#Could have been involved with d-day or he could have arrived later

[portugalisinsa]

A quick skim through the BBC!Ghosts tag tells me that no one has spent too much time trying to decode the Captain’s service ribbons. Lucky you, I did!

The badge on his jacket lapels say that he was in the royal artillery

1939 to 1945 Star: This is awarded to anyone who completed operational service overseas between 3 September 1939 and 8 May 1945 for at least 180 days.

France and Germany Star: Awarded for at least 1 day of operational service in France, Belgium, Luxembourg, The Netherlands or Germany between 6 June 1944 and 8 May 1945.

Defence Medal: Awarded for non-operational service (like training bases, for example) in the UK or overseas. A minimum of 3 years service in either the UK (3 Sep 1939 and 8 May 1945) or in the Home Guard (14 May 1940 and 31 Dec 1944) are required; if stationed overseas, 1 year between 3 Sep 1939 and 2 Sep 1945.

War Medal 1939 to 1945: Awarded to all full time personnel of the armed forces who served at least 28 days between 3 September 1939 and 2 September 1945, no matter where. In Europe, WWII ended in May 1945; this medal was instituted in August 1945.

He doesn’t wear any other clasp, so he didn’t fight in the Battle for Britain or the Battle of the Atlantic (makes sense, those were RAF and Navy stuff mostly). The Africa Star was awarded for a minimum of one day of operational service in North Africa, the Arctic Star was awarded for any amount of time spent fighting in that campaign, and the Pacific, Burma, and Italy Stars were awarded upon entry into an operational area. He was awarded none of these medals, which means he only fought the France and Germany campaign.

He only wears WWII medals, which means he didn’t fight in WWI (it was unlikely he would have anyway, tbh, 41 was the the maximum age to fight in WWII, which would have made him 18 in 1916). The order I’ve written them out in (from top to bottom) is the order they should go left to right. For some reason, the Captain is wearing the ribbon band upside down. That’s a very huge big no good no-no. At first I assumed if was a mistake by the costume people, but it’s been three seasons and that hasn’t been fixed yet so I have to conclude it’s intentional. It could be some kind of BBC directive (idk, “non-army personnel has to wear the uniform in a certain way or it’s an insult to the queen” or some other silly nonsense) or it could be a genuine mistake the Captain made before dying, in which case I assume he’s spent sixty years being massively bothered by this. [ @lagoonnebula6523 said that the director of series 1 and 2 hinted that the reason for this mistake would be revealed in a future series, which I think points to an in universe explanation. Thank you for the info, this is super cool to know!] [Small aside, but I remember googling why the ribbons would be worn upside down and what i found was neat but probably unrelated. Check the tags if you’re interested]

I believe he’s in a service dress, which basically means he was at some kind of event when he died. He’s not in the army equivalent of the white tie, so we’re not talking about something too fancy. Maybe some sort of minor party?

So yeah, dude died after the war ended, and considering he seems used to saying “king” instead of “queen” I feel like he died either before Elizabeth was crowned or just after, so somewhere between August 1945 and around 1953-55

#bbc ghosts #ghosts bbc #bbc!ghosts #long story short; dude fought at least half a year in belgium and france #Could have been involved with d-day or he could have arrived later #he also doesn't have a Korea medal (the requirement for it is at least one day in korea if you're army) #that war started in 1950 and was established in 1951 #that could mean he died before that war begun... but i also have no fucking clue how the army works #like idk maybe they only sent six pople who drew the short stick for that one and he wasn't one of them #and i mean his knees are clearly in a bad way so maybe he was alive and just couldn't go #he could also have been too old (read: over 41) for that one #Okay now re: what i found out when i googled why a ribbon band would be worn upside down #I found were a couple of articles about some army guy wearing the ribbon band upside down by mistake and apologizing for it #(i seem to remember he was american but still i think the contriteness would be the same) #and the historical novel “The Reverse of the Medal” by Patrick O’Brian #remember the Master and Commander movie? It comes from a series of books the reverse of the medal is from #if you don't remember it: historical novels set in 1800 following a Navy officer and his friend #in the Reverse of the Medial a character goes through cashiering #(basically a ritual of shame in which you're dishonourably discharged) #the title is a reference to that and also probably to the flying the union jack upside down #flying the union jack upside down is a big no no but it's sometimes done (generally by people in the forces) #to signal distress #the title is obviously also a reference to the turn of phrase 'opposite side of the medal' #is this in any way relevant to the Captain? Probably not!

[goldenempyrean]

Request for Lizzie x Reader where they are shooting a scene together for a movie and Lizzie is sick but doesn't want to admit it. With maybe: "Goodness, you look like your about to pass Out!" "Aw sweetie, your nose is all runny.". Thank you:)

Irresponsible? Yes. Stupid? No.

I’ve had the req for so long. Im glad I finally got round to doing it :D theres bound to be grammar mistakes in this but anyways enjoy ;)

Summary: Your wife is sick at work and refuses to go and rest. And so you’d been called down to set to convince her otherwise.

Wordcount:1366

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The loud sudden sound of a phone rang out and echoed through your trailer, slowly pulling you from your relaxed slumber. Reluctant to move at first, you annoyed groan at haven been woken up. The ringing stopped a moment later, letting silence fall back across the trailer, you shrugged and turned back over, praying that you’d be able to fall back to sleep.

Only a second later your phone rang again. This time you launched yourself up from the bed, sending your duvet flying off and with a loud huff you went off to search for your phone, mentally cursing whoever was on the other end.

Picking it up, you saw the caller ID was that of your director. You groaned, today was your day off which meant you no scenes to shoot that day, meaning there was no reason why he’d need to ring you, “Yes?” You answered with clear grumpiness.

