well

Another lengthy article you don’t bother to click on is sent with the cut-off title of ‘Rosholt’s expansion plans for…’

Jeanne: by the time our break has ended that shit might be gone and we’d never be able to explore it. And its so fucking close to us as well!! Would just be a shame if we didnt get to see it

A few seconds of silence permeate the groupchat before Helen speaks yet again.

Helen: I still don’t know about this.

You take a moment to think it over, staring at the wall opposite you in bleary contemplation. Admittedly, your plans for the break had consisted of sleeping, bingeing films, rotting in bed and maybe going out to see a film or going shopping if one of your friends tried hard enough to convince you.

Your group had been going urban exploring ever since you can remember. You were half sure it was only because it was one of the few meetups you’d almost always easily agree to, but, either way, it was your Thing, so to speak. Abandoned malls, old diners, broken down farmhouses, you name it, your group had done it.

However, an abandoned city was new. Even with the threat of dead bodies and chemical poisoning, you were quite frankly intrigued. Maybe your friends would even let you off having to go somewhere with them for the rest of the break if you did this with them.

Don’t get it wrong, you don’t hate your friends, not in the slightest; there’s no way you would’ve been able to keep them for so many years if you did. Quite simply, you just aren’t one for extensive social interaction, especially when it means leaving the comfort of your apartment. Your friend Jeanne called you a homebody for it, Noah called you a ‘shut in with unaddressed social interaction issues’, which, way to hit you in the gut, and your other friend, Helen, simply called you reserved.

So, maybe, going here could get them off your back for a bit.

You: What date were you thinking?

Jeanne: I was thinking tomorrow? That sound good for everyone?

Another message is quickly sent.

Jeanne: I mean later today lmao, didnt realise it was that late, everyone good w/ that?

Noah: Good 4 me

Jeanne: nice! Helen?

Helen: I think I’ll be sitting this one out.

Jeanne: come onnnnn we gotta do it with the whole group! Won’t be the same without uuu

A few seconds pass with radio silence from Helen, and you watch with an odd amount of anticipation as the words ‘Helen is typing…’ disappear and reappear on your screen.

Helen: Fine.

Jeanne: WOOOOO

Noah: YESSSS

Smiling widely at your friend's reactions, and typing a response of your own, you put your focus back on the date. Tomorrow. You glance over at your alarm clock; 2:49am. Tomorrow as in...today. Tomorrow as in today where you’re currently getting a very minimal amount of sleep. Like a balloon, you feel your whole body deflate at the thought of having to spend part of your afternoon, and most likely all of your evening, in this abandoned city while running on a few hours of sleep....with one of the most energetic extroverts you've ever met; Jeanne.

You: Can we do it any other day? How about next week?

Noah: My brother and I are going on holiday with our parents after the end of this week for the next two weeks :’((

Helen: I’ve got to go back and forth between school for final coursework, remember? I don’t know when I’ll be completely free other than tomorrow and the day after that.

Jeanne: so its set, tomorrow yeah? That good with everyone?

Helen: Yes.

Noah: Yup

Sighing dramatically, you type out your answer.

You: Okay :D

A few more messages are sent through which you don’t bother to read through. You glance yet again at your clock and groan, praying that they don’t decide they want to go at the crack of dawn. Unlike you, your friends were all morning people if anything. Noah was a night owl who could run on three hours of sleep, down a shot of caffeine, wake up at 5:30 and spend the rest of his day fine. Helen naturally woke up early, body still half stuck in a different time zone, and Jeanne liked having every minute of sunlight that she possibly could.

You, on the other hand, suffered through never having enough sleep, body and mind consistently refusing to let go of the past and sending you through reams of vivid nightmares that seemed to have haunted you ever since you were a kid.

Plus, you certainly didn’t have the money for a therapist to prescribe you melatonin, or any other sleeping drug for that matter, let alone the prescription itself.

With a frown of disdain and yet another glance at your alarm clock, you gently turn your phone onto silent and place it back to charge on your nightstand.

Plans can wait; you’re too damn tired for this shit. Two weeks off from school promised you at least a better chance at getting a full eight hours of sleep, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get it.

Grumbling nonsense to yourself, you wrap yourself back into a warm blanket burrito, already knowing you’ll regret how warm and sweaty you’ll be by the morning, and slowly but surely fall back into the warm arms of sleep. Hopefully, with no nightmares.

Well, at least you’ve actually got plans for Winter break now. And hey, what could go wrong, right?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #oc x reader #yan!oc x reader #obsessive behavior #obsessive love #original characters #original writing #demons #ghosts #light angst #psychological horror #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #fanfic #mel's musings

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theknifeclown · 9 months

Text

NEW WELCOME HOME OC!!

His name is Bill Bumbles, but he goes by Mr. Bumbles

He is a silly old man, and a bumble bee!

I feel bad that I gave Terrin a bad childhood, so! This man finds Terrin when he's an adolescent (11-12) when Terrin ran away, and got him on the right track and gave him a better and more loving home

In his old age he has retired and now makes candy as a hobby as well as owns a big ole garden, he hums to himself a lot and has a skip in his step (mind the cane!)

#welcome home #welcome home oc #welcome home original character #Mr. Bumbles #I already love him

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legolasbadass · 27 days

Text

Office Hours, Part 31

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: E

A/N: Hi everyone! It feels like I blinked and suddenly I haven't updated this story in over 7 months, ooops 🙈 I moved abroad and went back to school in September to start a postgraduate degree, so I've had very little time to write over the past few months. I hope you can all forgive me and are still interested in Lorelei and Richard's story! If you are, I've tried to make this chapter extra special... 😈

Before I know it, the spring break is over, and I am drowning in emails, deadlines, and assignments to correct. Thankfully, however, the telltale signs of summer bloom across Oxford as the term unfolds. The air, once crisp, now carries a gentle warmth, accompanied by the hum of bees and the fragrance of blooming flowers along the banks of the River Cherwell, which beckons scholars and locals alike to punting excursions. Days lengthen, inviting late-night strolls through narrow cobblestone streets while the evening sky blends into hues of soft pastels. The fast-approaching exams threaten the leisurely atmosphere of the city, but when I walk through the sunlit streets with Richard’s hand holding onto mine, I feel as though time stands still; there are no exams, no piles of unmarked essays on my desk, and Richard is here, and he is not leaving. Not now. Not ever.

I try to be happy and excited for him—I am—but with each passing day, it becomes harder and harder to imagine being thousands of miles away from each other. But we have many things to look forward to; in a few days, we will officially be on summer holiday, and I will move in with Richard. That is what I need to focus on. His imminent departure looms over us, but it does not change the fact that we love each other and are determined to make this work. A year ago, I was offered a lecturer post at Exeter College. It was more than I had ever dreamed of, and I thought life could not get any better. Little did I know I would meet Richard and fall in love with him. The past few months have been a whirlwind, and it still surprises me how fast things have progressed between Richard and me—how quickly he has come to mean the world to me. The thought of losing him terrifies me, but we have been through so much already, so I have to believe that we can get through this next year.

“Lorelei?” A knock and a familiar rumbling voice pull me back to the present moment.

Richard stands in the doorway to my office, one hand resting against the aged wooden frame as he smiles at me. The unbuttoned collar of his white shirt draws my attention to his throat and the patch of hair peeking through. Just like the first time we met.

“Hey,” I say with a smile.

“Lost track of time?”

“What?”

“It’s half past four.”

“Oh,” I breathe out as I glance at the time on my phone. “Sorry—I completely lost track of time, yeah. Hope you haven’t been waiting for me too long.”

Richard shakes his head as I throw my laptop and notebooks into my bag, then rush to the door, but he blocks the way with his arm. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, smiling at the concern in his voice. “Just have a lot of things on my mind.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the tender look in his eyes tells me he is thinking of kissing me, but the hallways are busy with students and professors, all rejoicing at the end of the term.

“Good or bad things?” he asks, his hand lingering on my jaw for a moment longer than it should in this environment.

“A little bit of both,” I reply, but when he merely continues to watch me, I sigh. “There’s still so much to do before the move. I haven’t packed any of my clothes or anything from the kitchen—”

“Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you pack. Don’t worry about that.” I nod and offer him a grateful smile. Then he frowns. “That’s not what’s bothering you.”

Sometimes, I wish he did not know me so well. “It’s just the move combined with research deadlines and all the exams I’ll have to correct in a few days,” I say, not wanting to bring up the true cause of my discomfort. I do not want him to feel guilty—he should be excited about this research opportunity, and he deserves nothing less than my unwavering support. “Have you gotten any news on that flat you were interested in?” I ask a few moments later as I lock the door to my office before walking towards the main staircase, trying to appear unphased.

“Not yet, but it’s still early in Boston so maybe I’ll get some news later.”

“Right,” I say with a smile, but it hits me all over again that we will not only be separated by an ocean but by time as well, and the thought of needing to wait hours for a text or call from him when he wakes up each day claws are my heart.

“So I told Michael about Harvard’s offer.”

“How did he take it?” I ask, knowing this was difficult for him as they have been friends and colleagues for many years.

“He took it well. I mean—it’s not like he could do anything if he didn’t like the idea of me leaving for a year; I’m allowed to take time off from teaching for research. That being said, he told me he was happy for me and that it would be great for the department and the college to have one of their professors working with a famous scholar like Stanley Griffin.”

“Just as great as it is for Harvard to have one of their professors working with you, I imagine,” I say, looking up at him.

Richard chuckles skeptically. “Lorelei, he’s Stanley Griffin.” He speaks the scholar's name almost as if he were talking about Shakespeare himself. “His anthologies are used in most English departments.”

“Well, only one of you is a professor at what is arguably the most prestigious university in the world.”

“I guess,” he replies with a sheepish smile that warms my heart.

The sun burns bright in the sky above the dreaming spires, casting long shadows on the cobblestone beneath our feet as we walk through the main quadrangle toward Broad Street. All around us, students rejoice in their newfound freedom, lounging at cafes, iced coffees in hand, discussing summer plans while cyclists whizz by, their wheels clicking against the cobbled paths.

“I can’t believe it’s so warm and sunny today and we have to spend the whole evening indoors for the staff party,” I groan as I step into Richard’s car, throwing my bag on the backseat.

“We don’t have to go,” he says, closing his door and buckling his seatbelt.

“Of course we have to go.”

“Lorelei, these things tend to be really dull. They call it a party but it’s just a room full of tired academics who’d rather be at home or locked in their offices, and they serve ridiculous canapés that leave you starving at the end of the evening. Although, admittedly, there’s always an open bar.”

“Alright, then let’s stop and get burgers on the way and stay close to the bar for the duration of the not-so-party party.” Richard chuckles as he steers out of the parking spot. “Come on, our presence is expected. And it might be the last time you get to see some of our colleagues before you leave.”

He does not say anything for a while, then he reaches out to squeeze my thigh, and I know he, too, is thinking of the long months of loneliness ahead.

In an attempt to change his mind, I intertwine our fingers and smirk as I say, in a light, sing-songy voice, “I bought a new dress for the occasion that I think you’ll really like. It’s navy, and sleeveless—I just hope it’s not too short…”

Richard shakes his head but fails to hide his smile. “I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” As we stop at a red light, Richard notices my expression and sighs. “Alright, let’s go to the stupid party—but we’re not staying too late.”

***

It took longer than expected to get ready at my flat. Despite agreeing to attend the event, Richard prevented me from getting dressed with languid kisses and lingering caresses, but eventually, we managed to tear ourselves from each other and leave.

The city is submerged in the sun’s golden farewell to the day when Richard and I arrive at an imposing, Jacobean-style mansion near The Queen’s College, and as we walk through the tall wooden doors and into the main hall, I cannot help but gasp and look up at the ceiling high above us, causing Richard to chuckle.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, squeezing my hand as he leads me toward the grand staircase.

I nod. “I think I’d prefer to just walk around the building instead of going to the party,” I begin playfully, but Richard shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, letting go of my hand to hold my back and push me forward. “You practically dragged me to this thing so you better not leave me for even a second.”

I bite back a smile. “What if I need to go to the loo?”

Richard chuckles. “Okay, you’re not leaving me except to go to the loo.”

The hubbub of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air as we step into the grand room lit by the setting sun and the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. I spot familiar faces in the crowd while we make our way to the bar, but most people I do not know, so I am grateful for Richard’s reassuring presence, and I already dread having to attend events like these without him next year.

“So here we are,” Richard says dispassionately after we order drinks. “Now do you believe me for saying these things are boring?”

I shake my head in amusement, then bite my lips, suddenly feeling shy.

“What is it, sweetheart? You’re blushing,” he points out with a curious smile.

Hesitantly, I lean in and speak in a soft voice only he can hear. “Would it be less boring if I told you I’m not wearing knickers?”

Richard laughs, but then he catches my eyes and gulps heavily. “Are you—you’re really not—?”

I shake my head, slowly gaining confidence as his eyes darken. He laughs again, the sound deeper and hoarser, telling me exactly how he feels about my styling choice.

“This is a work event!” he playfully chastises me, and I giggle as he brings a hand to my back.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure this party wasn’t too dull for your tastes.”

He smirks. “I now suspect I’ll be feeling unwell or tired rather soon and you’ll have to bring me home earlier than planned.”

“Oh, yes? And how will we spend the rest of the evening once we’re back home?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Well, for starters, you’ll take off that lovely dress and bend over—”

Heat rises up my neck, and I nearly choke on my drink when, just at that moment, someone calls out to us, forcing us to pull apart suddenly.

“Richard, Lorelei!” Professor Bennett greets us with a kind smile. “I was beginning to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t be joining us.”

Richard glances at me, a cheeky grin illuminating his slightly red face, before turning back to Professor Bennett. “Last-minute outfit crisis,” he replies teasingly, squeezing my waist.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the tingling in my belly caused by his last words to me.

“And this is what you landed on?” Professor Bennett says playfully as he looks Richard up and down, causing me to laugh.

“Well, not everyone has your fashion sense, Michael,” Richard responds with a chuckle.

“Maybe we should start being evaluated on that; that way, I might stand a chance against you and win the teaching award for once.”

Smiling, I look up at Richard and then back at Professor Bennett. “Richard was voted favourite Professor again?”

“He sure was!” he says, raising his glass to Richard.

“How amazing!” I exclaim, momentarily resting my hand on Richard’s chest. “Congrats, love!”

Richard’s grateful smile is made all the more endearing by the faint blush blooming on his cheeks.

“But don’t tell anyone—I haven’t sent out the official announcement yet.”

Professor Bennett then turns to greet a passing colleague, so I lean into Richard. “I know one person who for sure voted for you,” I whisper with a teasing smile, thinking of Jane Taylor and the stars in her eyes when she speaks to him.

“Shut up,” he responds, though he fails to hide his smirk as he pinches my waist, causing me to giggle.

“Hey, there you are!” Natasha’s familiar voice interrupts us, and I turn to see her squeezing her way around a couple of Ph.D. students. We all greet her, but then she notices Richard and seems to hesitate for a second before she says, “Apparently, congratulations are in order!” Richard smiles shyly. “Working with Stanley Griffin—that’s exciting!”

“Yeah, it is,” Richard replies with a nod, though he momentarily tightens his hold on me.

“I must say, thank God for you, Lorelei,” Professor Bennett begins, causing me to frown in curiosity, “under different circumstances, I’d be worried about losing Richard to Harvard forever, but I know as long as you’re in Oxford, he’ll be coming back,” he says with a fond smile.

I chuckle, then try to come up with a playful response, but I cannot ignore the heaviness in my heart. How can I miss him already when he is still here, holding me tight?

Thankfully, Richard steps in. “Don’t worry, Michael, you won’t even get a chance to miss me. I’ll be coming back periodically to check in on my postgrad students—that sort of thing…”

“Yes, sure. For the students, of course,” Professor Bennett says teasingly, and from the corner of my eyes, I notice Richard staring at me longingly, and heat rises to my cheeks.

As they continue to joke around, Natasha catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her. I reassure Richard I will be right back, then step aside, concerned by the frown on her face.

Once we are far enough from the others, she reached out to caress my arm and asks, “How are you feeling?”

I gulp, suddenly understanding her previous hesitation. “I’m fine.”

She nods slowly, biting on her lower lip. “So he’s leaving for a year…”

I nod, struggling to gather the strength to respond in words.

“That must be really tough for you.”

“Yeah, it is, but… we’ll make it work.”

“So you guys aren’t—aren’t breaking up or anything, are you?”

“Oh, no!”

She lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! When I heard the news earlier today all I could think of was…” She trails off and laughs nervously. “You guys can make it work. I know you can.”

I smile. “Yeah, I hope so.” Then my smile widens. “Actually, I’m moving in with him.”

“Really?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up in genuine happiness.

“Yes! We want to make the most of the time we have together before he leaves, and this makes it a little easier to reassure ourselves that we’ll get through this together.”

Natasha nods and squeezes my arm. “I’m so happy for you two!”

“Thanks,” I reply, grateful for her friendship. Then I notice Richard eyeing me from the bar, but before I can say anything, Natasha smiles in understanding.

“Alright, go back to your man,” she teases. “I just really wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll go see if I can find Sarah somewhere.”

I give Natasha a quick hug before making my way back toward Richard, who is now conversing with two men I do not know. As soon as he notices me, he excuses himself from the conversation and, wrapping one arm around my waist, pulls me slightly to the side of the bar, away from prying ears.

“Everything okay?” he asks in concern.

“Yeah, Natasha just wanted to check in and make sure I was alright given… you know…”

Richard nods, then looks down at me with an exaggerated pout. “You left me alone when you said you wouldn’t.”

“So needy,” I tease as I rest a hand against his solid chest, my fingers absently playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “You were talking with Michael so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, new rule: when we’re at an event and you tell me you’re not wearing any knickers, you have to stay within arm’s reach.”

I burst out laughing, though heat rises to my cheeks at his rumbled words. “Alright, I can abide by that rule.”

“You better.” He smirks before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm against mine, sweetened by the wine he has sipped. I can feel passion simmering deep within him, and when I reluctantly pull away sometime later, all too aware of our surroundings, Richard groans quietly. He then takes one quick glance around the room before leaning in conspiringly. “I think we might be able to sneak out of here for a little bit,” he says in a quiet voice, then gulps, and I am momentarily distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You know, to explore the building like you wanted.”

“Right. To explore the building,” I repeat, smiling innocently. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, then winks as he takes my hand to lead me out of the crowded room.

The sound of our shoes against the polished stone floor echoes through the long hallway as we search for a more private place to continue the evening, failing to contain our laughter as we try door after door, in vain. We have nearly reached the other end of the building when we finally stumble upon an unlocked door. We cast furtive glances around us to make sure we are alone before slipping inside what turns out to be a small reading room with bookshelf-lined walls and a few rows of desks, illuminated only by the lamposts in the street below. The sweet, earthy scent of aged paper and leather-bound tomes fills the air, but then Richard wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, laughter lingering in his eyes, and the familiar smell of his cologne surrounds me. I can still hear echoes of the party in the distance, but it all disappears when, with a soft smile, Richard leans in to rest his forehead against mine. One of his hands is now tangled in my hair, holding the back of my head and pulling me closer as we share our breath, lingering in this moment, allowing ourselves to pretend that the rest of the world does not exist.

When he finally claims my lips in a hungry kiss, I let my eyes flutter close and, standing on my tiptoes, circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to me as I drown in his passionate embrace, content to pretend that my only worry is knowing we will eventually need to pull apart for air. We move against each other out of instinct, ignoring the time and place, fuelled by an evening of flirting and lingering touches and our impending separation. He lets go of my lips to trace a path along my jaw, down my neck toward that sensitive spot below my ear, and the warmth of his tongue combined with the rasp of his beard sends heat spiralling down my spine. My hands are now buried in his hair, tugging on the soft curls, and he groans into my neck before reconnecting our lips.

Without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly lifts me into his strong arms and sets me on one of the desks, spreading my legs apart with his body. Already, I ache for him; heat swirls through me, buzzing incessantly between my legs, and when he squeezes my left thigh with one of his large hands, I cannot help but buck towards him and whimper, the desperate sound of desire echoing through the room.

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” Richard murmurs against my lips, and a rush of arousal floods my core.

As his hand slides higher up my thigh and slips under my dress, I cannot help but chuckle. “Are we really doing this?”

Richard grins. “Don’t act innocent; you knew we’d end up in this situation the moment you decided not to wear knickers.” I giggle into the kiss at the deep, unbridled lust coating his words. “I can’t resist you.”

He pulls away just enough to watch my face as he teasingly slides two fingers over my folds, coating me in my arousal. Biting my lips, I wriggle on the desk to grant him better access, and when his fingertips brush against my clit, the whole room seems to pulse with the intensity of the pleasure tingling through me. Richard knows my body by heart now—he knows exactly where and how to touch me to have me panting in his arms in no time. He sets up a languid pace, alternating between drawing circles on my clit and slipping a long finger inside me, only allowing himself to increase the pace when I latch onto his shoulders, my hands pulling on his tweed blazer. My breath hitches in my throat when he slips two fingers inside me, crooking them and almost instantly finding the spot that has me arching my back and whimpering his name. My legs are now wrapped around him, my thighs pressing into him as he catches my mouth, taking the breath from my lungs and the moans from my lips.

My release washes over me in a dizzying wave, pulsing through every fibre of my being, leaving me hot and panting as I cling to Richard while he continues to pleasure me, not stopping until I collapse in his arms. A car horn echoes in the distance, reminding me of our surroundings. Even so, as I look up to meet Richard’s lust-darkened eyes, desire flares in me again, and the warm weight of his hardness pressing into my inner thigh reassures me that this is far from over. Licking my lips, I raise a hand to teasingly caress him through his trousers, revelling in the whimper he fails to hold back. One of his hands returns to my hair, gently tugging as I slowly reach for his belt buckle—

The door creaks open.

In an instant, Richard and I pull apart, and I hasten to tug my dress back in place and press my thighs together just as a security guard steps inside. His eyes flicker between Richard and me, his expression a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

“Er, sorry, guys—this room is supposed to be closed. You can’t be in here.”

Too mortified to speak, I turn to Richard, and he smiles sheepishly at the security guard. “Apologies, we didn’t realize. I was just showing her around.”

The security guard nods, then steps back to let us pass. My face burns as we mumble apologies, but he walks away as quickly as he first appeared, leaving us to stand awkwardly outside the reading room.

“I guess we should stick to our offices,” Richard muses playfully.

My heart still hammering in my chest, I look up at Richard, biting my lip, but then my eyes drift down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, and I burst out laughing.

“That man certainly won’t be losing any sleep trying to decipher what you meant by ‘showing me around’,” I giggle.

Richard looks down and tries, in vain, to adjust his trousers. “Do you think he noticed?”

“Well, I hope for his sake he doesn’t make a habit of staring at strangers’ crotches. But if he does, then yeah, he definitely noticed.”

“It’s all your fault,” he replies with a grin. Laughing, I wrap my arms around him and look up to meet his tender gaze, but he quickly takes my arms and reasserts a more appropriate distance between us. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” I chuckle as I straighten his blazer, not wanting to let go of him.

“Oh, yes—you look very sorry.”

“How about I make it up to you instead?”

Richard grins. “Does that mean we get to go home?”

“Yeah, I think sneaking away sounds like a good plan.”

The ride back to my flat is filled with stolen glances and lingering touches. As soon as we arrive and lock the door behind us, he pulls me in for a passionate kiss, and I melt in his arms. His touch is tender and possessive, and with each kiss, each caress, we reassert our love for each other, surrounded by the boxes that signal the beginning of our new life together.

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eloquentmoon · 11 days

Text

The Ladies Nienna and Ayane

this beautiful piece was created by @kimageddon, commissioned by @stardustbee for my birthday and it has to be one of the most special and gorgeous pieces i have ever received!!! it was inspired by a fic i wrote for bee about the friendship our OCs have between universes, the second time they meet. nienna (left) is my oc who is also the reader character from my fanfiction by the light of the second moon and ayane (right) is bee's oc from her fic the dance of sun and moon. this piece is part two, part one was a gift from bee last year which you can find here here. i'll post the new fic below just in case any friends are interested. love you, thank you so very much!!!!!!!1

The lady Nienna sits alone in her gardens, on the edge of a shallow pond, beneath the branches of draping swaying trees. It is a fragrant dusk evening on Naboo, and the growing summer breeze licks at her skin, her lower arms exposed from her sweeping green gown.

She is sketching privately in a little book, a habit from her youth that she was never able to forsake. Her drawings are much more profound than they were when she was a young woman, her skills and precision having improved over the years during her career as a portrait artist and art-critic. What has stayed the same however, is her muse. Her lover from her days as a young adult, and once again now, as a grown woman of thirty-five: the renegade Sith Lord Maul. Her reacquaintance with him did not go as smoothly as their first meeting all those years ago did, with petty squabbles and resentment and unspoken words muddying the waters of their reunion. But in the last year they have comfortably settled into a relaxed yet unusual dynamic. She cannot call it a relationship, no - he is much too damaged and maddened and chaotic for such a thing. However, whatever it is that they have now, it suits them well enough.

Nienna assesses her work, the sketch is of her lover from their meeting a couple of days ago. He had paid her a surprise visit, handsomely stylish in new robes and a pendant around his neck, an emblem of a rising sun that signifies his underworld criminal venture, Crimson Dawn. She thinks that his new aesthetic suits him now that his frame has grown larger with age, power and wealth. The dark tunic and gold regalia fits the powerful vision of him impeccably. His durasteel legs gleam in the same way that his brushed chromium weapon does, the hilt of the thing bold and dangerous: he carries it constantly at his hip like another cybernetic limb. She hums softly as she looks over her rendition of this strange man that is inexplicably tangled up in her life, feelings of an even stranger love tugging at her heart. She thinks over all that they have been through together, all that they have faced alone. How they have found one another again.

She notices a change in the air, then. A hazy sweeping density that plunges her into a soft weightlessness. She blinks rapidly, dropping her sketchpad to the plush grass as she stands. It is a unique dreaminess that she has felt before, in a life long ago, but cannot seem to place. She spins around, searching between the trees and exotic flower-beds as she senses that she is being observed. The forest before her morphs, the rich greens and browns of leaves and soil twisting into deep reds and hazy ochres of a rocky landscape. Before she can register the ominous curiousness of her current predicament, a silhouette emerges from the blur, the definition of the figure slowly morphing into full clarity. It is a vivid and feminine shape, tall and striding with purpose.

A woman that is heavy with child.

She is wearing a black dress with silver detailing at the waist and the dark fabric flows around her exquisitely as she walks, her thin hand resting protectively on her large belly. Her pale shoulders are exposed, but the reddish light of the strange scene warms the tundra of her skin. A choker of gleaming metal adorns her throat, the necklace engraved with the emblem of a raven, bold and solid. She has dark inky hair that is swept neatly from her face, half is up, braided with a twisting delicacy at the back of her head, the rest of it straight and silky, falling shiny and rich down her back.

Nienna becomes painfully aware of her own appearance, of her hair, which sits wild and bushy and curly around her head, her fingers stained with charcoal, her long dress, though custom-made, artisan and beautiful, has foliage and dirt littering the materials of her skirts from lounging in the grass all afternoon. Why must she always appear moonstruck and crazed, especially when facing strangers in the woods? It is a commonality of her whole life, her wild, earthy aesthetic always coinciding with strange meetings in the forest. She sighs, attempting to maintain her dignity and embrace her own rugged beauty in the face of the regal brilliance of the stranger's own.

The woman stops when she is a few strides from Nienna, squints her eyes at her, as though trying to place her. Close up, she seems less ravishing and more…frightening. Ethereal wrath burns beneath her expression, the weight of experience roaring in her irises. Those eyes…

"It's you," says Nienna, recognition morphing her expression into awe, astonishment lacing her words. "Ayane. The friend from my dreams in girlhood." She tilts her head, takes in the image of the looming, elegant woman before her. "My, you've changed."

Her friend’s eyes are the same colour as she remembers, but where they were once the blue of open summer skies, they are now the iced rage of a stormy sea. Though she seems more mature and wise, there are no lines of age marking her skin. Those lines are around Nienna’s eyes though, the years of her life beginning to stain her complexion, the youth slowly being leached from her skin. Ayane looks frozen in time, yet vibrant with the wisdom of a lifetime.

“Nienna,” greets Ayane, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “It has been a while.”

“How are you here?” The shorter woman asks bluntly, her confusion overriding her politeness. She reaches forward into the red mist that has followed Ayane into her vergant gardens, wiggles her fingers in it. It's cold.

Ayane purses her lips, looks around her. “Curious, isn’t it?” Her palm circles her pregnant stomach as she wanders. A silence settles around them, both unsure of how to approach this odd reunion. A crater of years rests between them, a vast distance between universes, as well as the inherently perplexing nature of their meeting. Nienna has thirsted for knowledge since she was freed from her home planet, and has scoured the worlds in search of it. She is an intelligent and well read woman, the itch to learn and rid herself of that childish naivety she has always loathed in herself as necessary for her as breathing. She researched her dreams, her strange visions and the odd meeting she had with Ayane as a young woman, and has only discovered one potential connecting factor - The Force. It beguiles her, frightens her. Mystical and maddening, its clutches have haunted her for her entire life. Is it the cause of this meeting now, too?

Nienna watches Ayane closely, following her movement with wide, green eyes. Then the woman stops cold, and a wash of menace sluices down Nienna’s spine.

"What is this?" She asks sharply, danger rippling in her voice. Nienna follows her extended finger, which points to her sketchpad on the ground, its pages open to her newest sketch of Maul.

Nienna frowns, blinking. "My art," she answers defensively, not appreciating the sneering nature of Ayane's tone.

"Why are you drawing him?" There is confusion and accusation in her eyes as she glares at her. The grave shadow in her gaze starts to become literal, the whites of them darkening to black. Her anger burns her irises red, and her lips instinctively pull back, revealing sharp fangs. She all but hisses at her.

Nienna flinches. She is perplexed at her friend’s sudden wildness and grim transformation, at how she recognised her lover in the sketch. "You know him?"

“Know him?” spits Ayane violently, "He is my husband. The father of my children."

Husband? Nienna is dumbfounded, completely taken aback. “Impossible.”

Ayane looks down at her body, swollen with the very opposite of Nienna’s truth. “This babe will be our third.” When she looks back up again, her darkness has dissipated, her anger quelled by the reassurance of their unborn child. Her eyes are the familiar blue Nienna first recognised, her mouth and lips returned to normal. It is as though Nienna imagined it.

Perhaps she did.

Third. The word rings in her ears. Three children? How could he possibly reproduce? It is physically unfeasible. A fantasy. Nienna bends to the ground and picks up the book.

“This sketch of him is an image from three days ago, Ayane. Look closer. At his lower half,” she insists, assuming this all to be some terrible mistake.

The pregnant woman takes the sketchpad from Ni with gentle fingers. She straightens upright, then brings the drawing closer to her eyes. She looks over the subject of the drawing, making note of such a unique face, a face that definitely belongs to Maul. It is unmistakable, what with his casual expression of contempt, the imposing crown of horns, his handsome nose and jaw: her soulmate's features are as familiar to Ayane as her own body is. She sees the cybernetics of his legs, and her bewilderment grows. Why does he have those? Why is Nienna drawing him?

“Who is he to you?” she demands coldly.

“I don’t have words for it,” Nienna replies truthfully, unable to make sense of what he is to her. Ayane stays silent for a moment, and Nienna tries to further explain, but the words do not come easily. “He is my liberator, my tormenter…my…” she tapers off.

Ayane disappears from herself for a moment, her gaze vacant as she looks into the distance, as though she is searching for something. And she is, internally, reaching out to her bond with Maul, trying to pass the bridge that connects their minds in the Force. But there is nothing there. No bridge, no connection. No bond.

“I cannot feel him,” she whispers, fear and awe strangling the reality out of her. “Not here.”

Nienna’s sense returns to her at these words, and she recalls her previous experiences with Ayane. She is not from this world, this galaxy, this universe - that much is clear. Perhaps she and Maul exist together as husband and wife, as parents…somewhere else. A different set of circumstances, a separate path.

Another Maul.

“Was he not bisected, where you are from?” she asked tentatively, her stomach twisting. Marriage. Children. How would he be capable of such things?

“Yes,” Ayane says sadly, to Nienna’s shock. “He was grievously injured in battle. But he was healed.” Her watery blue eyes meet the earthen green of Nienna’s. Nienna raises her hands to face, turning away from her friend. Healed?

“I don’t understand,” mutters Nienna, her heart pounding. “How does one heal from an injury of that magnitude?” She has never heard of such a thing, not once in her life. How does a man regain his legs, his reproductive organs, when they have been detached from his body? His survival itself was a miracle, and now this?

“We are from different planes,” assumes Ayane calmly. “My dimension is vastly dissimilar to this one.” She pauses, her lips pouting, her hand on her chin, her eyes glowering in thought. “It appears this…connection…that you and I have, Nienna, is somehow attached to our relationship with him.”

Nienna turns back to face her, and her expression is painted with disbelief. "We are connected…by him?"

“It is our commonality, is it not?” She asks, running her eyes over Nienna. “What is your relationship with Maul?” She spits, and she waits for that violent rage to erupt inside of her, the horrific rush of vengeance that rattles her bones when another woman is associated with him. Nienna doesn’t answer, and Ayane’s patience runs thin, unable to prevent herself from adding, "Do you love him?”

The air is sucked from Nienna’s lungs as she nods. “I do,” she admits breathily, in slight fear of Ayane, the image of her strange eyes and sharp teeth so recent in her mind. She braces herself.

But Ayane does nothing, says nothing, because she is taken aback by her absence of rage. Then she suddenly makes sense of it: it’s because the man Nienna loves is not her Maul. She is not connected with him in this realm, which is why she cannot reach him through their bond. It isn’t him, here, he isn’t hers. He is Nienna’s. Nienna has the same realisation, as she registers that she has not felt any resentment or animosity to Ayane since discovering their shared lover. That she has felt no need to lay claim to him at all.

“Oh,” Ayane murmurs, then smiles, the lack of fierce fury a soothing relief. She looks at Nienna, fondness in her eyes. A pause. “Nienna, this is ever so strange.”