“Hey Y/N. Sorry to call on your day off but it’s important.” You director spoke, his voice was evidently concerned, “We need you to come pick Lizzie up from Set B”

Your previous annoyed attitude slipped away at the mention of your wife, “Why? Whats going on?”

“Well, the thing is,” He paused, almost as if he had needed to watch his words, “Nevermind. Just- You’ll understand when you get here.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? You rolled your eyes and walked back to the bedroom to change clothes, throwing on a clean pair of joggers and a tshirt. Before making your way out of the trailer and towards Set B.

On the way there you couldn’t help but wonder what the problem was and why it involved your wife. You’d both been living in the on-set trailer for about 2 months now as you filmed for the newest horror movie by Blumhouse productions and in your opinion everything had been going pretty well so far.

It didn’t take you long to wall down to the main building for Set B. You approached the door and pushed it open, letting yourself in. As you walked inside you could see both your director and Lizzie having a conversation , a conversation which neither party seemed to be enjoying.

As you got closer you heard the sound of your director’s voice, “Come on, stop being silly now, you’re only going to make it worst.” He sighed as he noticed your arrival, pointing up towards you, “Maybe you’ll listen to your wife instead.”

“Listen to me about wh-“ You began but stopped as your eyes rested on Lizzie, she looked absolutely awful, “Lizzie! Whats wrong?” You were at her side in a instant.

“Nothings wrong, I’ve said so about a hundred times.” Her voice was riddled with thick congestion, enough to make you cringe at the thought of how much discomfort she much have been in to have sounded like that.

“Oh no sweetie.” You sighed, realising why your director had called you here. Lizzie could be stubborn at the best of times but she had a tendency to get really uptight when she wasn’t feeling great.

Lizzie turned to cough and your mind began to race. How hadn’t you noticed earlier? You chided yourself for not realising anything that morning. Was she even sick that morning? What. Of course she was, nobody gets this sick this fast. You had lost yourself in your own manic thoughts, so much so that you hadn’t even noticed that Lizzie gave an irritated exhale as she began to walk away, stumbling slightly as she did.

“Goodness sweetie! You look your about to pass out.” You called after her as you came back to the present movement. Your arm coming support her tightly just above her waist.

“Don’t-“ She tried to pull away, “I nee- to- hH’iishhoo! HH’iiishiew! Hh-Hh’iptshhh!”

You could feel the force of her sneezes as she bent forwards, her hear ducked so tightly within her elbow, her whole body shook with the pressure of each one being released.

“Bless you” You said, feeling her try to pull away from your supportive hold.

“You don’t need to bless me, Im perfectly fine.” She lied, bringing her sleeve as she pressed it to her running nose.

“Lizzie you need to take the day off.” Your director said sternly, having watched the whole thing unfold.

“What I need is to finish doing my job. We’re gonna fall behi- Hh’tshhh! -Behind otherwise.” She argued back, turning to look back at him with her glassed-over eyes as she swayed woozily in place.

“No no baby.” You sighed, moving over towards her, “You’re ill.”

You saw Lizzie’s face drop further as you spoke, “I cant be sick. Im not!” She spoke bitterly, small tears ran down her cheeks as she sniffled into her sleeve.

“Baby, come here.” Your voice was soothing as you brought your hand up, wiping the tears from her cheeks before pulling her into a hug, whispering, “You’re okay. Its okay.”

You felt her let out another 2 sneezes, stifled hard against your shoulder and as she pulled away you couldn’t felt but notice just how fatigued she looked, she really did need to be in bed.

“Please, just let me finish filming for this scene, we really will fall behind otherwise.” She argued weakly, her voice becoming small as it took on an even hoarser tone.

You sighed, re-wrapping your arm into its prior position, “Everything will be okay. You’re sick Lizzie, its not your fault. You just need to come back to the trailer and climb back into bed.”

Your director gave you a nod as you began to slowly walk her towards the exit. You heard Lizzie begin to sniffle again as she stopped, letting her fall down ontop of your chest.

“But I’ve wasted everyones time otherwise! I cant be sick. I cant.” You could feel tears begin to drip down against the fabric of your shirt. It wasn’t a total surprise, whenever she’d get a fever she would usually get emotional and weepy.

Though you knew it was due to her temperature you still couldn’t stop yourself from feeling horrible, “No baby. No.” You shushed her, pulling her into a tight hug, her hand at the back of her head, “Nobody is going to be mad about anything. Its natural to get ill, nobody is holding that against you.”

It took 5 minutes of comfort for Lizzie to give a slight nod against you, pulling back to reveal her puffy eyes and running nose.

“Aw, sweetie, your nose is all runny.” You said, causing her to rub her sleeve against her nose, “Lets go.”

You led her to the exit, noting the shiver which ran through her body as she stepped out into the cool air, “Its not far now. Just a little longer then you can get warm.”

“Im sorry.” Lizzie sighed a moment later as she shivered, “I wanted to stay but that was so stupid, wasn’t it? God Im not even thinking straight!” My whole body is freezing but it feels like my heads on fire.”

You shook your head, “ It may have been irresponsible but you were never stupid. You wanted to work, that isn’t stupid but theres a time and a place for that. Being sick means you need to rest. Now, when we get inside I want you to lie down, how does that sound?”

Lizzie sighed and nodded in agreement, “I really don’t feel well…”

“I know sweetie, I know. You’re likely running a fever too.” You paused to press the back of your palm and wrist against her forehead, the heat instantly confirming your suspicions. Lizzie gave a small noise of relief at the feeling of your cool hand, so you decided to hold it there for a moment longer only Lizzie had suddenly pushed you away a second later.

“Hh’itshhhiew!”