This was not what Nienna expected to come from her friend’s lips. Compassion and empathy courses through Ayane, as she considers the Maul in this dimension, his disability and trauma. The toll this must have on her friend.

"I'm sorry," says Ayane softly. "That in this dimension you will not be able to bear him children."

Nienna snorts. "Don't be. I'd never have his children, even if he could give them to me." Ayane steps back, starting, her hands protective over her stomach.

Nienna’s eyes widen. "Forgive me. What I mean is that I never would have children. Not his, not anyone's."

Ayane seems confused by this.

“I birth enough creation with my art,” Nienna explains. “This world, this galaxy, this universe. It's no place for a child.” She shakes her head. “Not here.”

“What about marriage?” she asks.

“No,” Nienna insists. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you…happy together?” asks the dark-haired woman curiously.

“That is a complicated question. Our…romance,” Nienna answers, “is not at all conventional.”

Ayane giggles, and it is a heartfelt melodic laugh that breaks the tension between them. “I suppose that’s an intrinsic element of loving him.”

Nienna nods, then pushes her hair from her face. Hesitates.

“Can I ask? Your eyes. They changed colour…”

“Ah yes,” Ayane says nonchalantly. “That happens. I’m not exactly human.”

Nienna does not need to know any more, doesn’t want to. She accepts Ayane’s answer, happy to move on. A hard lesson she has learned is that though truth is sweet and enticing to her, sometimes it is the best course of action to resist knowing more than you need to, more than you are entitled to. She has become rather skilled at treading that line.

“Tell me, Nienna,” requests Ayane, extending her pale hand towards her to give her back her artbook, “of your non-conventional relationship with my husband. I am curious.”

Nienna snorts a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Ayane begins to giggle in tandem with her. Nienna takes the sketchpad back from Ayane, then reaches out and takes her friend’s hand. “I shall enlighten you whilst I take you on a tour of my gardens.”

The two wander in the timeless dreamscape, and Nienna identifies and shows off her multitudes of flora as she weaves her life story into words. She tells her of the Moons, her youth as a surgeon’s daughter, Maul’s sudden imposition on her life and the harrowing changes he inflicted upon it. She leaves out the details of their physical relationship, because though integral to their story, it does not seem to have a place in this conversation. Nienna sensed the depth of Ayane’s jealousy that rages in her blood. It is less painful for them both this way.

The walk of the forest is hazy, littered with odd watery scenery that indicate they do not walk the physical realm of her world. It is perplexing, how they are together, why they are together and what relevancy it has to their relationships with the former Sith Lord. The two recall their time in the woods, all those years ago, how they both awoke with a physical remnant of the dream; their flower crowns.

“I treasure that gift,” Ayane confesses. “I still have it, to this day.”

“So do I,” says Nienna. The delicate blue crown made with flowers from Ayane’s world sits under lock and key, alongside her other most valuable and sentimental artefacts. It lies in the pages of her secret sketchpad that she treasured all those years ago.

After a pause, Nienna turns towards Ayane and asks, “What do you suppose is the meaning of our meeting tonight? Do you believe there is any rhyme or reason to these events? You are clearly much more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am.”

Ayane sighs softly and shakes her head. “I have not the slightest idea. But I am glad that, for whatever reason, we were able to be reunited again.”

“Me too.”

The two women have now completed a lap of the entire gardens, and have returned to the spot where they were first reunited. They both perch on the edge of the pond, and Nienna retrieves her pouch of pencils that she placed between the rocks.

She smiles softly, then places her sketchbook and tools on her lap. She has an idea, and is slightly nervous to ask Ayane about it. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and flicks through to an empty page and looks at her friend.

“Ayane, would you mind if I did a quick sketch of you? I am a portrait artist, I’ve spent my life perfecting my technique and collecting the faces of those from across the stars. It would mean an awful lot to me to put this beautiful evening to paper, to be able to draw…you.”

Ayane blinks slowly, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly protectively. She seems unsure, but after pondering it for a moment, she ultimately nods, and a tender smile forms on her lips. “Of course, my friend. I would be honoured.” She looks around herself, and reaches for her hair. “Do you want me to…should I…?”

Ni shakes her head. “No, you look great where you are. You’re perfect, Ayane.”

And so she begins to sketch her muse, starting with an outline of the vampiress. Nienna’s wrists and fingers glide swiftly across the page, and she works fast but precisely, her expertise apparent in her quick fingers and the concentration painted on her face.

Ayane feels awkward at first, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She shifts, and looks at the ground, her body rigid. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the time stretches on.

“Try and…relax,” advises Nienna kindly when she notices Ayane’s discomfort. “Just look at the stars, at the moon. Watch the sky. Think of your family. Think of…him.”

Ayane nods, and exhales softly. She shifts again, and then looks up into the sky, and smiles. “I’ve always loved the stars, the moon.”

Nienna smiles, sketching as she replies. “As do I. It is a joy to be able to walk beneath the light.”

After a while, Ayane inquires softly. “Do you know of Dathomir, Nienna?”

“I do.”

“Dathomir is where I reside,” she says, looking around her at the abundance of flora, the vibrant greens and earthy browns. Nienna’s gardens appear to be the very antithesis to Ayane’s home of rock and red mists. “It is rather…different from yours.”

“Stars,” Nienna exclaims, “you live there? How do you stand it?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ayane, somewhat shocked.

“It’s not the…um…most comfortable of environments?”

Ayane nods, and smiles knowingly. “I suppose it can seem that way to some. For me, it’s my ancestral home, the residence of my kin. It is where I was born to be.”

“I do not have the same attachment to it. I went once, at the request of…him. It was not the most pleasant of atmospheres, to put it lightly. I haven’t returned since.”

Ayane giggles. “I can only imagine what the humidity did to your hair.”

“Exactly! It was awful. He said I looked like some kind of wild woman.”

Their laughter fades, and then the peaceful silence returns until Ayane breaks it. “Tell me Nienna, have you watched the moons from the Dathomiri mountains?”

Nienna pauses, and exhales. “No, I haven’t. I have yet to accept another of my lover’s invitations to his native home.”

“The next time he requests your presence, oblige him,” Ayane suggests. “Allow him to walk you up to the mountains. Watch the skies at night. It is the most beautiful thing - I can hardly bring myself to describe it. If your Dathomir is the same as mine, that is.”

The artist pauses in her sketching, and looks into the ocean eyes of her friend. “I will, Ayane. Thank you, that is very thoughtful. And I shall think of you when I look upon the moons of Dathomir. I will give the place another try.”

The two women sit beneath the Naboo night sky as Nienna continues to sketch Ayane under the moonlight. The breeze remains gentle and floral, and it brushes against them in a soothing caress, the leaves around them rustling softly. The evening stretches into the timeless dreamscape, and then, it is almost finished.

Nienna completes her sketch, drops her pencil and flexes her fingers and wrists. “Ah,” she sighs in slight pain. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.” She then shuffles over to Ayane and presents her the portrait. “What do you think?”

Ayane sucks in a sharp breath as she appraises the image of herself on the paper. Lady Nienna is highly regarded as being in possession of a rare and unique talent: in laying bare truth. She is able to present to the world, in full clarity, the hearts and desires of her subjects through their eyes and expressions.

The drawing of Ayane presents a softened reflection of the vampire, as though Nienna has delved deep into her mind and forced forth the girl from her younger years. Hope and loss and confusion gleam in Ayane's eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though in anticipation - as though that young girl she used to be is poised and ready to run from her life.

It's raw and candid and real: exquisite.

"Oh, Nienna…" Ayane says, her voice trembling with emotion. "I've not seen this version of myself for many years."

Nienna smiles softly, her eyes glazing across her work. "That's the person I first met. The Ayane I know." She meets her gaze. "The Ayane you are, deep down. My friend."

A tight fist of sentiment twists in Ayane's chest. Then, a soft breeze flickers the pages, revealing a self portrait Nienna sketched a few moons ago.

"This is you," Ayane says. The woman in the sketch has darkness in her eyes, yearning warping the clothes she is dressed in in a strange darkness. Her face, though neutral in expression, screams for purpose and liberation. Haunted.

"It's who I was. Who I am."

A pause. The dreamscape warps and glitches, and Ayane becomes slightly…transparent.

"It's fading." Ayane looks around herself, hesitance and resistance paints her expression. "Our time is coming to an end."

"Take this." Nienna tears out the self portrait, crushing it into Ayane's palm. "Remember me. I'll remember you."

Ayane's eyes water. "I hope to see you again, one day."

"As do I." Ni swallows, holding her sketchpad to her chest. "Goodbye Ayane."

"Nienna," Ayane says as she begins to fade, reaching her hand towards the shorter woman. "Remember the Moons."

And then she disappears, the crimson dawn of her home, universes apart, evaporates into the dark swamp greens of Nienna's gardens.

Ni takes a breath, the weightless feeling dispersing. She is grounded again. With charcoal stained fingers, she flicks to the page in her book that held the drawing of Ayane.

It's still there.

#thank you #eloquentmoon #stardustbee #ayane arinori #nienna fern #my ocs #friends oc #art #kimageddon #fic #moonie birthday 24 #by the light of the second moon #the dance of sun and moon

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maccreadysbaby · 5 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

first day of school is finally here for real. ALSO you meet the two additional lead characters for the whole story in this chapter :)

part five

❝ BRISTOL VS CRIME ALLEY ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 3 — 8:21AM

GOTHAM ACADEMY WAS HUGE. So much bigger than it had been when Bentley and Dick picked up Damian when they retrieved Titus from the vet. It had to be twice the size, maybe even three times, now that Bentley was staring at the front entrance in a uniform that matched all of the kids filing inside. It almost looked like a scary stone mansion from a horror movie.

He’d done a good job keeping it together that morning. The anxiousness hadn’t been as bad as last night, and he was able to relax with Dick to turn breakfast into storytime like he always did. But now? Now, Bentley was sitting in the backseat of Bruce’s car, right next to Damian, in the exact same uniform as him, and he felt like a billion bees were taking up his body as their home. Duke was in the passenger’s seat even though he could drive. Bruce wanted to drive them all on the first day and none of them complained; Damian said it was better than when Duke drove him.

The clock on the dashboard read 8:21am, which meant, according to the schedule he had folded up in his pocket, Bentley had exactly twenty-four minutes before he needed to be in his classroom. The gray, overcast sky that might have indicated an oncoming storm did little to ease his never ending nerves.

“Alright, boys,” Bruce started, turning backwards so he could see them all at once. “Have a great day. Don’t hesitate to call or text if you need anything at all. I’ll be in the pick-up line this afternoon.”

He’d taken up a spot in the lot ahead of the school instead of driving through the drop-off-line, and Bentley was grateful for that, because in the drop-off-line, kids got out of their cars and went inside immediately. They had to get out of the car fast or the people behind them started honking. The parking lot was much nicer — Bentley didn’t have to worry about being too slow when there was no one behind them.

He flinched involuntarily when Damian popped his door open and threw his red backpack over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Father.”

He got out and closed the door behind him, striding up the massive concrete steps and disappearing into the mass of matching students like he’d done it a thousand times. Bentley wished he had his confidence.

Instead, his mouth was really dry, and his stomach was doing the crampy thing again.

Bruce turned back to look at him. “You doing alright, chum?”

Bentley shrugged under the weight of his blue-gray gaze. He’d only heard Bruce use that nickname for Dick a couple times, usually when he was getting patched up after a rough patrol, so he wasn’t quite sure why he used it on him right then. But he didn’t mind.

“…I’m okay,” He replied, glancing down at his hands and fiddling with them in his lap. He saw Duke glance back at him from his spot in the front seat.

“Nervous?” Bruce inquired.

“Yeah,”

The man hummed in acknowledgement. “Feeling bad?”

He shrugged again. “A little.”

Bruce opened his console and pulled out a little ziplock bag, holding it back toward Bentley. It had two of the little pink things in it.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bruce reassured as Bentley took the bag from his hand. “I’ll drive you right home if you want me to.”

The child sighed, peeling the little bag open and popping the chewy things in his mouth. He might’ve felt like he was going to vibrate away thanks to all the anxiety running around inside of him, but he didn’t intend on backing out now. The only way to really make his father’s words go away was to prove them wrong, make them sound ridiculous. Yes, he was nervous, but he wasn’t pathetic.

“I’ll be okay,” He muttered after a moment. Bruce smiled lightly.

“Do you have your phone?”

“Yes,” He replied, patting his pocket just to make sure. It was definitely in there.

“Do you want me to walk you in?”

Bentley looked back out the window. There weren’t very many parents venturing inside unless they had the hand of a really little kid. Way littler than Bentley. But, after all, he kinda had a built-in person to walk him in since Duke went there, too.

“I don’t think so,” He said softly. “Duke’s coming; so I think I’ll be fine.”

Bruce’s eyes sparkled like they always did when dealing with one of his children, and he smiled. “Alright. You can go in whenever you’re ready. Take your time.”

Bentley glanced back at the entry of the utterly massive, expansive school. All of the other kids looked perfectly comfortable walking inside, if not a few that looked cold. None of them looked afraid or hesitant except for the younger ones, but that didn’t really count. Bentley wasn’t five, he was ten. He could complete the mere task of walking into a school building. Damian had done it with ease, and Bentley didn’t think the fact that he was an assassin helped him walk into a school.

He’d be fine.

He reached into the floorboard and grabbed his backpack, shifting it around until he could put it on his back. He took a deep breath and blew it out again.

“I’m ready…”

Bruce smiled. “See you guys this afternoon. Text me if you need anything. Or if you just want to. I’m not above grade-school gossip.”

Bentley smiled lightly, and nodded in agreement.

“See you later, B,” Duke said, popping his door open, too. Bentley followed his lead and opened his. The mild cold of autumn washed over him, and he shivered, not completely from the cold but not completely from being anxious, either.

“Bye, Bruce,” He said. Which was weird, because he’d never actually said bye to Bruce before. Sure, Bruce had left for business trips, and Justice League (aka a really cool superhero group) missions, and Bentley had gone places with Dick and Tim, but he’d never actually told him bye to go be somewhere by himself, without a single Wayne. It felt weird.

“Bye, Bentley.”

He breathed deep again, in and out, climbing out of the car. Duke was standing next to the door, waiting to close it behind him.

The building looked bigger now that he wasn’t in the car. Could a building change size in front of your eyes?

Duke closed the car door with a bang, and Bentley flinched when his hand landed on his shoulder.

“You ready for this, little dude?”

He sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”

Duke sighed too, and then a second later, they started walking.

“Can I see your schedule?” He questioned. Bentley dug around in his pocket and pulled out the neatly folded piece of paper, handing it over to Duke, who took it and unfolded it. Bentley tried not to stare at the other kids (one girl had long, pink hair? He didn’t know they were allowed to do that.) as they made their way up the stairs to the massive doors that were propped open.

Duke scanned the page quickly. “How do you already have a free period? This year is my first time having one.”

Bentley shrugged. “When I took a bunch of tests on the computer, Tim told me I tested out of sixth grade English.”

Duke nodded lightly. “So you just don’t have to take it?”

“I dunno. Bruce said I could take a harder one instead, but I didn’t want to,”

Duke nodded again, handing the paper back to him. “Looks like your first class is Dr. Keene. I had him a few years back, he teaches a couple different classes. I think you’ll like him.”

Bentley nodded lightly, and Duke put his hand back on his shoulder, and it didn’t leave as they integrated into the group of kids going through the door. There was a bunch of overlapping chatter that got louder as they drew closer. There were a bunch of girls with fancy makeup and jewelry, and they looked about Duke’s age. Some of the kids had very decorated backpacks to make up for the uniforms. He watched a boy with black and blue hair — probably not much older than him but about a whole head taller — drop a lit cigarette right outside the door and smush it under the toe of his shoe before he went inside.

Other kids were strange.

They also seemed to not care about him in the slightest. He hadn’t even seen anyone look at him but Duke, and it made his anxiety still just a little bit. Maybe he wouldn’t be forced into conversations he didn’t know how to react to.

Gotham Academy was huge. The entryway looked more like a mansion than a school, with classy dark wainscoting and big pictures on the wall of uniformed students doing various things. Dueling staircases curved up each side of the room, and the massive light fixture in the middle — not really a chandelier, but not not a chandelier — bathed the whole room in a warm glow.

Bentley realized all the other kids knew where they were going. He did not.

Duke kept his hand where it was as he led Bentley to the left, toward the staircase. “Lucky for you, the classes don’t get super far apart until you’re highschool age. All of yours should be in the same general area.”

Bentley nodded lightly, but he wasn’t sure Duke caught it. They thudded up the stairs behind the stream of kids and veered off to the left. Left staircase, left hallway — he could remember that.

The number of students thinned out in that hall, mostly ones around Bentley’s age, but some older, too. The walls were lined with gray metal lockers that also stressed him out. Because the thought of not being able to get his open and not being able to get to his books freaked him out.

He probably wouldn’t use it much, wherever it was. He had a backpack for that.

“Dr. Keene is right up here,” Duke stated, gesturing to a classroom door on the left that was propped open. There were others scattered among the hall, too, but Dr. Keene’s had brighter light shining from it. Probably because it was on the exterior wall, so it had windows.

“I’ll meet you back here to walk you to the library for your free period, okay?” Duke questioned. He let go of Bentley’s shoulder, probably to walk away, and a surge of panic shot through him tenfold. He made a small, embarrassing sound and reached out, clamping onto the sleeve of Duke’s blazer.

“Wait!”

His heart was beating really fast. When had that started?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Duke reassured, putting his hand back where it had been on his shoulder. “I’m not going to be far — just in the hall on the right side of the stairs. You can text or call me. I’ll be here in a split second. Or, if you get too uncomfortable, you can text or call Bruce. He’ll come pick you up and take you home. He took off work today just in case.”

Bentley sucked in a breath, watching the stream of kids pass. None of them looked scared.

“I promise. You need someone and we’re here, okay? I’m sure even Tim or Dick would pick you up if you asked. Not to mention Damian would probably ditch class if you needed him.”

Bentley fought back a cringe. He wasn’t so sure of that, not right now, at least. Damian hadn’t been talking to him much lately. Or anyone, really.

“Are you sure?” He muttered.

Duke nodded. “Positive.”

Bentley glanced around. The number of students in the hall was getting smaller, and Duke probably needed to go to class.

“You gonna be okay?”

He took another deep breath. “…think so.”

“Okay. I’m going to go to my classroom now,” Duke stated, releasing Bentley’s shoulder. He didn’t react this time. “Text me!”

Bentley muttered a small agreement as he watched Duke disappear down the hallway, weaving between other students until he couldn’t see him anymore.

He was alone.

Last time he was alone, he was in a warehouse with his father.

He shook the thought away and turned, realizing he probably looked dumb standing still in the hallway. The classroom door was a mere five feet in front of him. Kids kept walking inside like it was normal, like it wasn’t scary at all.

So Bentley shook his hands out by his sides and made sure his phone was in his pocket again, then pushed himself forward. Then turned, and stepped into the room.

Dr. Keene’s room was… cool. He taught environmental science, and it was obvious with the colorful posters about things like the water cycle and rocks and layers of the earth that were plastered around the room. He had a human sized skeleton sitting in the front corner with a bowler hat — probably for the Biology class he taught. The chalkboard was split in half, one side said Environmental Science, and the other, Biology. That’s probably what Duke had him for. From what Bentley understood, that was an older kid class.

The desks were organized into groups of three. Each one had a paper with a number sitting on it, but no one was in a desk yet, probably waiting for Dr. Keene to assign seats. The students around the room were chattering excitedly, and Dr. Keene was standing over the computer at his desk, typing something.

He looked older. Maybe similar in age to Alfred. He had white hair everywhere on his head but the top, and glasses perched on his nose. He was in a blue button up and slacks, and he looked, well. He looked fine, Bentley guessed. At least he didn’t look very mean.

Bentley drifted out of the doorway and stood near the wall so he wouldn’t be in the way.

All of the kids were in little cliques, talking to each other about summers and classes and comparing schedules. Bentley just sort of stood there, listening to them talk but not making any moves to talk himself.

A loud bell noise rang over the intercom, and Dr. Keene moved from his computer.

“Alright, students, listen up,” He announced, grabbing a piece of paper off of his desk. “When I call your name, say here, and I’ll tell you your seat number.”

Bentley fiddled with the straps of his backpack as he waited for him to begin speaking.

“Ashley Adams,”

“Here,” A small blonde girl with tight, coily hair replied.

Dr. Keene nodded. “Seat 17. Hugo Bronwyn.”

“Here,” This one was a boy with a brown bowl cut and a massive puffer jacket. Bentley hadn’t even worn a jacket — it wasn’t very cold.

“Seat 2. Neveah Bailey,”

“Here!” A rather excitable brunette girl bounced and held her hand up. She had about thirty bracelets on the her wrist.

“Seat 9.”

Bentley listened quietly as he called the students names, glancing at them when they said here.

“Asten Evans,”

“Here,”

Bentley jumped when a voice came from behind him. He hadn’t even known someone was standing back there, on the other side of the door. When he glanced back, he recognized the boy as the one with the cigarette outside. He had black hair that fell just past his ears and faded into a rich blue at the bottom. His skin was darker than Bentley’s, but not quite as dark as Damian’s, and he had piercing green eyes that looked sort of menacing. He was propped against the wall with a nonchalant, uncaring way about him, and his solid black backpack only housed a few pins with questionable symbols that may or may not have been weird band logos? He pushed himself off the wall with a quick sigh, and now that Bentley was closer to him, he looked a little bit older. Maybe even older than Damian.

“Seat 10,”

Bentley watched closely as Asten made his way to an empty trio of desks and sat down, letting his bag drop to the floor with a little pouf noise.

Dr. Keene went on naming kids off. There were a lot of girls in the class — more so than boys. There was probably double the amount of girls.

“Nico Rockefeller,”

“Here,” A hand popped up from behind a few other students, and they moved just the right way for Bentley to see a little dirty blonde boy. He was certainly small, though a little bigger than Bentley himself. He had ocean blue eyes that reminded him of Dick a little, and his bag was blue, too, with nothing on it but a rocketship and UFO keychain.

“Seat 11,”

Dr. Keene hummed in… annoyance, maybe? When Nico and Asten both chimed yes! as Nico slid into the seat across from the blue-haired boy. Apparently they were friends.

Bentley quietly wondered if he would meet any of Damian’s friends. Maybe he was in class with one, he wasn’t really sure. But he did snap back into reality pretty quickly when Dr. Keene called:

“Bentley Whittaker,”

He fought the urge to keep his mouth glued shut, and instead, forced out a little: “I’m here.”

Dr. Keene’s cold eyes wandered for a moment before they landed on him. “My, I almost didn’t see you over there. Seat number 12.”

He nodded slightly, glancing around at the big numbers on the desks. After a quiet moment, when Dr. Keene was already calling the next name, he spotted it: desk twelve was the third desk in the group with Asten Evans, the cigarette kid, and Nico Rockefeller.

Bentley stayed deathly quiet as he made his way over there, hanging his bag on the back of the chair and taking a seat in the desk. He didn’t dare make eye contact with either of his group members. He hadn’t exactly expected to be seated so close to other kids, in a group, he thought it would be more individual. Guess not.

“So, you’re Bruce Wayne’s new ward, huh?”

His eyes snapped up to Asten when he whispered that. The blue-haired-boy was staring straight back at him, head tilted slightly. He had a faint accent that Bentley thought he’d heard similar to before. He twisted his hands together in his lap and sucked in a breath.

“What… do you mean?” He sounded really young, talking to Asten. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe Asten sounded old?

Asten leaned back in his chair with a soft sigh. “It’s hard to miss Bruce Wayne rolling up to the school in his fancy car. Even harder to miss when a third kid gets out instead of the normal two.”

Bentley said nothing, but averted his gaze down to the top of the desk.

“What he means is-“ Nico sent a warning glance across the table to Asten. “-Hi, I’m Nico, and he’s Asten, the idiot. Bentley, right?”

He had a faint little smile that kind of reminded Bentley of Dick again, and he seemed a bit nicer than Asten. “…Yeah.”

Nico nodded. “Nice to meet you. How old are you?”

Bentley looked down at his lap. “Ten.”

“Wow, you’re probably the youngest in here,” The blonde replied, folding his arms on the desk. “I’m eleven. Jerkface over here is thirteen.”

Asten scowled at him over the desks. So, Bentley had been right about him being older than Damian. But what was a thirteen-year-old doing in a sixth grade class? Wasn’t he supposed to be in eighth grade?

“And that’s how you introduce yourself, idiot,” Nico grumbled. Asten rolled his eyes. For friends, they didn’t seem to be very nice to each other. But then again, it wasn’t very different from Dick and Jason’s relationship, and they were brothers.

“Sorry I don’t want to write a biography every time I meet someone,”

“Saying your name isn’t a biography,”

“If they want to know my name, they’ll ask,”

“That’s not polite,”

“Since when have I ever been polite?”

“You’re polite to my parents,”

“Yeah, because they already hate me, you dingus,”

Bentley just stared down at his desk and listened quietly. Being in a group with kids that he’d never met was already going to be a challenge, but being in a group with two boys that already knew each other was probably going to be even harder.

“They don’t hate you,”

“It’s straight pity that keeps me in their good graces,”

“It is not,”

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of adults I can make all sappy and weird,”

“I could because I’m with you when you do it, idiot. My parents don’t like you out of pity,”

“Whatever you say,”

“Alright,” Dr. Keene’s voice rang out through the room. Bentley hadn’t even realized everyone was seated until then. “I’m going to hand out a get-to-know-me worksheet, and that’s all we’re doing today. Talk quietly within your groups, make friends. Real classwork starts tomorrow.”

Bentley watched as he grabbed a file folder off his desk and came around to all the groups, dropping a page in front of each student. It was black and white with a big cartoon star with a smiley face in the top corner. Across the top it read, in a big, bubbly font: get to know me!

It was full of questions like what’s your favorite color? What’s your dream job? Do you play sports? Where do you live?

Bentley dragged a pencil out of the side pocket of his backpack and wrote his name on the name blank. The class went mostly quiet aside from a little bit of chatter. The first questions were easy. His favorite color was blue. His dream job, he guessed, would be a superhero, but he didn’t think he needed to put that. He wrote detective instead. He didn’t play sports. He lived in Wayne Manor. He paused on question five.

How many siblings do you have?

He blinked a few times. Technically, he didn’t have any, right? Or did he count his sister even though she was never born? Was he supposed to count the Waynes since he lived with them and Bruce was his guardian? He could’ve put zero. Or one, for his sister. Or eight, for Barbara, Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Steph, Duke, and Damian.

He glanced up toward the other boy’s papers, as if their number of siblings would somehow help him decide his own. Asten was writing with a red ink pen, and his number of siblings was zero. Bentley also managed to see that the where do you live question had been answered with a messily scrawled Crime Alley with a skull and crossbones drawn beside it.

Nico’s number of siblings was one, and said baby sister next to it. His where do you live question was answered with a neatly written Bristol.

It didn’t surprise him. Nico seemed to be more like Tim, and he was from Bristol, while Asten was similar to Jason, who was from Crime Alley.

Bentley was pretty sure Wayne Manor was in the Bristol area.

He kept quietly answering the questions, eventually just scrawling a zero next to the sibling question. Near the end of the class, Dr. Keene got up and did a little presentation about himself, his family, where he went to college, what he does outside of school, and so on. He was a photographer. A good one, Bentley thought, but not as good as Tim used to be. (Dick and Jason always thought it was funny to show off the pictures Tim took of Robin and Batman when he was little and call him a stalker. That’s how he found out their identities, following them around and taking pictures. Bentley had managed to see a few, much to Tim’s disdain, and they were actually very well done. Tim was in the age range of nine to thirteen when he followed the vigilantes around and took nice looking snapshots, and here Bentley was, ten and scared to even be at school.)

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be weird or anything, but why did you put zero on your siblings?”

Bentley glanced up at Nico, who was peering back at him in curiosity. Man, his eyes looked a lot like Dick’s.

“Dude, you don’t just ask someone that,” Asten grumbled, with an are you serious? look on his face.

“I just thought it was weird. Bruce Wayne has a bunch of kids,”

“A bunch of adopted kids, buckethead,”

“No, the one in the grade above us isn’t adopted. His last name is Wayne. Dimitri or whatever,”

“Damian,” Bentley corrected. Nico nodded toward him.

“Damian,”

“People can get their last names changed when they get adopted,” Asten argued. “There’s no telling if he is or isn’t, and it’s really none of your business.”

Nico sank back into his chair. “Sorry,” He said, but it was more aimed toward Bentley.

“…It’s okay,” He replied, tapping his pencil against the top of the desk. A few quiet moment passed before:

“Have you heard about all the missing people? It’s like half of Gotham is disappearing,”

Bentley glanced up at Asten when he spoke.

“Yeah. Freaks me out,” Nico replied.

Asten hummed. “The last person that went missing was a kid that disappeared from his house in Bristol, I think. He didn’t go here, though.”

Bentley knew that was true. It had been on Tim’s papers in the batcave.

Nico’s eyebrows nearly shot off of his face. “Dead serious?”

“Dead serious. Right, Bentley?”

Bentley didn’t know how Asten had learned that, or why he wanted his input. Tim said it was pretty quiet information, but he couldn’t really deny that he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Yeah,” He replied softly. He remembered Tim saying the last person to go missing was a fifteen year old boy who lived in Bristol, not too far from the manor. Nico looked over and searched Bentley’s face for any sign that he was joking, and when there wasn’t any, he shuddered.

“I think I’m going to stay at your house tonight,” He murmured. Asten snickered.

“Dude, people go missing, like, every day in Crime Alley. I think you’re better off at home. Plus, your parents would literally die,”

Nico frowned. “I wish I didn’t ride the bus. It’s so easy to get kidnapped getting off a bus.”

A beat passed.

“You wanna ride the bus with me?”

Asten snorted. “Your house is literally the opposite direction to mine. You’ll be fine.”

Nico looked down at his hands and fiddled with the pencil in them. He seemed to be nervous now, kind of like Bentley. He wouldn’t want to take the bus, either, after hearing that.

“You wanna come home with me?”

“Nico,” Asten scolded lightly with a faint smirk. “You’re not going to get kidnapped, dude.”

“But my parents aren’t going to be home till six…” He trailed off.

“And you’re going to be fine until they get there,”

Nico went quiet.

“You’ve been living in Bristol this whole time and you haven’t gone missing. Bentley, too,” Asten stated, gesturing toward him. “Wayne Manor is in Bristol, isn’t it?”

Bentley shrugged. “I think so…”

“See?” Asten continued. Nico didn’t say anything, but kept messing with his pencil. “I’ve been in Crime Alley for about a year and I haven’t gone missing. You’re gonna be fine.”

Nico still stayed quiet, although he had that telltale expression that said he wanted to cry. Asten caught on.

“Dude, don’t-“

“I’m not,” Nico cut him off.

Bentley stayed quiet. Actually, they all went quiet, focusing instead on the papers in front of them.

Not a minute later, a bell came through the intercom again, and everyone started getting up.

Bentley picked up his backpack and put it on his shoulders. One uneventful class done, three more to go. And it wasn’t even that bad.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

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angrelysimpping · 5 months

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December Prompts Day 2: Baking

GN! Reader with GN! Alex, Avery, and Wren

and

Male!OC Danny x Friend's Male!OC Joaquim

Word counts and any other content descriptions with each character's section

DoL

Alex

Reader (you/your); Alex (they/them); mentioned nightmares; fluff :3

Words: 109

Alex hums softly as they mix the ingredients together, a somewhat familiar tune they’d sometimes hum as you sat curled against them in the mornings or when you woke them with nightmares. They'd always wrap a strong arm around you, calloused fingers brushing over your scalp in sooth patterns, gentle hum lulling you back to sleep. They catch you watching them, a wide smile blooming across their face as they set the bowl down as they reach out, a warm hand catching yours and pulling you towards them. You laugh, their arms encircling your waist as they start to guide you around the kitchen, still humming as they dance.

Avery

Reader (you/your); Avery (they/them); could bee yandere Avery if you so choose; Avery's rage rears it's head a bit but nothing happens

Words: 205

Rushing around Avery’s kitchen is still a new experience for you. The business person had only invited you to live with them a month ago, after all. You still got tripped up on where the mugs were stored and how they liked the dishwasher filled. At this rate you weren’t going to finish cleaning up before they got home, let alone finish the- “What. A. Mess.” You freeze, eyes snapping to the doorway. There Avery stands, jaw tense and eyes steel as they roam the kitchen, taking in every speck of flour and smear of egg. Before you can say anything in your defense, the oven dings, and you rush to open it without thought. You can almost feel Avery bristle as you focus on your baking, ignoring them. But their tension starts to melt, shoulders relaxing and expression lightening, as you turn, displaying a freshly baked cake. “Sorry, I messed up the timing and had to start again so I didn’t have time to clean up and-” the words tumble past your lips, breathless as you try to explain yourself. Stopping, you gather yourself for a moment before giving Avery a soft smile. “Happy Birthday, Avery. We can ice it together, if you want?”

Wren

Reader (you/your); Wren (they/them)

Words: 195

When you first entered the kitchen, you hadn’t scoped the place out. You didn’t look for all the best spaces to hide or what was low enough for you to jump over for a quick escape if you had to. That was your first mistake. Your second mistake was not immediately shutting Wren down when they teased they’d come help you bake some cookies. Your third mistake was letting Wren near the flour. But they were all mistakes you’d make again as Wren vaults a counter, flour streaking their face as they grab at you. “Wren!” You squeal as the smuggler’s arm wraps around your neck and they crush your head against their chest in a headlock. “You slippery lil shit.” For their harsh words, they’re still laughing, and you can hear how hard their heart is pounding in their chest. With a devilish smile, you grind back against their crotch, and, for a moment, their grip slackens. Taking your chance, you slip out of their arms, throwing another fist full of flour at the blonde as you scamper out of the kitchen. It’s not long before you hear their quick footfalls racing after you.