“Bless you-“

“HHii’TSSHHIEW!” Hh-HeP’TSHH!”

“Oh honey bless you again, there’s tissues in the trailer.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie mumbled as she came closer to you, her hand coming to clutch yours. You weren’t far from your trailer now.

“Its okay, you don’t need to thank me for anything.”

Lizzie gave you a weak smile, pressing a small quick kiss on your cheek, “But Im going to anyway.”

#sickfic #snzfic #marvel sickfic #whump #fluffy #marvel snzfic #mcu #snzfuck #femreader #snz #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen x fem!reader #lizzie olsen x y/n #sick lizzie olsen x reader #sick lizzie olsen #lizzie olsen fluff #lizzie olsen whump #lizzie olsen sickfic #lizzie olsen snzfic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x y/n #lizzie olsen comfort #lizzie olsen caretaking #sick elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen whump

[falconcoast]

traveling home | dainsleif x reader

day two. traveling home ft. dainsleif

event masterlist

you go home with dainsleif. or, well, you're supposed to. when your flight is delayed until tomorrow morning, dainsleif books a hotel room for you. years of pining come to light.

a/n: LATE AGAIN I AM AWARE had piano today why am i involved in so many extracurriculars. tbh i took a lot of creative privilege because i <3 this trope but anyways take a lil dainy he's so baby to me <3

tags: the best slowburn trope ever. you know what it is. no warnings apply! :D

as your childhood friend and roommate in your apartment, it was only natural for you to travel home together. you’d call it a blessing in disguise that he was willing to accompany you; he’d managed to drive through liyuean traffic all the way to the airport, carried all of your bags, and gotten to your gate with an hour and a half to spare. so when you had heard that your flight was delayed until tomorrow morning, dainsleif was quick to find a solution.

“oh, archons, how are we supposed to find a hotel room? it looks like everyone’s stuck here until tomorrow,” you lamented, looking at the bright red “delayed” notifications on the arrival and departure screen.

“i already booked a room for us,” dainsleif answered, showing you his phone. “shall we head out now? we can check in in thirty minutes.”

taking his hands in yours and squeezing them tightly, you grinned at him. “you’re a miracle worker, you know?!” you exclaimed, hugging him tightly around the waist.

a little over an hour later, you were in the hallway with dainsleif. the stormy weather outside batted at the windows of the hotel airport, violently wiping leaves across the panes. it echoed down the hall, where the two of you were the only occupants.

opening the door, you let dainsleif in first. “i’m so excited,” you chirped. “yeah, it sucks that we can’t be on the plane home right now, but at least we can, like, fully lay down now! and also not eat shitty airplane food. man, when i was going home for fall break, i--”

“there’s only one bed,” dainsleif interrupted your spiel.

“hey, i was talking about my--wait, what?!”

“there’s only one bed,” dainsleif repeated plainly, while you stuck your head through the door.

looking inside, he was making an astute observation. there was, in fact, only one bed with crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows. “oh,” you breathed out. you supposed that even a paragon like dainsleif could mess up every once in a while.

“there are no other rooms in the hotel. the rest have already been occupied,” your best friend declared, ushering you in and shutting the door. “it was a mistake on my part, y/n. i solemnly apologize. i will be sleeping on the floor to pay for my actions.”

“hey, what?! i don’t want you sleeping on the floor!” you pouted, placing your hands on your hips. “it’s really not a big deal, dain. you’ve been working overtime to make sure we get home safely. i’ll be the one sleeping on the floor.”

“absolutely not.”

“well, you’re not going on the floor whether you like it or not! not on my watch!”

…and that was how you and your best friend ended up sitting on the edge of the bed together in your pajamas together. it had been a long, long time since you and dainsleif had had a sleepover together. “reminds me of when we were kids,” you smiled, as he plugged his phone into the nightstand plug. “we used to watch scary movies in a pillow fort on nights when we had math tests in the morning.”

“yes. but we’re all grown up now, aren’t we?” he said, running a hand through his blond hair.

you stared at him after he said that. surely, if you were to tell your hometown friend that you slept in the same bed with him tomorrow, there would be a romantic implication to it.

you thought about it like you hadn’t had a crush on him since you were teenagers. dainsleif had always been there for you. hell, even today, he stood as your voice of reason in the chaos of getting home. he was like that when you were back at your apartment too. he always brought you a sweet treat when he came home from work, he offered a clean sleeve when you cried, and remembered the smallest things. it was impossible to not fall in love with dainsleif.

“y/n, you have been spacing out for a while. are you alright?” he asked, cradling your cheek. there he went again, being ever the gentleman. cheeks flaring with heat, you turned away and pressed your palms to your cheeks.

“it’s nothing!” you all but exclaimed, crawling to the headboard and diving under the sheets. a soft rumble of laughter erupted his chest as you hid under the comforter.

“good night, y/n,” he whispered, patting your covered figure on the head.

with a click of the nightstand light, the room disappeared into darkness. you still hid under the sheets, clutching onto the cold cloth for dear life. you were in proximity with the man you had had a crush on for years now and yet you still felt the need to hide, as if he could read your thoughts. the thought of him knowing tore your brain apart, and you knew it would only end with you losing your best friend.

you laid there for what felt like an eternity until you heard dainsleif shift. turning over, you shyly peeked from your position. surprisingly, he was already looking at you, and he was pouting. “did you need something, dain?” you asked softly.

the moonlight caught his eye, glowing an ethereal blue. “it’s nothing,” he replied, a bit too easily to be chalked up to nothing. you deadpanned. sighing, he turned away in shame. “i…i’m a bit cold.”