OCs

Dannim

Danny Ashton x Joaquim St. James; mentioned escape from a dangerous situation but nothing is specified; is this the first time I've mentioned Barty on here? I gotta fix that; Joaquim and Aksel belong to 💜@inkyquince💜

Words: 232

“Hey, Kimi?” Joaquim pauses, hands still and head tilting back toward where Danny stands in the door frame of the tiny kitchen. Their kitchen. Their house. They’d just moved in, bought it outright with the St. James money. ‘A step above a shed,’ Danny had joked, but the naked joy in his voice of finally getting to settle, to not move every few months to escape Aksel, had made Joaquim love it all the same. “I made you something.” Danny moves forward, pressing his chest to the shorter man’s back. A familiar position that Joaquim relaxes into subconsciously. Danny’s long fingers glide over his forearms, tracing along his hands and stopping at his knuckles. At the rings he wore. Slowly, almost delicately, Danny takes a ring off, pressing it to Joaquim’s calloused fingertips. “You were baking the other day, kneading dough.” Joaquim hums, taking the jewelry, rubbing the metal between his thumb and forefinger. “Saw you patting the counter, trying to find your rings.” He lets out a chagrined laugh, “Barty pawed at them.” “He did, he did.” Danny agrees, hand wrapping around Joaquim’s and guiding it up to the wall. There’s something new. A curved hook, the tip somewhat blunted as if to keep seeking, unseeing fingers safe. A row of them, in fact. “For you to keep your rings.” Danny’s voice, almost a whisper, sends a shiver down Joaquim’s spine.

#alex the farmhand #avery the businessperson #wren the smuggler #dannim #danny the possessed #joaquim the tongue #quiet ocs #others ocs #degrees of lewdity #jesus this took me 20 min to format ><

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humming-bee-art · 3 months

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Pokesona receives a love letter and an Applin from her long distance Galarian fiancé for Valentine's day. 🍎❤️

#pokemon #pokesona #valentines day #applin #vday #pokemon trainer #pokemon trainer oc #pokemon trainersona #humming bee art #humming bee fanart #humming bee ocs

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inkmonster21 · 2 months

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Darkness

Bane x OC

Part 1 enjoy

(Y/n) had known Bruce Wayne since the day she was born. Her parents held her close in the pink baby blanket as Martha Wayne and her son Bruce strolled into the large hospital room. Martha had a large pink bag in her hands while Bruce hung onto the bundle of balloons tightly. "There she is, Bruce!" Martha Wayne beams at the newborn in her friend's arms. "She's so small," Bruce says as he stands on his tiptoes to see Lily. "May I hold her?" Bruce's eyes grew as he stared at the newborn. He smiles at her in his arms. His heart grew in size to make room for this new life. "If I can't have a sister, then I'm claiming you." The adults laughed at the 3-year-old. Bruce rang true to his word. The two of them are inseparable. At one particular gathering, Bruce was holding the child’s finger, as she took large steps, only learning to walk a month ago. "Careful, (y/n)." He warns as the two children maneuver through the crowd. Martha beams as she watches her son be so caring for the toddler. "He's a better nanny than the one we have."

Year after year (y/n) grew and Bruce was there every step of the way. He was at every dance recital, school play, and spelling bee, he even promised to be her escort to her formal.

(Y/n) parents had such an impression on the city of Gotham. For a while, it held. Her parents were really in love and he was a great father. There are several memories where (y/n) can recall where her father had been caring. However, it seems things always turn rotten in the city of Gotham.

Lily Richards noticed a shift in their family dynamics when she came home from school one day. The young lady waltzed into the kitchen only to stop in her tracks. Frozen in fear. "You say one more thing and I'll-" her father seethed at her mother, holding her by the hair. He had only stopped when their daughter appeared. If the empty bottles of whiskey weren't enough of a clue, his breath was a dead giveaway. He had made drinking a habit and it had now taken a toll on the once proud man. "Mom?" (Y/n) stared into her mother's eyes, tears threatening to spill. "Go to your fucking room." Her father demanded, slurring his words. Her mother nodded quickly. Lily ran up to her room and locked the door. She was terrified. All she could hear was her father's screaming insults and lies. Glass crashed on the floor and her mothers wept loudly.

(Y/n) prayed every time it occurred that it would be the last time, but it never was. Her father kept drinking and abusing her mother. For years her mother had to endure the pain. Nothing in the world made (y/n) more angry than her father. Just the sight of the man would make her bones shake with fury. Her mother deserved better.

On the night of her 21st birthday, Bruce was kind enough to host a party for her. "All smiles! It's the Princess's birthday!" Bruce yells as (y/n) blows out the candles on the large cake. It was a wonderful, lavish party. "Only the best for (y/n)," Bruce said time and time again.

"You didn't need to do this, Bruce. You know I would've been happy with a cupcake at midnight." "oh I know, but this is 21. I had to do something big. Plus I had to give you one big memory before I leave." (Y/n) furrows her brow at her friend. "Leave? Where are you going?" Bruce stays silent for a moment. She had known his internal battle. He struggled with Gotham. When his parents were murdered, she was the one who was able to make him smile. Only a mere 5 years old but (y/n) was able to comfort Bruce.

"You know I have to go." "I thought you were joking about this whole thing. Bruce, you can't leave." He shakes his head, "I made my decision, (y/n). I have to. I have to find some type of assurance." (Y/n) wrapped her arms around him, her oldest friend. "Promise me you'll be careful." Bruce hums with a smile. "You know better than that."

Alfred drives (y/n) home that night. "Say hello to your parents for me, Miss (y/n), and a very happy birthday." Before (y/n) closes the door she smiles at Alfred lovingly. He had always been such a caring person. "Thank you, Alfred." (Y/n) opens the door to the large mansion. Stepping a foot inside the parlor, she could smell the blood. "You... fucking... bitch... I know... YOU TOOK THEM!" Her father slams his fist down upon his wife's face. Her unmoving body lay on the ground under him. (Y/n) felt the familiar rage consume her. She ran over to her father, pushing him off of her mother. "Oh my god." (Y/n) covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "What did you do?" Her mother's face was beaten to oblivion. She lay on the floor completely unrecognizable. "She took them. I know she fucking did." She looked at her father. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his mouth was drooling. He was clearly on another drug binge. He points his finger at his daughter, his limbs shaking. "You." He starts to crawl towards her. "You took them. DIDN'T YOU?"

(Y/n) was shaking in fear. Her father had just beaten her mother to death, and now he was after her. "What? No, I don't know what-" he pounced at her, dragging her ankles towards him. "WHERE'D YOU PUT THEM?" He sneered at her with rage. (Y/n) was crying, and screaming. Surely the neighbors could hear. Her father slapped her across the face once, and then again, he started pounding on her, just like he did to her mother moments ago. In a moment of freedom, (y/n) was able to grasp an object. One of the many on the floor. A large glass award her father had been bestowed upon. The most respected man of the year. Oh, the irony.

She whacked him on the side of the head causing him to roll off of her. She got to her knees and brought the heavy glass award down upon his head again. She couldn't stop. Screaming as she brought it down again, his head now mush, much like her mother's face.

Something in her broke. The final bit of innocence she had was separated from her soul as she saved herself. Darkness was taking over her heart, mind, and soul.

"GCPD! Stop right now!" (Y/n) turned around. The blinding light being shined in her eyes brought her back. Her arms dropped to her sides. Everything was in slow motion, two officers charged at her, pulling her arms behind her back and into cuffs. They hauled her into the GCPD. She was a sight for sure. Her face was wet with tears, streaks of makeup down her cheeks, her hands coated in the blood of her father, and surprisingly a soft grin on her face.

(Y/n) (L/n) was the talk of Gotham. The trail ran on for months. Lawyers fought for (y/n), Alfred Pennyworth even taking the stand to defend Lily's character. He claimed Bruce Wayne would do the same if he were here. However, with the impact her father had in the city, and the caring friendships her mother shared, (y/n) didn't stand a chance. She was viewed as the villain.

(Y/n) was sentenced for her mother and father's murder. Gotham claimed she was pure evil. Locking her up in the woman's correctional facility. There she remained for 7 years. Until her good friend came back to town.

"(Y/n)! Get your shit! You're going home." She sat up quickly, almost not believing what she heard. "Well, looks like it's your lucky day." Her cellmate, Selina Kyle hummed from the top bunk. "Stay out of trouble, Selina." Selina winked as the bars closed between the two.

The large gate opens revealing none other than Bruce Wayne. "What are you doing here?" She runs into his outstretched arms. "Well, when I found out you were in prison I figured I'd sign off on some things. You're on house arrest by the way. Only six months." Bruce dangles the ankle bracelet in front of her. "You don't... believe it?" Bruce opened her car door. "Not a word of it. Neither does Alfred. He knew what your father was like behind closed doors, (y/n). It's time for you to have the life you deserve."

Even if she was accused of her parent's murders she was still the holder of all of the assets when they passed. The house, the money, it was all hers. (Y/n) was determined to get a job. Even if she didn’t need the money, she wanted to be a regular citizen of Gotham. It was difficult to even find somewhere to hire her. Any large company in the city wouldn't dare allow her on. She was the crazy rich girl who killed her parents! It was an answered prayer that a tiny coffee shop hired her no questions asked! It took time, but Gotham gossip became too large to hang onto the tale of that murderous brat, (y/n). Gotham having dealt with people like Johnathan Crane and The Joker made her small tale look insignificant.

John Blake came one morning to get a coffee. Blake had recognized (y/n). Yet he didn't shy away. He found her beautiful and her fierce personality addictive. He had always been a caring individual. He could help heal the rest of her if he tried. If she would let him.

"Me?" She looked dumbfounded when the young police officer asked her on a date. "Yeah. I was thinking 8 o'clock?" "Um, sure." She couldn't hide the smile that crept upon her face.

It was at this time her dear friend, Bruce Wayne had revealed himself as the masked hero Batman. "You're joking!" She punches his chest. "You're not him." He stays silent, only staring at her with a smirk. "Seriously?" Bruce stands, and walks to the piano, hitting three different notes before entering a hidden path behind the bookcase. "Holy smokes, Batman."

Rachel and Harvey were abducted and placed into two separate locations. Bruce wasn't able to save Rachel. That killed him. He not only felt responsible, but he lost the woman he loved. Batman took the fall for the murder of Harvey Dent. Bruce then retired and locked himself in the west wing, and hasn't spoken to (y/n) since. That was 8 years ago.

#bane #dark knight #batman #batman bane #Tom hardy #bane imagine #batman universe #dc comics #bane x reader #bane fanfic

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alastorscreamlover · 3 months

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Copper And Sugar Coated Tunes

AeliaXAlastor Platonic/semi-romantic OC storty TW: Mentions of blood Summary: Head over heels for Alastor who seems to be dancing on the line of romantic and platonic, after being aromantic for many years there's always a possibility romance will arise. After all Aromantic and Asexuality are a spectrum. For now he's happy with his toy.

For: @mydisenchantedeulogy

Cannibal town was always a hoot, it’s been a great home to Alastor for many a year and found it in a strange way comforting. Though it was not where he resided on purpose, when those days hit where he had too much gossip in his bones he would go out of his way to find Rosie and spill anything he had. Within reason. After all, everyone had their secrets, and his most unkempt secret was Aelia, a rather sweet tart of a demon who’d been floating like a bee around the radio demon for some time now. No one could fathom why, but no one would question it since the red demon himself had a rather large cast of unseemly characters these days. Her on the other hand he kept at arms distance rather than a good five meters away.

Rosie especially kept an eye on this, after all even an ace in the hole like Al still deserved to find companionship in all its shapes and sizes. Not that he made it very clear what she was to him. One moment it could be a silly friendship, the next possibly romantic and just at the tail end she could be a victim for the taking. Every so often Rosie swore she could see a chain on her neck but just as she saw it it faded. Like a red string of fate that southerners would speak of.

It seemed now that the red string had brought them arm in arm to the town square for a feast. A celebration of new friends, from Charlie to yourself it was all to be celebrated. Alastor hadn’t come with Charlie this time, instead the demon was arm in arm with the swan demon, their horns gleaming in the glow of the lights swinging just above. “Alastor! My sweet swan!” Rosie called cupping Aelia’s cheek and gingerly reaching for Alastor’s hand, “A pleasure to see you two arrive! Charlie and Vaggie have been setting up for a bit but I’ve been waiting for the two of you for the music!” She grinned, sharp teeth gleaming.

Aelia smiled softly at the woman leaning into Alastor gently, the limit of proximity boundaries not often tested and gingerly accepted on the demon's part this once. He didn’t go rigid but a hum escaped him, dusted with radio static. “A pleasure Rosie! I will gladly get it set up as long as you don’t mind my music!” He explained with a slight boy, releasing Aelia from his arm he pat her atop the head, “Why don’t you go find my radios dear and I’ll set us up a table!” His ever present static dissipated and he swept off with Rosie to get the final preparations done for their table.

The young avian demon let out a small sigh, she had been hoping for a little more time but as the older radios and gramophones showed up in green smoke, beautiful magic as always. Flapping her wings once in preparation she flowed gracefully to them, prepping them to the same station or moving the needle to the right starting point. Wings causing a pleasant breeze to mix the blood of the food and sweets that were brought by others. Copper and sweet confectioners sugar. When the final one was set correctly the music began. Upbeat jazz music began to coax the crowd from their bloody feasts, bringing them closer to the gazebo as they began to pair up.

Most of those in Cannibal town had come together not just because they are human eaters, like minded in that sense, but because they also died around the same time. Even Alastor could be counted amongst them. The only reason Vaggie fit in there was because Charlie was the princess of hell and they had to welcome her in with open arms now, Aelia on the other hand didn’t have a chance. Floating back to the cobblestone, a shadow appeared beside her, forming quickly into Alastor as he extended a hand to her, “Care for a dance?” He asked, his big grin pouring into the avian demon.

Surprise coated her expression before the small hearts began to form in her pupils. “I-I’m not really… versed in dancing.” She admitted almost avoiding his hand at first but as he didn’t remove it from the offer.

“I’ll teach you then!” Without missing a beat he snatched her wrist and pulled her between a few other couples. Though it was a ‘leave room for Jesus’ type dance it was still closer than they often were. Almost toe to toe, sometimes even bumping shoes as he sent her through the movements. Like a rag doll she followed until it was more like a puppeteer.

“My deer I-” He lit up for a second before she could get another word out, his eyes narrowing slightly in a teasing way, the previous hears in her eyes being accentuated by her blush. Oftentimes when she wasn’t thinking it might slip, her adoration for him was no secret and he’d take advantage of it whenever he saw the opportunity.

“Hush you’ll do fine,” He whispered, bringing his head down slightly so his mouth was near her ear, quoting the song in a slightly sing-song way.

‘I wanna be loved by you and you alone.’

His voice low, backed by a subtle amount of static so no one else could hear, causing the hearts to grow in her eyes as she tried to imagine he was just singing along. He was the type to tease and test, so who knew if he meant it just to her as he led her around the open dance floor whispering the lyrics in her ears. His heart thumped to the rhythm of the music while hers took up the tempo of jazz. Every so often Al would check in with her, dipping her down or gently twirling her to ask a question while Rosie giggled and pointed them out. An ever supportive friend.

Maybe he was taking notes from Angel to tease the blush out of her, watch what would make her squirm. Regardless of his angle, manipulation or not, it was polite and respectful at face value. Something Aelia couldn’t and didn’t want to see past, she wanted to look into those deep crimson eyes and see love reflected in them, not hunger or manipulation so that’s what she saw. Gently spinning her he brought her across the dance floor to their table.

Delicately decorated in reds and whites, strawberry cakes, tarts, and gently blood garnished dishes. Though Cannibal town had it’s downs ever since Alastor came back they’d had a newfound appreciation for aesthetics in their food and he’d made sure to make Aelia’s look extra appealing, jambalaya for the two of them no doubt but it was decorated in such a soft way you could be fooled into thinking Rosie did it herself. If it weren’t for the small garnish of fake radio static on each plate which Alastor put on each of his dishes then it would have been a lie.

A smile tugged at Aelia’s lips and Alastor brightened, there it was, the smile he’d fought for, the one he’d been after, a hard one chased. His static paused and he reached out pinching her cheek, “There it is. The little swans smile.” He teased almost proudly before pulling out her chair, gesturing for her to take a seat.

It took her a moment to process, first the pinch, her hand delicately touched where Al had pinched, a softer more embarrassed smile taking the smile of awe. “Little swan hm?” She finally managed as she sat on the lawn chair gently scooting in.

“I have to admit Rosie was right on the money when she called you that.” There was much more behind that but currently he was much too excited for food. Though he didn’t often express it, or even give into his cannibal tendencies this was one time he’d agreed to be human. For Charlie, for Rosie, for Aelia.

Her heart picked up a beat, the nickname sticking was a twist, especially if Alastor was going to hold on to it, “Thank you.” Her shell was slowly being cracked open, a sweet side coming through, fighting to show it to Alastor but also keep it hidden from the world they both lived in.

Taking a small bite of his food he chewed carefully before reaching a hand out to her, his claws skimming the skin to not hurt her. “Thank you for coming dear, I would have hated to come unaccompanied to such an event! You fill a void with a bright presence!” Was he just listening to himself talk? “You’ll have to keep accompanying me though now, I’m not one to jump from person to person!” No, that had to be him setting up something. Aelia giggled, lifting her own fingers and wrapping them in his. Her free hand lifted the bloody wine to her lips, letting the crimson stain the corners of her mouth as she paused. “Let’s make it a deal.” He offered as he rubbed the tip of his finger on her hand.