“aw, dain, that’s nothing to be ashamed of!” you grinned, shifting closer to him. “i dunno if i can provide any comfort, but i can come closer to you, if you’d like.”

you neared him, putting your hands together and placing them slightly in front of your chest. he copied your motion, drawing your bodies closer. “may i…?” he asked, fingers reaching out for your drawn hands. although you were slightly nervous, you nodded. his hand covered yours and it was both gentle and cold. staring at him again, you smiled before shutting your eyes.

you moved a little closer, so close you swear you could feel his heartbeat. after a small gulp, you decided that it was now or never. shifting your head, you laid it on his chest. opening your eyes to see his reaction, you looked away bashfully. “i’m a little cold, too,” you whispered.

dainsleif let a little note of contentment, he wrapped an arm around your neck, rubbing small circles into your back. your hand came to his chest, finally settled in a comfortable position.

his heartbeat steadily increased, thrumming in your ear. innocently, he kissed your forehead. “good night, y/n,” he said as you tethered onto the last bits of your sleepy consciousness. “i love you, ardently so.”

his words followed you into your dreams.

me when dain: (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dainsleif x reader #genshin impact reader inserts #genshin impact imagines

[eriquin]

The Prophetic D&D Game, part 24

POV switch to the excellent Erica Sinclair.

(master post)

One day in January, Lucas’s moping came to a head. Erica normally would not have cared, but this time her brother pulled her aside. He wanted to talk about Max, and about some game he was playing at school. At first, she didn’t understand why she should care, but then he went into more details. Max was withdrawing from all of them, and the guy running this D&D game was putting in stuff about the Upside Down that he shouldn’t have known about. He told her the whole story.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Erica asked. “Max doesn’t know me, and your new nerd friends sure as heck aren’t going to listen to me. I’m in middle school, remember?” 

“No, it’s not about that,” Lucas said. “I just need someone else to know what is going on. Max is too hard to reach. Mike tried telling Nancy, but she blew him off. Dustin tried with Steve and Robin, but they both think he’s imagining things. We’re not imagining it, though. This story that Eddie’s telling? It’s for real.”

“Does it have anything to do with the Russians?” 

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t think so, though there’s some hint about foreign countries with the king. But the Russians weren’t involved when Will was taken, so maybe they’re still going to come up later?” 

Erica nodded. She got a notebook out from her backpack and flipped it open to a new page. “Okay, go over it again,” she said. “I want to take notes this time.” 

She got regular updates whenever they got to play that game again. It made her a little jealous that her brother had a regular D&D group, even if all the people in it sounded like huge dorks. None of her friends were interested in playing, even when she tried to make stories about My Little Pony. It didn’t matter, though. The mystery of her brother’s DM having some kind of sixth sense was fascinating to her. 

Mike and Dustin both knew that she knew, and sometimes when they all got together, they went over her notes. They filled in some gaps and had their own theories, but Dustin was the only one who made any sense. Mike mostly whined about having been tricked into playing Steve as a character. Erica didn’t know what his problem was with Steve. The man had fought Russians for her and gave her free ice cream whenever she asked. He was all right in her book, but she didn’t point it out. They didn’t need to know her business.

The four of them decided that it definitely had something to do with the Upside Down, even though they weren’t sure what. They could tell who each person in the main group was supposed to be, but they weren’t sure who all the other characters were. Lucas was mostly worried that all the things that happened in the game were going to happen in real life. He was convinced that Max was in danger, but didn’t know what to do about it.

Then March arrived. The Hawkins Tigers made it to the championship game, and Mom and Dad were so excited to go, even though Lucas never got to actually play. They talked big about supporting him, and how he was putting in his time now and would play when he was older. Erica, on the other hand, could do the math and knew that it would conflict with Hellfire. She was completely unsurprised when she saw those three stooges approaching her after school. 

“What now?” she asked. 

“We need a sub,” Dustin said. “Eddie said that if we found a sub for Lucas for Hellfire, we could play the Cult of Vecna.”

“What’s the Cult of Vecna?” 

“It’s the other game that he’s running,” Mike said. “See, there was this evil lich, and he’s dead but he made a cult and they’re trying to bring him back. We have to stop them. It’s really—”

“Wait, you’re playing two nerd games? At the same time? Gross,” Erica said, shaking her head. “I take it you want me to sub?” 

“Yes,” Lucas said. He clasped his hands together. “If we don’t find a sub, then he’s going to run Cursed instead. We’re coming right up against the big bad, and Sadie is going to be bait. If I’m not there, he will kill her for sure.” 

“Why don’t you all just ditch?” she asked. “Go watch Lucas play his game. He can’t run anything if you’re all missing.”

“He can, and he will,” Dustin said. “He’s in a truly terrible mood this week. I don’t know what’s up with him, but he would definitely kill us all out of spite. I don’t know what that means for us, if he’s predicting the future.” 

Erica scoffed. “You think he’s not just predicting it, but he’s able to change things?”

“I don’t know,” Dustin said. “All I know is that we have to see it through until we can figure out what’s supposed to happen.” 

“Yeah, we can’t have something like Lucas being out screw with the final battle,” Mike said. “Also, if we can delay it, then I can tell El and Will about it when I go to visit them in California.”

“You haven’t told them yet?” Erica asked, slipping as much judgement into the statement as she could.

“I didn’t want to tell them over the phone in case someone was listening, and it sounded weird when I started writing it down,” Mike said. “Also, I wouldn’t put it past the lab people to read our mail.”

“Rude,” Erica said. “That’s a federal offense.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they care about that,” Lucas said. “Will you be the sub? I know you have a character you can use.”

Erica arched an eyebrow at him. “Mom will be pissed if I miss your game,” she said.

“Not half as pissed as she’d be if I missed my game,” said Lucas.

“If I do this, I expect to be appropriately compensated.”

Dustin sighed and rolled his eyes. “I will buy you three new minifigs at the game store next time we go.”

“Six new minifigs, plus a baby dragon.”

Dustin groaned. “Four, and no dragon.”

Mike threw his arms in the air. “We don’t have time for this! I’ll get her the dragon!” he said. “Can we just go?” 

Dustin sighed and looked at Mike with disgust, then back to Erica. They both knew that bargaining was part of the fun. “Fine, four minifigs and a baby dragon.” He held his hand out to her. “Deal?”

They shook on it, and Erica prepared for her grand entrance into Hellfire.

Taglist: @weirdandabsurd42, @10moonymhrivertam, @blueskiesandstarrynight

#two today because i have requests from wip wednesday #hellfire club #the prophetic d&d game #stranger things #my writing

[snailchaser-the-medicinecat]

Can you tell us about your SpottedTiger au? :)

100%, absolutely. :D I'm glad you're interested in it! Prepare for a long ramble LMAO

It's called the False Prophecy AU, and the baseline story around it is that Spottedleaf and Tigerclaw fake a prophecy to the clan to be able to be mates without being seen as breaking the code. Straight up lying about a sign from the ancestors in order to get together.

There are actually some minor worldbuilding changes that come with the AU, like changing the names of some of the first arc elders, family tree adjustments, Medicine cats being essentially the only cats who can contact Starclan directly other than extremely rare exceptions, and clear, starry nights being seen as sacred due to it being seen as time that Starclan is able to see them clearly. Cloudy, starless nights tend to make clan cats uneasy due to the lack of direct view of their ancestors above, and is when a majority of crimes and code-breaks are committed, in the hopes they can still get into Starclan.

I haven't read a majority of the prequel novellas or anything, so this is purely AU brainrot. Bear with me LMAO

Spottedleaf and Tigerclaw grew up together as childhood friends, with Spotted being a medicine cat apprentice from the start due to her love of healing and natural connection to Starclan, and Tiger being a warrior apprentice, unfortunately stuck with Thistleclaw as a mentor. With having such a rough training situation, he'd often linger in the medicine cat den in his free time or when he was injured, helping Spottedpaw and Featherwhisker with small tasks and keeping them company while he was cooling off from patrols. He's always thought of the medicine den as a type of sanctuary where he could be safe and rest, so it has a lot of positive associations with him, and he has a lot more knowledge of herbs and how to use them than most warriors do. Which is extremely helpful on the battlefield when a medicine cat isn't nearby.

Spottedleaf had always been a bit playful and sassy, even if she was still compassionate and kind. Her and Tigerclaw often bantered, and though as he grew, Thistleclaw molded him into being more and more aggressive, there's always been a base foundation of respect and care between the two. Even with Tigerclaw eventually growing to tower over her (Maine coon mix Tigerclaw has my heart), Spottedleaf has essentially been the only person who's been able to rein him in and knock some sense into him.

They had been secretly romantically involved for a while, but Spottedleaf and Tigerclaw had been planning to fake the prophecy for moons in advance of them putting their plan into action, only discussing the idea of it during the day, or whenever there were no stars in the sky at night, these two were serious serious. They end up presenting the prophecy to Bluestar using a ladybug and a cat's claw that were apparently tucked into her nest, and while she believes them, they decide to keep things secret from the clan in order to ease them into it, since compared to Riverclan and Shadowclan, Thunderclan's fairly traditional and. Some cats wouldn't be too happy about that.

I won't go too far in, since I don't want to outright spoil my fic, but some other happenings are:

Redtail not dying.

Due to Spottedleaf not being killed, both Yellowfang and Spottedleaf are medicine cats of Thunderclan, which. Complicates things a lot with her and Tigerclaw's plans, to say the absolute least. Though we get the fun three medicine cat dynamic once an apprentice comes in. Two different flavors of sass in mentors, nice aunt and grouchy grandma LMAO (Spotted does discreetly use Yellowfang's arrival as evidence of her and Tiger's prophecy with later events)

Spotted, Red, and Willow all just being super close and a tight knit family with their mom Rosetail

I've still been debating if I want to keep Cinderpaw as a medicine cat, but I've considered having a different cat be her apprentice- It's still definitely in development, but it's coming along slowly but surely!

#the false prophecy au #spottedtiger #wc #spottedleaf #tigerclaw #warrior cats #warrior cats au #I wrote this while extremely tired #Sorry if it's a bit disjointed LMAO #This is subject to change #I'm only just now writing chapter 3 #so bear with me

[thedancingcockroach134]

Human Tito x Human Ozzie pt. 7

(Not for kids! Alright?! This involves sexual abuse and attempt of suicide)