Her heart leapt and she almost choked on the wine. “Alright I’ll make a deal on it, I’ll attend with you, just as long as we can have a good time.” She offered, her words almost fumbling over each other. Small sparks of green magic left his fingers but there was no chain, no offering of souls, instead the smile he had met his eyes for the first time in a long time, “Then my little swan, it’s a deal~.”

#hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #Alastorxoc

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster: Teaser

Morpheus x reader / Morpheus x oc

Oneiromancer!reader

The Eros and Psyche/Soulmate AU no one asked for. Enjoy this snippet from the first chapter while I work on the last couple chapters of Younger Gods. The first chapter should be out by the end of the week.

The next adventure awaits. It's full of dreams and nightmares, fae and foul intent, lovers and fools.

Teaser

Through the door. Down the stairs. Trotting, quick and quiet on her nameless mission into the bowels of the Demon King’s estate. She could imagine Johanna’s voice cutting across space and time, picking apart her plan, shitting on her magnetic attraction to the cursed and unfortunate corners of the world. No back-up. A vague idea of an exit strategy. No clue what she was walking into.

What could possibly go wrong?

The goosebumps on her arms forecasted doom, but she couldn’t ignore the sparking current running through her chest. The farther she went, the clearer the sensation became.

Despite the electric lights, shadows clung like dust, growing deeper and wider as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The basement sucked the life out of the LED bulbs, refusing to share its secrets with an outsider. Hush, it whispered, hide it, bury it, keep it from the daylight.

Each step charged the static creeping over her skin. Her heart threatened to fall out of rhythm with the little shocks as it swelled around her like the sea. Something she could taste. Something she could drown in.

She didn’t have to look into the room to know the guards slept. She felt it. They’d had their tea and enjoyed it very much, so now their resting minds hummed in the space like a pair of bees. If that wasn’t proof enough, a snore echoed between the bare walls, carrying up the stairwell.

At the end of her descent, she found an iron gate. Whatever the Burgesses had ferreted away, they feared it. But she’d have time to find her own fears in just a moment. First things first. An important life lesson, even in darkest dungeons.

Especially in darkest dungeons, actually.

She didn’t look through the bars, keeping her focus on the lock. Bolted from the inside, a simple keyhole begged for a pick or a spell to let her pass. It wasn’t her area of expertise, but the mechanism had soaked up decade up on decade of magic, and it was nearing the tipping point between magical artefact and mundane tool. Magic stained everything in the basement, to the point she wondered if she might see her own footprints lingering, like marks on a sandy beach down the stairs.

Johanna had taught her a few tricks to handle locks over the years, and this one begged for something more than traditional keys. She slipped her fingers between the bars, resting her finger over the keyhole as she listened for what it wanted. It asked for something. It was tired of standing guard for so, so long, and it just wanted a reason, an excuse even, to let go. It wanted a fucking rest.

Poor old thing.

She found a word, matched it to her intent, and whispered.

“Deditionem.”

The lock turned with a creaking groan, and the gate sighed open on rusty hinges.

Sparks rippled like fire through her chest, and she shoved her hands deep in her pockets to stop herself from rubbing the ache.

She was not alone.

Her eyes swung along with the gate, drawn to the bright center of the dungeon, where a prisoner sat in a glass cage, like a hollow moon in the void of the underground.

Human eyes might’ve mistaken the hostage for a man, and damn if he didn’t look like one. A beautiful one. But she saw something more.

Even in the smothering dark of the cellar, his shadows glowed sharp. Threats whispered through the angles of his stiff posture, and the stars in his eyes glittered red.

He sat like a king, straight and cold, holding himself apart from the petty creatures who’d snared him with dignity and poise of inexhaustible grace.

He’d already noticed her. Unblinking eyes fixed on her face, unimpressed, but attentive. Not friendly in the least.

She held the staring contest for a full minute before she snapped, lashes fluttering as she floundered for something to say, not quite ready to look away.

“Hi.”

Inspirational. Truly.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc

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babstheyaga · 11 months

Text

Fear Me Or Die: Ch. Four: m&m's, Peanut Butter & Type B's, Day 2

Pairing(s) for chapter: BumbleBee/Reader, Oc&Reader, Jazz&Reader,

Previous Ch. - Next Ch.

Word count for chapter: 5.7k

Rating for this chapter: Mature

Warnings for this chapter: Threats of violence, degrading, curse words

A/n: (From ao3): Wow wow wow! Look who it is! And look what good old' OP gave to my loyal followers...! I got this commissioned for the story, (Really for my own personal needs because I desperately wanted it)!!! From Left to right, you can guess who the first one is... Optimus! Bee, Ratchet, Jazz, and of course our beloved reader (AKA a self insert because why not? Ya' know?) The only thing I have to say about getting this commissioned and purposefully getting reader done in the drawing is, it was mostly for me. I in no way want this to alter your view on the reader, unless you are uncomfortable envisioning yourself. I try my best to make the reader as color versatile as possible, so I try my best not to hint at shapes and such. The only thing I want the reader to envision for themselves, and I apologize if there are any plus-sized people reading, but I envision the reader as being very petite, mostly for the sole purpose of being able to be lifted with ease (Wink wink, nudge nudge). I plan on commissioning the same guy (Sirobuen on Fiverr) to do Arcee, CliffJumper, Derek, and of course IronHide (Who we have yet to meet, STAY TUNED TILL NEXT CHAPTER). I have to do some more work on Fiverr to get some money, though... Yes, I do take commissions ;) (Even though my writing is pretty crappy)

My shoulder was still numb from thirty minutes ago. The stitches in the nook of my neck now cleaned and no longer dripping blood. I was thankful for the doctor, though I still didn't know his name... He was the one I wanted to pick from the beginning. I thought of how it would be different, not having to sleep on the floor perhaps? I laughed at it. BumbleBee wasn't the nicest person in the world, but I guess it's better than being stuck with Optimus. I feared that man like no other, and I doubted I would be getting away from him any time soon.

The medic was still working on me even after fixing my shoulder. He wrapped my hands after putting some kind of ointment on them, then moved to my feet and knees. I didn't realize just how roughed up my knees were until I didn't have my jeans on anymore. The doctor allowed me to put on my shirt, a different one, a clean one, praise the lord. He was doing something to my heels currently, having a wooden... Thing... I couldn't quite tell exactly just what it was. It looked like a tongue depressor, but I wasn't sure if that could be used or not with whatever the hell he was putting on my feet.

I watched patiently as he cleaned them, gently dragging a rag over the open wounds and washing it off in the sink next to me. It hurt, the feeling of my flesh being reopened after a night of it healing terribly... But once he put the strange gel over it, and started to wrap them in gauze, I took in a breath and straightened my back.

“Doctor...?” I asked aloud, my voice still cracky even though I hadn't talked in a half hour. He hummed in response, not taking his orange hues away from my footing. “If you don't mind me asking... What is your name, again?” He raised a brow at that, scoffing through his nose and blinking a few times.

“Not too often I get someone like you to ask for my name...” He answered, tightening his grip around the cloth. “Ratchet.” He told, and I nodded.

“Right... I heard it before, but... I forgot.” I admitted, and he sighed.

“I don't expect you to remember much of what will happen within the next few months of you being with us... Or should I say, BumbleBee.” His words weren't comforting though, the all-realizing thought that I was going to be stuck here with these people for who knows how long.

In the midst of watching Ratchet clean me up, across the room were Jazz and Optimus. I didn't really get a proper view of the area from the kitchen, but I could see there was a living room to the left of me, two giant couches, a fireplace, and an old box TV. The fireplace was lit, a small, dying fire inside. I looked around more, seeing BumbleBee talking to the other man with the leather jacket...

“Doctor...?” I asked again, trying not to get on his nerves too much. He hummed again. “What's... What's his name...? I know you, BumbleBee, um... Arcee... Jazz... Optimus, of course, and that's it... I um... I know there are a few others, could you- could you tell me their names, please?” He finished wrapping my feet with the gauze, and he straightened his back, cracking his neck before starting to put all the supplies away into their boxes.

“The snarky one is CliffJumper... And Ironhide is still asleep, he doesn't normally get up till later in the afternoon.” He answered.

“And... What time is it now, please?” I asked.

“9 Am. Sunday, January 5th.” He told, and I nodded. Sitting up straight and feeling properly clean, no more oozing blood or puss... I watched him close the boxes, looking up to me one last time. “Don't get yourself into trouble. I had a wife once, she wasn't anything like you, so I imagine you'll live longer than her. Do as you're told, and listen to BumbleBee. He won't stand for disobedience. If you need me, I'll either be at this table, or in my van.” With that, I said a small thank you and he walked away.

BumbleBee saw that the medic was done with me, so he and CliffJumper came walking over. BumbleBee scared me a little, jumping onto the counter next to me and nudging my shoulder with his elbow. CliffJumper crossed his arms, looking me up and down like I was a fine piece of meat.

“So...” He started. “What did you do before you joined the Decepticons?” He asked. And I took in a breath, looking down at my bandaged hands, now having a hard time picking at my scabs.

“I... Use to work for them when I was a kid...”

“You still are a kid.” He corrected. I nodded a little.

“Well... I mean when I was 15, I use to be an unpaid intern. But my mother told me to quit because of... Um...” I trailed off, trying not to mention the Autobots, scared they will get angry.

“Too dangerous?” He scoffed.

“Y-Yeah...” I went quiet for a second, watching and listening as a door from down the hall opened. I saw Arcee coming out of her room, looking around for a short second before spotting one of us.

“Hey, CJ, come help me real quick!” She shouted over the two bickering in the living room.

“For what?” He sighed dramatically, putting a faint hand to his forehead. “I'm too old for this, Acree... Carry me!” She marched over to us, slapped his butt as hard as she could, and CliffJumper hopped in place, laughing up a storm as he said a defeated, “Alright, alright!” He took her hand as she lead him away. I watched intently, the rowdy room before me slowly becoming empty. I tried to listen in on the argument Optimus and Jazz were having in the living room. Optimus sitting on the end of the couch, very father-like. Jazz was standing, flaring his arms around like an upset teenager.

“It's my damn music! I don't care if it hurts your ears!” Jazz raged.

“You will know when you are older, Jazz. Go make your breakfast and settle down.” Optimus sat coolly in his seat, getting ready to turn on the TV.

I heard something like a crunch beside me, and I turned my head toward it. BumbleBee was leaning over the edge, looking past me and towards the bickering two. He had a shareable bag of M&M's in his hand, taking small handfuls of it and pushing them one by one into his mouth. I blinked up to his eyes and he noticed me. Looking me up and down, he raised his brows and offered me some candy. I pursed my lips, swallowing, but gently took a few. I brought them to my lap, glancing down at my hands and counting them, then the colors. Two browns and three greens... I pushed them around, thinking to myself how I would ask the question I want to.

“How um... How old is Jazz?” I flicked my eyes over to the male next to me, and he sat down the bag. He put up three fingers, then put up ten. “30?” I asked, and he nodded. I blinked back down to my lap, thinking that a 30-year-old was acting like such a child... But my thoughts were short lived when BumbleBee hopped down from the counter. I watched him go to the cabinet next to the fridge, opening the shutter and knowing instantly where the thing he wanted was. He pulled out a jar of peanut butter, which I thought was odd... He came to the dish washer next to the sink, pulling it open, and grabbed a spoon. He then walked over to me, pushing the spoon and jar into my hands, I didn't question it as I took it. He dragged me off the counter and into his arms, taking long, steady steps towards the living room where the two had stopped arguing. He came to the couch Optimus was sitting on, placing me on the floor in front of his feet and he sat on the cushion.

“BumbleBee...” Optimus warned, and BumbleBee rolled his eyes. He reached down and picked me up again, sitting me on his lap, my back facing the couch armrest. He took the peanut butter out of my hands, opened the lid, and dived the spoon into it. I was left alone with my five pieces of M&M's, though I didn't eat them, instead watched him shovel in spoon fulls of the condiment. I silently wondered why he was eating raw peanut butter...

Optimus turned on the TV, turning my head to watch as he put on the news.

“... And they still have yet to find the missing agents. The squad of Decepticon workers, armed with guns, have been missing for the past three days. The only known information of their possible whereabouts is their abandoned set of vans parked in a Loves gas station parking lot. Police have this video, taped at the gas station, of the possible suspects.” I watched in horror as they showed three people parking the vans I knew we arrived in a couple of days ago. They had masks on, but their body types were nothing like the people in this cabin... They had workers to get rid of the messes like that?

“Jesus, I thought you told Jason to drop them off at the bar in Florida, hey boss?” CliffJumper chimed in, straightening his shirt a little as he entered the room.

“Jason does not listen to directions well, we know this, CliffJumper.” Optimus said back.

“One of the possible suspects was shown on a security camera taking off his mask and entering the Loves.” They then showed a man with blonde hair, tanned skin, black turtle neck, and dress pants on. The video wasn't good quality, so I couldn't get a good look at him.

“I'm going to kill him...” Optimus said darkly, running a hand down his face in disappointment. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, and it terrified me to think he wasn't.

“Oh, for fucks sake, is that him?” CliffJumper put up a hand, motioning to the TV, frustration showing on his face.

“I will have Maxwell call Margret, I will have it dealt with.” Optimus then got up, giving up his seat and bringing out a phone, dialing a few numbers before stepping outside of the cabin. I looked away from the TV to see CliffJumper take his spot on the couch, and when he felt my stare he blinked over to me.

“Got a problem?” He said, clearly not a joke, daring my next move. I rushed to look away, flicking my eyes around my lap and crumbling a little into the man I was sitting on's chest. He paid no mind to me as I smudged my shoulder against him, slowly bringing a hand to my heart to steady myself. He just kept his eyes on the TV, continuing to eat his peanut butter.

“We recently interviewed one of the missing person's mothers...” He went on the say my name, and I felt my heart sink, my mother showing on screen.

“It's not like her at all to just disappear, I know she wouldn't just give up her life, she was a straight A student in high school, she loved her job, her friends treated her well, and her boyfriend was going to propose this coming April...! She wouldn't just give all that up.” I felt my eyes tear up, thinking on my family and how they know I'm gone... If only they knew how bad it really was.

“You have a boyfriend?” Jazz said, catching me by surprise as I didn't realize he was on the other couch. I flicked my eyes over to him, my mood darkening even more. “Ooo, Bee she's cheatin' on ya', what ya' gonna do 'bout it?” I put up my hands in defense, seeing BumbleBee look down at me at those words. I blinked up to him for only a second before I looked away, tears now fully in my eyes but not running down.

“Nononono, it's not like that-”

“AND she's denying it! She's a liar, Bee!” Jazz leaned over himself in his crisscross position. I felt BumbleBee bring his arm around me to my shoulder, gripping it and I freaked. I flipped my body onto the floor, struggling to stand on my bandaged feet. He seemed shocked by my actions, shaking his head and giving me an odd look.

“It's not like that, I-I-I-I promise!” My voice shook with fear, but he just shook his head, folding his brows and signing things to me.

“He says he's gonna beat you up! Wow Bee! Cool it!” Jazz gasped, and I felt the hot tears drip down my face, panic embellishing my insides. But instead of BumbleBee getting up to harm me, he flung a daring finger to Jazz, pummeling his fist into his palm, telling the other male he was livid with him. Jazz got into a fit of laughter, saying a giggling, “Wow! He wants to punch you in the face! Right now!” But I was confused, he wasn't saying it to me, but to Jazz. I watched BumbleBee stand up from his seat, marching over to Jazz and cracking his knuckles.

“Okay, okay! I'm done! I'm done! Whoa-whoa-whoa-” But before the white-haired male could say anything else, the blonde was climbing on top of him, grabbing his arms and flipping him onto the ground, pinning him onto his stomach. He morphed his hand high behind his back, uncomfortably high. “Alright, alright! Uncle! Uncle!” Jazz pleaded, and that's all it took for BumbleBee to get off of him, watching him carefully as he stood, Jazz still cracking up the entire time. He stepped onto his back, using him as a step stool to get back to his seat. But instead, he came to me.

My eyes were still crying, him coming straight for me. He came directly to my front, and I looked up at him, my neck craning up. His brows folded, his strange glare making me weak in the knees. He steadied himself before me, and I brought my hands around to fiddle with my fingers. He looked me dead in the eye, my bottom lip struggling to quiver. His stare softened when I flicked my eyes between his, not understanding why he was glaring at me. I didn't dare move, though I wasn't threatened. He didn't seem to want to hurt me... At least at the moment.

When he was satisfied that I was done freaking out, he walked back to the seat, not taking his eyes off of me. He sat on the edge, his feet spread and connecting his elbows to his knees, He kept glaring at me, but I still didn't have the confidence to move... But when he lifted his brows abruptly, looking down and nudging his head down to the ground before him, I jumped a little and rushed to sit in front of him. I sat crisscross at his feet, blinking my eyes up to his and he looked at me over his nose, an almost pleased expression in his bright blue hues.

“Jesus, Bee, tell her how you really feel.” CliffJumper said, leaning back and scratching his beard in thought. I felt myself get worried as we both glanced to him.

“Wh... What?” I asked shyly, and the other male scoffed, shaking his head a little and gesturing to me for a second.