"Don't worry! You're perfectly fine now, but are you sure that you sure about going out again?" Nurse Mitzy had asked Ozzie, worried ever since he was raped a few days ago. Ozzie had looked at Nurse Mitzy with a little confidence, "O-Ozzie have...confidence! I feel happy!" Nurse Mitzy had looked at Ozzie with a lot more strong feeling of doubt, "Alright, we'll let you go now. Dr. Fine told me to ask you if you know who did it." Ozzie shaked his head, no. A few minutes later, Dr. Fine was in the security office. She was looking at the footage of the day Ozzie got raped by those 5 men. The noises, screaming, crying, sobbing, begging to be let go, calling for help. "Nobody should see this! If the station saw this, it would mean that my job is on the line! I need money just to talk to people, not worry about them! It would make this place horrible! But, Elíaz, he was furious..." She had the flashback when he tried to tackle her, begging to know who the monsters and evil people who did it. "No! He can't know, nobody should know!" She played the video again and deleted the footage. "I'm here for money, not mercy." A few hours later, it was nighttime. Patients had turned off their lights, orderlies had walked the hallways, doors had been closed. Tito started to have a really bad nightmare about his past. It was him as a child, on a bed. He saw his father and he started screaming, "¡Hijo de puta madre! ¡Cállate! Stop moving! I can't put it in if you keep moving around!" Himself as a child started screaming and panicking, "¡Esperaté! Papá, stop! I-I'm sorry, just let me go!" He started moving around trying to get off, until his father smacked him, "You worthless ass niño! The only thing you'll grow up to be is a porn star, slutty ass man than a musician! You wanna play musíca, but won't let your own father play with you?! Stop moving around and let me put it in!" He screamed, until he woke up from that nightmare. "¡Papá!" He woke up shaking, scared, frightened. He looked at his arms, seeing all the scars and cuts he's done to himself. He got up, took rhe hidden knife he had, and cut himself. "I-Is it worth f-fucking living anymore?! Everywhere I go, stuff gets worser and worser! I can't take this pain anymore! I'll just...kill myself." He remembered that there was a gun on one of the shelves. They had forgot to take it out of his room when he first arrived. Apparently, he wasn't that wanted to pull the trigger in this specific room. Someone had used this gun secretly a long time ago, and that person shot themselves. He grabbed the gun, and put it on his head. "I-I should've used this gun a long time ago..." Just as he was about the pull the trigger, somebody special walked in, "H-Hi, T-Tito!" Ozzie came in until he realized specifically what he was gonna use with that gun. Ozzie quickly took the gun before Tito could have a chance to see Ozzie before he pulled it. Tito gasped and hugged Ozzie, he was crying so much. "Y-You weren't meant to see me do this! Just go back to your room before the orderlies see this!" He stopped hugging Ozzie,

"Amor, give me the fucking gun..." Ozzie knew what to say, "N-No! Ozzie...saw daddy do t-the...same!" Tito started to tear up more, "Give me the fucking gun! I can't take it anymore!" Ozzie started to panic, shaking his head trying to tell him no, "M-My d-daddy...did same! D-Don't go...away from O-Ozzie!" Ozzie started to cry too. Tito realized that Ozzie was the most important part of his life. Seeing Ozzie's expression if he didn't take the gun away, what would he have reacted? Tito hugged Ozzie a lot more stronger, "W-What would you have reacted i-if I pulled the trigger? T-Thank you!" Ozzie hugged back and cried harder, "M-Me....saw horrible...t-things! Don't...g-go away!" Tito cried even more harder and kissed Ozzie, "I-If I had never met such a wonderful, kind, amazing, cute, and an inspirational person like you, nobody would've ever stopped me from doing that!" Tito put his hand on Ozzie's cheek, wiping Ozzie's tears. "My father had done very horrible things to me, I know how you're feeling. Me meeting you made me feel like there's more in life that can change your down mood. I-I'm so sorry that you had to witness me trying to end my own life! I didn't know that your father had did the same to himself when you were a child! You witnessing that made you worry about witnessing it again from somebody you loved." Ozzie wiped Tito's tears, "We gonna..b-be okay?" Tito sniffled and smiled, "Yes, amor. We're gonna be okay. I'm gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, and I'll make sure you're always okay." A few moments later, an orderlie walked in, "What the hell is going on?! How is the door opened? Why are y'all both in the same room? Should I call security? Do you need help?" Tito nodded, "I need your help trying to get rid of this gun, I don't need that and I never will..."

#im dumb #willy's wonderland #lgbtq #willy's wonderland comic #tito turtle #ozzie ostrich #transgender #:( #Ur gay

[tale-as-old-as-time-au]

"-…So, I was thinking about building a moving platform for the bitties to change floors without needing to climb all the stairs - Chara declared from her side of the dinner table, addressing Alphys and Undyne.

The lizard woman took it personally.

-WHY would we need this? - she grunted, showing up all her tiny sharp teeth - Are you patronizing us just because we are small??

-Oh, no!! - Chara immediately denied it - I know YOU don't need it, Alphys. I was actually thinking about the kids. They said they wished they could visit their friends at the aquarium more, but going up so many stairs is hard for them.

After the curse started, the bitties built smaller steps between the regular steps of the stairs, so they could use it with their short legs. But that meant the new stairs were hundreds of steps long. Not an easy obstacle if you were not Alphys.

Napstaton looked at the girls over his glass of wine.

-It really is hard for the kids - he stated - And, you know, for the ones of us who don't have legs anymore. I haven't left this floor since forever.

He tilted the glass into the gap between his doors. Chara always finds it fascinating when object-type bitties eat or drink.

-I can give you rides while the platform isn't finished, you just have to ask me! - she told the wardrobe. He clasped his hands together in excitement.

-Oh my, thank you, beautiful! I appreciate it.

-B-but, Chara… - Undyne started, fidgeting - D-do you really know how to do this? A moving platform?

-Well, I have made some simple mechanisms at home to help with the housework, so I think I can do it! I feel like I should contribute to the castle somehow, since I'm also living here and eating your food and all.

-You don't have to, my dear - Toriel affirmed, kindly - You are our guest.

-But I want to…

-I get you, Chara!! - Sans turned to join the conversation, enthusiastic as usual - They always say I don't need to work since I'm royalty, but I never let it stop me! It's not good to feel useless!

-Yes, that's right! - the girl agreed, cheerful - Hey, you can help me if you want to!

-Wowzers!! I would love to!!

After a few minutes, Sans looked at Papyrus' plate.

-You are done, good! - the bitty grinned - You should be a gentleman and escort Chara to her room to make sure she doesn't get lost!

-Lost? - Papyrus frowned, confused. Chara had been living with them for a few weeks then, she couldn't STILL be getting lost on the way to her room… Could she?