“You just did what you were told, didn't skip a single beat... He's got you trained already.” He answered, and the blonde flicked back to me, a small smirk coming to his lips. Our eyes met again, and he reached his hand up to fluff my hair playfully. I felt myself lighten a little at that, but not at CliffJumper's comment...

Was I really obeying him that easily?

“The Decepticon facility in Louaiana has reportedly been struggling to stay afloat with the disappearance of the owner, Derek Jones.” At the name and picture of Derek coming onto the TV, CliffJumper leaned over in his seat, getting a proper view of the person on screen.

“Well, I'll be damned...” He mumbled, and I felt my heart sink. “Arcee! Get your ass in here!” He shouted out to the hallway, and out came running the blue-haired woman.

“Yeah? What's up, CJ?” She asked and looked around, confused.

“Check out who's on the TV...” He pointed to the almost mug-shot looking picture of Derek, and I watched in horror her mouth drop.

“Well well well...” She replied back.

“Yeah, and guess what he owns?”

“What?”

“The Decepti-scum place in Lousisiana.” He answered, and she smirked deviously.

“Did you tell Optimus?”

“No, not yet. He's on the phone with Maxwell to call Margret.”

“Jesus, what did Jason do this time?!”

“He took off his mask in the middle of a Loves.”

“Optimus is gonna have kittens...”

“I can't hear him because of the rain, but I'm sure if he doesn't get to him then Margret will. Jason might end up in the slammer for a while if he keeps this up.”

“Well, if Optimus doesn't give him a talking to, then either Margret is gonna have his head on a platter, or he definitely will. And for damn good reasoning too. Who blows their cover in the middle of a mission, anyway?!”

“According to the TV he wanted to buy a pack of sunflower seeds.”

“Ha!”

I was listening intently to their conversation, BumbleBee watching as well. He leaned down and brought up his jar of peanut butter again, screwing the lid back on and sitting to the side, catching my eye for only a second. I had so many questions, and I knew that he wouldn't be able to answer them properly, so I tried to think of ways to just ask a simple yes or no.

“Is... Jason one of you guys...?” I asked. He lifted a brow, curious that I say that, and I looked down, thinking that I shouldn't have asked. “Um... I'm sorry, I'm just... Trying to figure... Everything out...” I kept my voice low, trying not to interrupt the two talking, but they took notice, Arcee shushing CliffJumper and looking over the corner.

“All stitched up there, prissy?” Arcee said to me, the small nickname not helping my low confidence. I blinked up to her, glancing down at my body for only a second to regain my thoughts.

“Y-Yes ma'am.” I answered. She nodded, stepping a bit more into the room.

“You know... That Derek guy is asking for you. He says he'll be willing to give up some info if he knows you're alive... He obviously won't take my word for it, he wants to see you. I think he's got a thing for you...” She winked and I shut my mouth tight.

“Is-Is he okay?” My voice was cracking, knowing that he was at least alive helped me tremendously.

“Oh yeah, maybe not for a bit longer though. Telling Optimus about him being such a big guy in the game...” She clicked her cheeks, “Not a good look on his part.”

I felt myself shrink, terrified that they were going to hurt the last survivor besides me. I needed to find a way to talk to him as soon as possible. Maybe warn him, maybe talk to him about finding an escape plan... If he can get away, I can make a distraction. They wouldn't kill me... Right?

“Can I see him?” I asked, and she perked up, lifting her brows and curiously eyeing me down.

“Sure...! But me and Bee are going to be there listening. He is your husband, after all, you can't be hiding things from him, now.” She snarked back, and I felt my spirit dim a little.

“That's-That's fine... When can I see him?” My voice cracked, and she took notice of it.

“Bee?” She looked to the blonde, and he responded with two or three signs. “Right now is fine.” She answered. I felt myself spike as BumbleBee got up, reaching down and gripping my arm to pull me off the floor. He pushed me a little into a walk, and I followed Arcee. They took me away from the living room, I caught CliffJumper peeping my backside from the corner of my eye and I pushed down my t-shirt down behind it. Arcee got my attention again by opening a door that I assumed was her room. When we walked inside, I saw a room similar to BumbleBee's, except the walls were a soft blue, the bed metal instead of wooden, and instead of carpet was wooden tiling. I looked around a little in the room, noticing a pair of dirty clothes in the corner, and when I turned and looked near the closet, I saw Derek sleeping on the floor. At least he got the same treatment I did...

“Hey, dress shirt, wake up you got a visitor.” Arcee ordered him up, and he blinked up to her, then looked around, saw me, and pushed himself up and onto his knees. I rushed to go over to him, kneeling in front of him and bringing soft hands to his face. He was still busted up, but he had stitches on his forehead where it was split open.

“Hey! Jesus, you're okay...” His voice was horse, the cracking and rasp tone to it making me cringe.

“I'm fine, I'm fine... You look terrible...” I felt my hands weaken at the sight of his swollen eye, him barely able to see through it.

“Don't worry about me, I'm tough, I can handle it.” He brought his hands up to my shoulders, squeezing them affectionately, and I flinched. “What's wrong?” He asked, looking over my body properly with his good eye. He saw the coverings on my hands, then the gauze on my neck, and he somehow instantly knew what it was. He looked up to BumbleBee, his eyes turning infuriated, his lip curling up in disgust.

“Don't you Autobots know how to treat a woman! She's only 19 for God's sake!” He shouted, and BumbleBee smirked deviously, rolling his eyes and signing something small, shrugging at the end. “Then you should know that Alpha's treat them with respect! You're no Alpha, you're just a typical predator!” I jumped a little that Derek responded to him speaking sign, but before I could say anything, BumbleBee's smug expression changed to annoyed. Arcee also seemed angered, stepping in front of BumbleBee and pointing a finger at Derek.

“Watch your mouth, dress shirt. Calling Bee that is a invitation to a ass whoopin'.” She threatened. I rushed to jump into the middle.

“He-He didn't mean it- He probably doesn't even know what it means-”

“Don't stand up for me, kid.” He turned back to Arcee. “I meant. Every. Word.”

I watched in horror as Arcee lifted her tanktop to her stomach, revealing a pistol stuck in her pants, threatening the male in front of her. “Wanna try that again, dress shirt?” She barked, but that didn't seem to sit well with him.

“Shoot me, bitch. I'm not scared of a few bullet holes.” At the word bitch, I jumped and rushed to shove him behind me, practically climbing on top of him as she darted for the gun. BumbleBee grabbed her hand, making sure didn't actually take the gun.

“PLEASE! He's just-just upset! He'll apologize! I promise!” I begged, Derek grabbed my arm and tried to push me back, but I was solid as a rock. I watched BumbleBee put a hand up before me and her, patting his hand in the air as to tell her to 'pipe down'. Arcee kept her eyes on me, fury and annoyance showing in her purple hues, and my terrified ones stared back at her.

“You're lucky you got the pure on your side, dress shirt. Next time it'll just be me and you.” She warned, pushing her tanktop down harshly, then stormed out the room, BumbleBee watched her the entire way. He followed her a little, the two signing something as she walked away, unable for me to understand, but I assumed it was about what Derek had said.

I moved off the gray-haired man slowly, going back to sitting on my knees and watching the door. When I realized that BumbleBee wasn't really paying attention to the two of us, the skin on the back of my neck stood up.

“Derek...” I said in a hush, keeping my eyes on the blonde as I dipped into the male in front of me. “There has to be a way out of here...” I started, but he interrupted.

“I'm way ahead of you. I overheard the Asian girl talk about how they're going to be moving soon... That Optimus guy has been talking right outside my window for the past 10 minutes, he's going to Flordia for the weekend.” His voice was louder than mine, but I kept a steady watch on BumbleBee, making definitely sure he wasn't listening in. I blinked to him for a second, watching his tired, swollen eyes steady on mine.

“This might be our shot.” I whispered, he nodded. “Did you hear when he's leaving?”

“I think tomorrow... We can plan now and-” His sentence was cut short by BumbleBee clapping his hands, shooting me backward and away from Derek out of shock. I flicked my petrified eyes towards the blonde, wondering if he heard us. But by the way that he switched his index fingers between me and Derek, saying something I, again, couldn't understand, I guessed he didn't.

“We-We were just talking about what he said, and-and how he can av-avoid doing it again.” I said back in a heist. He lifted a brow, and I jumped again. “Sir...” I corrected. He looked over to the beaten man, eyeing him up and down and studying his aggressive look back at him.

“What she said.” Derek's daring tone made me nervous. BumbleBee pursed his lips, taking in every detail of the both of us. I knew I was a terrible liar but was it really that obvious? “Don't you have a boss to go answer to?” He tested the other male, and I could feel myself freeze. BumbleBee glared back, then looked down to the flooring, shaking his head with a smile and blinking back up. He began signing things back to him, pointing to me a couple times, and every part of me jolted.

“She's a pure, what do you expect?” Derek asked, and I looked to him, complete shock filling my expression that even HE knew what that was!

“P-Pure?” My voice cracked like a broken piece of wood, but Derek wasn't phased. BumbleBee continued signing, continuing to gesture toward me and I felt myself shrink.

“Type B's don't always know about that stuff either. Only Alpha's are born with that detector.” Derek seemed to correct. I flicked my eyes between them, confusion lacing my mind. Type B? Like a personality type? Alphas? Like wolves? BumbleBee kept signing back.

“If you're not a predator, then maybe you should learn to respect a Omega. Especially a Type B!” Derek was getting aggressive again, and I had to put a stop to it.

“Okay-ENOUGH!” I put my hands between them but instantly flinched back as BumbleBee stood up straight. “I-I have n-no idea what you two are talking about- But-But I'm not going to let this get into another f-f-fight!” I snapped at the two of them. BumbleBee relaxed his face, taking me, I guessed, seriously. I blinked to Derek without moving my head, and he was still glaring at BumbleBee. I flicked my eyes back to the blonde when he started signing again, and I held my breath. “I-I can't... I don't speak sign... Please translate...” I begged of Derek. He grieved a great sigh, closing his good eye and looking down to his lap, then up to me.

“A pure is a person, normally a omega, who has never had any sexual interactions.” He began. “A true pure is someone who has never had anything sexual happen to them at all, and they are a pure blood omega.”

“What's-... Omega? Pure blood?” I asked. The blonde came walking over, he crouched down next to me and snatched my hand in his. I flinched but didn't jolt away. He brought my hand up to his chest, I felt myself get wary, but when he pressed it against his shirt, I slowly started to feel his heartbeat. He picked up my other wrist, pushing my hand into my own chest, making me feel my own heart. I looked to Derek for answers

“You could be more gentle, asshole.” Derek barked, but the other male just rolled his eyes, moving his hand in a circle as to say 'Get on with it'. “Feel the differences between your hearts. Notice how yours is fast, and his is slow.” I concentrated on the feelings on my fingers, mine was, in fact, going much faster than his.

“I'm-I'm just nervous...” I said, trying to understand them.

“Yes.” Derek took his hand off BumbleBee's chest, placing it on his instead. “But so am I.” His heart was almost identical to BumbleBee's, matching rhythms of soft beats, compared to my 100 beats a minute.

“I... I don't understand.” I answered back, taking my hands back to my lap. I looked over to the blonde as he started to sign, this time taking a second to stop before Derek told me what he said.

“Have you ever noticed people smelling you, or being attracted to you after only first meeting?” He asked. I stared, perplexed. I mean... Yes, of course. My boyfriend back home asked me to date him over after the first two days of us meeting. People on trains, or in long lines would often stare at me, looking like they were smelling me... Plus Jazz, CliffJumper, and Ratchet complained about it...

“I always just thought I needed a shower...” I replied, and BumbleBee shook his head, amused.

“You're what's called an omega.” He said, and I could feel my hair stand on end. I looked down at my lap, fidgeting with my hands.

“Am... I also a pure blood?” I looked back up.

“Yes.” He said almost sadly.

“But what-what is a omega, or-or even a pure blood? Or whatever the heck you said e-earlier! Figure B? Or something?”

“A type B.” He corrected, and I nodded. “A omega is a type of person, there are three types of people. Beta, Omega, and Alpha.” He explained.

“Like... Wolves?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly like wolves. The hierarchy is extremely similar. Every person has a certain amount of those three in them... From what I've noticed, all of these people-” He nudged to the male next to him. “Are pure blood Alphas. And you,” He looked back over to me. “Are a pure blood Omega. Which means you have not a single ounce of Beta, or Alpha in you. You are 100% Omega. Which is incredibly rare.” I searched his beaten face for any sign of dishonesty. I had heard things about this my whole life, but I thought people were just talking about personality types! I didn't realize this was an actual thing!

“What-What about type B's? Is there a type A and C?” My questions were getting more rapid, but he was taking it slow with me, what I guessed was him knowing it was a lot.

“Only a type A and B. A type A Omega is a normal Omega. Their scent isn't special, their ruts or heats aren't intense, and their blood isn't attractive. They don't normally know of the existence of A-B-O.” He was saying these things like it was normal! I couldn't keep up...

“A type B?” I asked.

“A type B is what you are. Type B Omega's are also incredibly rare, if not the rarest type. Their scent is like smelling heaven, their ruts or heats are intense, to the point they can't stand, and their blood... They are almost always hyper aware of other Omegas and Alphas, as they can smell everything.” He trailed off a little, averting his eyes from me for a moment, but in the corner of my eye, I could see BumbleBee's darkened eyes. I gulped.

“What-What about Alphas? Betas?” My voice was high-pitched, and he blinked back to me.

“Type A Betas are basically just regular people. They have no submissive aspects, nor dominant. They aren't really able to comprehend A-B-O.” He said, I studied him. “Type B Betas know of A-B-O, but they find themselves wanting to be more on the Alpha side than Omega. So in retrospect, they are just normal people who want to be Alphas.” He almost laughed.

“And... What about Alpha types...?”

“Type A alphas are identical to type A Omega's. Their musk isn't prominent, their ruts or heats are normal, and their dominance is a lot lesser than type B's. But they can still detect when a Omega or Beta is around, their detectors for other Alphas can be a little wonky, though.” He explained. “Now... Type B Alphas... That's what these guys and myself are... We have terrible ruts, we can smell an Omega from five miles away, we can smell your blood...” At the hint of my blood, I flinched a little. “We are the most dominate types.” He finished, but I wasn't done.

“So I'm a type B... A Omega... A pure... And a pure blood? What does all that mean?” My breath was picking up, panic washing over me that all of this wasn't getting to my head properly. I watched BumbleBee sign something, a deadly stare piercing into the side of my head with his hollowed eyes. I tried not to look at him.

“It means you're basically irresistible to everyone around you.”

#bumblebee x reader #optimus prime x reader #dark fic #transformers fanfiction #fem reader #transformers x reader #fanfic #bumblebee x you #optimus prime x you #bumblebee x y/n #optimus prime x y/n #x reader #reader insert #humanformers #fanfiction

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spooky-month-of-may · 8 months

Text

BOO!! Welcome to my blog!!

My name is May (she/her), I am a 20 yo Spanish (Galician) artist! This is my Spooky Month fandom side blog, my main being @humming-bee-art!

Below there's a list of my favourite characters and a short introduction to my Spooky Month ocs, followed by content warnings!

FAVES:

- Bob Velseb

- Patty

- John

- Skid and Pump

- And most of of the characters, tbh! But I can't list them all, so here's my favourites! 🧡

MY SM OCS:

- April Mendoza: A reporter/journalist that works with the cult to hide news or push news to the front page if needed. Unhinged, obsessed with serial killers.

- May: My sona! A scare actress that works in a haunted house that rivals Streber's. Is completely unaware of anything weird happening in town.

- Trixie Foster: A little girl that likes to collect friend's souls and stuff them into handmade plushies of their image. Not evil, just a spoiled child with too much power.

- Claire Price: A sweet religious woman that seems to attract supernatural occurrences, much to her dismay. Works as a substitute teacher and volunteers for the church.

CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNINGS:

THIS IS AN IMPORTANT SECTION! READ TO KEEP YOURSELF SAFE! My art in this blog might feature:

- Self ship content. (If that's something that bothers you, please be kind!)

- Swears and curses. (I sometimes curse like a sailor so this applies to all my posts!)

- Blood and gore.

- Weapons, such as knives.

- Bruises.

- Suggestive themes, outfits or poses.

- Tasteful nudity.

- Violence.

- Alcohol.

- Religious imagery.

- Eye contact.

My art in this blog WILL NOT feature:

- Overly realistic gore.

- Sexual nudity.

If anything else comes to mind I'll edit this post later!

That's all for now!

My SM art tag is #mays spooky fanart, and each oc has a tag of their name!

Have fun, enjoy your stay, and get scared!! Ooo!!

#about my blog #fandom side blog #spooky month

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bratshaws · 1 year

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goodness gracious 94. brb x oc

a/n: OHHHH MY GOOOOOOOOOD IM TOO EXCITED FOR THESE CHAPTERS

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: FLUFF, bea and roos have the B talk, let the Rooster Bee wedding shenanigans COMMENCE!!

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

65/66/67/68/69/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77/78/79/80/81/82/83/84

85/86/87/88/89/90/91/92/93

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!)

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes

No one really elaborates how stressful organizing a wedding really is, between writing the guests’ names and making sure to figure out everyone’s food allergies and diets it was already enough to make both sweat.