-Oh, it's ok, you don't have to! - the girl said, embarrassed - I… I rarely pick the wrong path now.

-He insists!!

And that's how, a minute later, they were both walking through the castle's corridors. They were having a light talk about their day and Chara was excitedly telling the king about how the kids took her to meet the aquarium and the monsters who lived there. On the inside though, Papyrus was a nerve wreck.

He knew he was supposed to be doing something to charm Chara. “Tell her she look pretty”, "smile", "be a gentleman", "stand straight and look tall", all the crap the others kept telling him whenever the girl was not around. But, heck… He sucked at that. His only experience with women had involved a few escorts before the curse started and it had been fine, but… Let's be honest… You don't need to try hard with escorts. You just need money, and he was literally royalty.

Also, he was a handsome young human by then and now he was a big, scary monster. That surely didn't help his confidence.

Papyrus looked at Chara, who was still cheerfully talking about the aquarium. Welp, at least she didn't seem to think he was scary anymore. That was good. She seemed to like him. And he liked her. He just needed to make her see that their unusual friendship could become something more.

They had arrived at Chara's room. The girl smiled at him while opening her door.

-Thanks for bringing me here, Papyrus! Good night.

-G… good night - crap, she was closing the door, he had to do something - Hey, wait.

Chara stopped, looking up at him with curious eyes. Papyrus placed one hand on the door's frame, nervously sweating.

-Chara, I… I know being stuck in this castle sucks and all - he blurted, mentally kicking himself. Why was that so damn hard?! - It's just… I just want you to know that things have been sucking a lot less since you got here.

The girl blinked, stupified.

-Oh - she blinked once more, at a loss of words - Oh. I…

-Good night.

Just like that, the king turned around and walked away, his whole skull burning in embarrassment. HOW do people even do this?? If he wasn't born rich and couldn't pay for it, he probably would have never gotten any woman in his life.

Hell… What a shitty thing to realize about himself.

Chara kept looking at Papyrus' back as he walked away, completely petrified.

What the hell was that??”

~

Previous

Next

Masterpost

~

ML SPEAKING

Chara, he's doing his best!! Be nice with our guy!

If you really think about it, it's so weird that everyone - including the Beast / Papyrus - knows that he needs to fall in love with the new girl. Like… You can't control your emotions. All you can really do is set a mood and hope for the best.

#TAOAT #Tale as old as time #story #Papara #Underswap #Fellswap #Chara #Papyrus #Sans #I don't wanna tag all the others #beauty and the beast #crossover

[mynameisjessejk]

A little story

Let's be honest, I finally started using this space to have somewhere to put my writing. So have a thing.

Those Songs We Sung

Or, Fifteen Songs Arthur Sang to the Battalion and One That Was Just for Bell

I joined the battalion on January fifth, 1916. We crossed to Le Havre three days later, when I had only just managed to learn everyone’s names; if we’d been a full platoon instead of just a section and too bloody many officers, I don’t know how I would’ve managed. I certainly couldn’t’ve, even as we were, without Arthur. 

When McCrae, a mundane himself but in the know about his magical soldiers, built the 17th, as an extra, magical platoon in Company D, he didn’t tell D Company’s commander we were magic. He told him the officer of the 17th would be beside not below him in the chain of command. He told him we were to be scouts for the company, instead of each platoon doing their own scouting. But he didn’t tell Hendry we were magic, and he didn’t tell him I was coming.

Hendry, mundane, brilliant, and missing a platoon commander, put Lieutenant Stone in command. Sweet, lovely Arthur, the poor mundane stuck blind under our crazy magical orders. When I arrived, I asked to keep him, instead of taking his place; part of me didn’t want him to get shipped off to another unit after spending all this time training with the 16th Battalion, part of me didn’t want to come in as the new guy replacing a friend, and part of me could do math and thought sixteen, four teams of four led by an officer or nco, made more sense than fifteen, three teams of five. 

Either way, Arthur stayed, a second officer in a section that barely needed the one. I never asked McCrae why he agreed, and I never regretted it. Arthur introduced me to the lads and kept a running commentary about each until I could build profiles in my mind and keep them separate. He briefed me on the training and expectations. He told me how the lads interacted with the other platoons (polite, but distant) and how the other officers accepted our weird position (cheerfully). He warned me about the Roslin Lads (Ross, Woods, Stirling-- mischief makers, the three of them) and Nevin’s attitude (bad) and Menteith’s disposition (sensitive). He quickly became my right hand, and one of my closest friends.

And I learned within days something the rest of the platoon already knew: Arthur could sing.

All Through the Night

They had come ashore at Le Havre that morning, though by the end of the day’s journey not one of them could say where in France they were. The billets for the 16th Battalion were comfortable; D Company was in an old inn, Bell thought, and the officers had taken the ground floor, and the men were organized by section. There were, Bell was sure, more men crammed into each room than the expected capacity when this operated as an inn, but they weren’t camping like some of the other battalions. 

“Your lads all find a place?” Hendry asked Bell, handing over the kettle for tea. It was nearly ten pm.

Bell nodded. “Aye, sir,” he said softly. Hendry only nominally outranked him, but Bell liked the man, and respected him. “But I can hear them from the hallways.”

“The Roslin lads’re giggling, sirs,” Sergeant Duffy contributed as he passed through the lobby. “I’ve told ‘em to pack it in, but they’re not settling.”

Hendry, who’d heard of the notorious threesome’s shenanigans, rolled his eyes. “We’re in France now; everything’s real. The lads are keyed up. I’ve heard the same from Whyte and Martin, too.”

“Not Mackenzie?” Bell asked, wondering if the fifteenth platoon’s officer would share the trick.

“I just haven’t seen him yet,” Hendry said dryly. 