But on the bright side, they managed to get a date! Their wedding would happen in September, which was a short time all things considered but the wedding planner - that planned Martha’s wedding as well - assured them it’d go over smoothly. It was a ballroom but the wedding ceremony itself would happen on the outside, on the smooth freshly cut grass in between the fruit trees that surrounded the orchard area. It was a huge place with a lot of space and a bit far from their house itself but it was big enough to handle everyone.

Since Bradley’s family was the Navy, he had a few other friends - from Virginia - coming over and Beatrice wasn’t going to invite everyone from her aunt’s wedding, so the number would be more than enough for a small yet comforting ceremony.

With that out of the way, which was stressful enough, they had to worry about the invitations, about the cake and about their outfits. He didn’t want to wear a uniform, he loved it, but he preferred to wear a tux instead for their wedding day. Beatrice however was having a bit of a hard time…while she had in mind what her dress would look like, finding one with her measurements and within the budget was hard.

The plus size store that she wanted to see had no options left,they were all either rented or bought so she tried every other bridal site there was. She wondered if Evelyn knew anyone who could help her? She didn’t mind renting the dress for the wedding, so maybe she knew some bridal designer she could talk to?

“I kinda want a lemon curd cake.” Bradley’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, looking up from the laptop with the pen in her mouth, seeing her fiancé walk into the room after brushing his teeth, “Ohhh…better yet, dark chocolate meringue, that is also nice.”

Beatrice laughs, pulling the pen from between her teeth to write it down on the notepad by her side, the pilot sliding onto the bed next to her, “I’ll write that down, we can figure something out tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, supporting his head on his hand and watching as the brunette continues clicking away on the open tabs, chewing her lower lip, “Any luck finding the dress?” she shakes her head, tapping away on the search bar to be even more specific, “You’ll find something, baby.”

“I hope so.” she laughs awkwardly, “I’d hate to get married to you wearing a long cardigan and an old summer dress.” she was joking but part of her feared that’s what it’d happen. She knew it’d be difficult to find a wedding dress her size, she had seen Say Yes to the Dress many times and knew how hard it was for plus size people to find something that fits their vision and their bodies.

She didn’t want to get discouraged, she refused to get discouraged, at the very least she’d talk to Evelyn and ask her if she knew any other places that could help her. There had to be more than one, right? Even if she had to travel to get it, she’d make the sacrifice. But the more the looked, the more she searched,all the could see were brides slimmer than she was and she started to chew her lower lip even harder.

And Bradley, who knew her exceptionally well by this point, noticed how that was worrying her, “Baby,” he calls, gently grabbing the laptop from her and making Beatrice blink his way, “We already did a lot today, time for bed.”

“But–”

“You’ll find a dress, call Evelyn, see if she knows anyone.” he flipped the laptop shut, standing up to put it on the futon by the end of the bed and returning to the bed where Beatrice remained, rubbing her hands together, “Baby, look at me.” she looked at him with a small frown, one that made his smile soften and his lips touch the little wrinkle between her brows, “It’ll be okay, gorgeous. We’ll figure something out…we are managing it so far, aren’t we?”

‘Yeah…we’ve been…really lucky.” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “From the venue to the wedding planner…it’s like it was meant to happen. I just hope I can find a dress that I like, you know?”

“You will.” he smiles, lying on the bed and giving her enough space for her head to touch his shoulder and chest, her hands tucked between his side and her cleavage, her lower lip jutted out just enough to make him smile down at her, “You’ll look beautiful. Even more than before.”

That makes her lips quirk in a little smile, “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah.” he leans down to kiss the top of her head, “You’ll look amazing, I think it’s a good idea if I don’t see the dress either, you know? Heard it’s bad luck.”

Plus the element of surprise would be more than welcome for both of them. Not to mention her mother wouldn’t allow him to see her, she was very aware of that, the tradition on that part would be maintained. Since Beatrice was Catholic but hasn’t entered a church since she was seventeen and Bradley who while he believed in some higher power was pretty much Agnostic, they chose to have a non-religious wedding.

Were her parents…surprised? Yes. Would they stop it? No, because it was pretty obvious now that Brad was now an honorary Schiavoni that all they wanted was ‘grandchildren’. So to them, as long as they got married and had rings on their fingers they were okay with it, they could let that slide with the babies coming along the way.

Beatrice hasn’t told Rooster about her mother’s…schemes…on making her more fertile, the teas, the herbs, the quiet prayers she’d whisper under her breath whenever she visited…and she wondered if she should tell Brad about that. Because her parents wouldn’t be subtle about it, at all.

But Beatrice was nervous, she didn’t know how to bring that up to him. They’d have to have that conversation, she knew about it. So maybe, ripping off the band-aid now might be the better option, “Brad,” he wasn’t asleep, thankfully, since his hand moved up and down her back, caressing the line of her spine with his fingertips, “You know…my parents might bother us about something else…soon.” his hand stops on the fourth vertebrae, she feels the subtle pressure there but he’s not pushing down in any way, “About…kids…” the last part is whispered so quietly she hopes he doesn’t hear it.

But he did. Obviously.

“I’m not in a hurry!” she tries to counter, lifting her head so quickly from his chest she almost gave herself whiplash, “I-I mean, I like kids but if you think we aren’t ready then we shouldn’t talk about it! Maybe I should stop talking about it, okay I’ll stop talking about it-” and she kept on rambling nervously, avoiding his eyes at all cost all the while Rooster just stared.

She couldn’t see the absolute infatuated stare he was sending her, nor the way his eyelids lowered and his smile widened by the second the more she tried to explain that she wasn’t going to force him to think about having kids now but she was just letting him know that her parents would question him about it and the more she spoke, more his heart warmed just by looking at her. Beatrice was very kind, very sweet and immensely thoughtful of others, she had proven that time and time again, so he wasn’t surprised to see her letting him know everything that could happen soon after they get married.

He’s still looking at her, holding his head up with a hand as Beatrice’s words slowly died down - she was now sitting on her knees, wringing her hands together and looking like she confessed a murder, biting her lower lip, “You got quiet.”

“I was waiting for you to finish, babe.”

“...Oh, I was rambling again…”

But he wasn’t bothered by that, he adjusted himself on the bed so he’d be sitting up instead of lying down, “We never talked about it.” he begins, “And I think it’s a good time as any to, you know?”

“Don’t you want to wait a little?”

He shrugs, “Why? I think it’s better if we decide what we want now and what to expect.” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand to remove it from the continuous wringing grasp she had on it, “So, let me ask you: do you want kids?”

Beatrice doesn’t hesitate, “Yes.I do…but…”

“But?”

“...if…you think it might be too much I can wait.”

Too much. As in, she didn’t want to make him stressed because of what he does, because she didn’t want him to be overworked. God, he loved her so much. “Bea…” he coos softly, giving her a smitten smile, “I love you so much, pretty girl. I really do.” his fiancé only response was a small smile and cheeks painted red, “And while I do appreciate you thinking about me and my wellbeing…I’ll be honest, imagining a mini me or mini you running around the house is really nice. And it’ll be a bit more work, but I think we’ll manage it. We just got to plan it a little bit.”

Beatrice’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes slid shut as she heaved out a sigh, her head dangling forward with her hands supporting her weight on her thighs, “You okay?’ he asks and she nods with her hair still covering her expression.

“I am. I was just…” she waves her hands,clenching and relaxing her fingers to get rid of the tension, “I was just nervous, as I said I don’t mind waiting a bit. I really don’t and I agree that planning for the baby–” she couldn’t believe she was saying those words out loud, “Would be the better option.”

“And you know, it won’t be for the lack of trying.” he says with his body slowly leaning forward, making Beatrice lean back until she fell onto the mattress, smiling up at him, “Because we do try, a whole lot, don’t we?” she nods, biting her lower lip with a smile, “And I know you’ve been taking the birth control shots so…maybe after the wedding you can stop taking it?”

Beatrice looks up at him with her big green eyes taking over his features,until she moves her gaze away in thought. She’s been taking it over six months now and it was the best idea she’s ever had, she thanked Shells over and over for letting her know that such thing existed…and honestly she could handle not taking it after their wedding, “I’d have to talk to the ladies at the clinic, see if I need to do it slowly or I can just stop altogether, but I can do that.” she says, smiling even more, one of her hands cupping the side of his face, “I like the idea of a mini us running around too.”

She didn’t tell him about the disembodied child voices she heard when he was gone, she didn’t think it’d be worth it, nor the drawings she made…nor the painting she still had to finish it and now…now she knew how to, “A mini us, huh?” he smirked, “I think the baby will look like you the most.”

“I think the baby will look like you the most. I don’t know what you have against your baby pictures, Brad.”

“Besides how I looked like an angry red toe? Nothing,” Beatrice rolls her eyes, saying he was adorable as a baby and as a young boy, “I was also blonde, how the hell did that happen?”

‘You are still blonde, Brad.” she laughs, gently touching a wavy strand that dangled in front of his forehead, “See? It’s just really dark now, almost brown.” there were golden strands mixed in with the browns; she even spread the tresses a little bit so he could see it better. He hummed, not convinced, before he flops down on top of her with his chin nestled between her breasts, the smiley t-shirt stretching under his weight. “Maybe the baby will be blonde like you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, “Do you want to try for it now-”

“Bradley Nicholas.”

“Oooh, I love when you say my full name,” he purrs, pushing himself to his hands so he could trail kisses from her neck to her lips, “It’s really hot when you say it.”

“I thought you said we were going to go to bed now?” she questioned, between giggles while arching her back so he could ride the shirt up to her chest.

“Mm…in a little bit.” he smirks, kissing her sternum, “Got a bit inspired now.”

Evelyn replied to her message as soon as the morning hit, she didn’t know how someone wakes up so early but Evelyn always surprised her. Beatrice took a few seconds to understand the message, since she was still waking up from hours ago - she is now used to waking up with Rooster but that doesn’t mean she stays awake for long, she was napping on the couch after he left. Beatrice rubs her eyes, sitting on the bed and then dropping the hand to gently caress Jolene on the back of the head as the pittie trots over to keep her company.

“If you want…” she mutters the rest of the message under her breath, pauses, then her eyes widen as she rereads it, “If you want to come over,Marcus has someone who can help you,I’m visiting him in a couple hours so I can pick you up and we can go!! Oh my God!” the sharp voice from her owner makes Jolene jumps up startled, before she’sd picked up by Beatrice who then kisses the pittie’s confused face over and over, “Yes!Oh thank God,I need to buy Evelyn those ube snacks she likes so much as payment! I’m going to get a dress!!”

Hopefully.

She was so excited that she immediately went up the stairs, with Jolene following her, to take a shower…but not before thanking Evelyn over and over and saying that she’d be waiting! She even sent Rooster a message, that she knew he’d be only able to reply a few hours later but she couldn’t help herself.

Beatrice sat outside on the small steps that led to her front door, her knee bouncing with excitement as she waited. It doesn’t take long for Evelyn’s car to show up, Beatrice standing up quickly before she rushes over to the open passenger door, ‘Hi, Ev.”

“Hey.” Evelyn smiles, “So, future Mrs.Bradshaw, you are looking for a wedding dress.” the mention of how she’d be referred to made Beatrice blush but she nodded after closing the door, “Marcus knows a lot of people who can help you out, we can explain our situation for him and you know he’ll want to help.”

“Thank you for helping me out.” the brunette says after Evelyn drives them away from the house, latching the seatbelt over her chest, “I was almost losing sleep over that, you know? It’s so hard finding a wedding dress my size.”

“And I know you tried everywhere, even that plus size shop we saw ages ago.”

“Yes! I couldn’t even go for a try on, most of the dresses I liked were already claimed for.”

Evelyn hummed, giving a quick once over around the roundabout before turning to the left, “Ever since that shop opened it has been a huge success, what do you know, people over size 2 want to get dresses too.” she jokes, both women laughing but Evelyn’s smile doesn’t falter, “I’m really happy for you.”

Beatrice turns to look at her friend, giving her a small smile, “I’m happy too Ev.” she whispers, holding her left hand up to look at the engagement ring one more time, rubbing her thumb and forefinger along the thin band and on the gem on top of it, “I’m excited. I’m…nervous and I don’t think I can understand how I’m feeling half of the time…I’m going to get married.”

“Which was something we always knew it’d happen.” Evelyn chuckles, “By the way, we are going to pick up Shells too,” Beatrice’s inquisitive ‘oh?’ makes Evelyn roll her eyes, “She said she’s bored, so.”

Beatrice chuckles, ‘That’s fine.” she smiles, leaning back on her seat, “I know she’ll love it.”

And she did, especially once Shells found out what they were doing, almost tripping over herself by entering the back door, falling face first on the back seat and then fixing herself looking ready to pop a vein with how excited she was. Maybe more than Beatrice thought she’d be.

When they got to Marcus’ studio, going up the same staircase as before, Beatrice couldn’t help but go up with a pep on her step all the way. Evelyn walked in first since she wanted to talk to Marcus before everyone, with Beatrice and Shells staying behind for a little while, her blonde friend peeking over a mannequin and then standing behind it, her head propped on the mannequin’s shoulder as she pulled on the sleeve playing as if she was wearing it herself. “What do you think? Is fuschia my color?’

Beatrice turned to look over to Shells, laughing quietly, “I think so, it’s a pretty color on you.”

‘Nice,do you think he’ll miss it if I take it?”

“You know…I think there is a chance he’d miss it.” Beatrice replied with a grin, “But you can always ask him too.”

“Nah, you are his muse, I’m just the friend who tags along.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, looking back to where Evelyn and Marcus were, the two looking at something on his Ipad for a while before Evelyn gestured to her two friends not too far away from where they were. Marcus’ lips broke into a smile, “My darling muse!’ he calls from where he was, handing the Ipad over to one of his assistants, his long strides arriving sooner to where Beatrice and Shells were, air kissing the two of them, “I believe congratulations are in order!”

“Yeah,” the brunette blushed while wiggling her ring finger, “Thank you, Marcus.”

“Not only for that, my darling but the new collection is an immense success. I was just telling Evelyn that having you as the face made women everywhere see they could be beautiful just like you are.” Beatrice is flattered, her cheeks warming more as he continued, “Not to mention the several other designers who wanted to hire you as their model, oh, so many! But I told them I’d have to talk to you.”

“Oh, I…”

“I also told them you weren’t a model, professionally speaking, and that you were comfortable with us because we are all friends.”

Beatrice was thankful for that response, because she had no idea if she’d be able to do the same thing with a designer she didn’t know. “Thank you Marcus.” she says sweetly, then clears her throat, “Oh, um, so Evelyn probably told you what I’m looking for right?” he nods, ‘So…do you know anyone?”

‘I do have a friend, Lola, but she works in L.A. I can give her a call and we can book a wonderful meeting with her and prepare something for you. You can bring your friends over and everything.”

“Oh, Marcus that’s great, but…I do have…a budget and you know–”

“Darling, darling ,please,” he flaps his hand, “Do not worry about the budget, Lola is a good friend and she can help you however you need to. Worry about the money later.” it was easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one getting married and she didn’t want her aunt paying for her wedding dress either so there was a certain amount of money she could use. “Give me five minutes to give her a call and we’ll resolve it, yes?”

Beatrice just nods, watching him pull out his phone and walk away from them, leaving her,Shells and Evelyn on the very spot with the brunette wringing her hands together, “Do you know her? Lola?”

Evelyn shakes her head, “Never heard of her, but then again, bridal fashion isn’t my cup of tea.” she explains, crossing her arms over her chest.

With Marcus gone, Beatrice had time to think. She still had to get her bridesmaids, she already had a good idea of who they’d be, but she’d like to talk to all of them if possible and as soon as she could. Shells and Evelyn were two of them, that was already decided, she just needed to talk to the rest.

She also knew who’d be her maid of honor and she hoped no one else would be upset by her choice - hopefully not, it wasn’t a competition after all - because there was a reason for that person to be chosen too.

Marcus comes back with a huge smile on his face, “Darling! Lola said she’ll open a private room for you on Saturday, early morning. You can bring a group of people if you want to.”

Beatrice gasped, her smile widening, “Oh,Marcus, thank you so much!” she rushes to the fashion designer, hugging his middle, “You have no idea how much that means to me!”

“Well, as my muse and someone I’ve grown as my friend, I think I understand how much.” he chuckles,putting his phone in his back pocket after hugging her back, patting her upper back then holding her shoulders, “You’ll be great.”

“Thank you.” he excuses himself when one of his many assistants call him, Beatrice turning to her friends with a huge smile, squealing happily, “Oh, my God, I can’t believe it, this is so–wow! You guys are coming!”

“Um, duh, yeah! I’d force myself into the party if I wasn’t.”

Evelyn just arched her brow at the blonde, but smiled, “Hate to say it, but I’d be upset if I wasn’t invited either.”

Beatrice inhaled deeply, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much, “I’d just need to invite the others too, it’ll be so much fun!” she laughs, “I hope everyone else can join.”

“You know,” Shells begins, leaning on the mannequin by casually tossing her arm over it’s shoulder, “I think people would stop everything to go bridal shopping.” the blonde smirks, looking back at the mannequin with the pretty blouse, “Hey, Ev, do you think fuchsia is my color? And that Marcus would miss this?”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader

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