Bell sighed. 

“The NCOs are trying to shut it down,” Hendry said. “I’m giving it another hour before I get involved and have to start discipline.” He shook his head. “I can’t blame them, but they need the sleep.”

Bell nodded in agreement of the wait. “Sounds reasonable.” Hendry was a good man, Bell thought, not for the first time. 

There was a whoop from upstairs loud enough that Bell and Hendry exchanged a dry look. It was followed by a rough shout from one of the NCOs, words not audible but biting tone clear. Hendry sighed. 

Whyte appeared in the doorway of the lobby. He groaned wordlessly and dropped into the seat next to Hendry. 

Hendry and Bell nodded in solidarity. 

“Where’s your better half, Rathbone?” Whyte asked, glancing around for Arthur. 

Bell shrugged. “He headed out to the courtyard a bit ago,” he offered. “Haven’t seen him since.”

As if summoned, Arthur’s voice rang through the lobby. Hell, Bell thought, it probably rang through the whole inn. “Sleep my lads and peace attend thee, all through the night,” Arthur sang. His voice was rich and smooth and deep, and it reverberated through down to Bell’s bones. 

 “Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night,” Arthur continued, and the low hum of noise drifting in the doorway lessened, and then disappeared entirely.

Bell was aware that his mouth was open unattractively, but not quite together enough to stop himself. 

Hendry and Whyte both had soft grins on their faces. 

Arthur was singing the lullabye slower than Bell had ever heard it, giving the lads time to settle and listen, giving them time to resign to rest and quiet. By the time he’d reached the last verse, Bell’s eyes were closed, head tipped back against his chair, and the inn was resoundingly quiet except for Arthur’s resonant voice.

“There's a hope that leaves me never, all through the night,” Arthur ended, slow and sweet. Silence reigned. 

Arthur appeared a moment later in the doorway from the courtyard, and nodded tiredly at them. “Sirs,” he said; his voice had a little bit of rasp in it.

“You’re a hero, Stone, thanks for that,” Hendry said warmly, nodding at the chair next to Bell in silent invitation.

“They might even sleep now,” Whyte agreed, grinning. 

“You’re gawping, Rathbone,” Hendry told Bell teasingly. 

Bell was still staring at Arthur.

“Oh,” Arthur said. “He’s not heard me sing yet.” There was some pride in his voice, but mostly warmth and teasing.

“That’s right,” Whyte said. “He fit in so nicely, I forgot he’s new.”

Bell blinked a couple of times. “Holy shit,” he said finally.

Arthur laughed. “There you are, Captain.”

“You sing,” Bell said, probably stupidly. Scratch that, definitely stupidly.

Arthur’s eyes were warm. “Yes sir. Choirboy, voice lessons, and all, back in New York. It’s about as useful as my half a law degree, and I only do it in my aunt’s shop when I’m bored of late, but you don’t lose the things bashed into your knuckles with a ruler.” The rasp was getting worse, not better as he spoke.

“Seems pretty useful to me,” Hendry answered.

Bell, conscious of the eyes on Arthur instead of him, traced a spell across the bottom of his cup to rewarm the tea and silently passed over his tin mug; he’d been holding it, more than drinking anyway.

Arthur grinned at him. “You need a minute still, Captain?” He drank the tea, though.

“Probably,” Bell admitted. “Holy shit, Arthur.”

Arthur’s face went soft, a little embarrassed, a lot fond. 

McManus, the company Command Sergeant Major, paused in the doorway on his way past. “All right sirs?” He asked. “Lads’ve gone quiet, if you want to turn in.”

“Thanks Tom,” Hendry said. “We may just, at that.”

“You look done in, sirs,” McManus admitted. “Twas a lovely song, Lieutenant Stone,” he added, dipped his head, and carried on. 

“He’s not wrong about the rest of you,” Whyte said wryly, “And if I look half as tired as I feel, I look worse than all three of you combined. To bed, gents.”

“Bed,” Arthur agreed. “Up you come, Captain,” he said cheerfully, offering Bell a hand.

Bell felt like he had lead in his bones, but he took Arthur’s hand and groaned as he came to his feet. “Night all,” he called as he followed Arthur to the tiny room they’d been allotted. 

“Night Bell,” Hendry called back. “Night Arthur.”

Arthur was humming the lullabye as they awkwardly maneuvered around each other. Between the two beds and their kits, there was approximately two feet of floor for them to stand on as they wrestled out of leathers, boots, and putties. The third time they bumped elbows, Arthur huffed a laugh. “If your arms weren’t so absurdly long,” he muttered.

Bell could admit he was still off kilter from Arthur’s song. He hummed a reply, but didn’t say anything aloud. It certainly wasn’t his usual playful tease. 

Arthur looked at him. “You all right, Pup?” he asked softly. The nickname had come on day two, when Hendry had remarked about Bell ‘nipping after Arthur’s heels’. Arthur only used it in private, and it warmed Bell through every time. 

Bell was too tired to wrestle his brain back from wherever it had gone when Arthur had sung, but it wasn’t a bad daze. “Fine, Arthur,” he replied, just as soft. 

Arthur nodded, accepting this. As they settled into their bunks side by side, Arthur started humming again, a low rumble that chased Bell into sleep.

The Wild Rover

The billeting didn’t stay that good. Mostly, they camped. They were in the hollow of an abandoned farmyard, neat rows of tents for the men in the field, and the officers headquarters in the lee of the half-collapsed farmhouse. Their orders had them staying there for a few days, so Hendry called for a relaxation of discipline for the evening. 

Most of the NCOs had settled themselves around a fire between the farmhouse and the field, tacitly offering to keep an eye on the troops as the lads drank, sang, and played cards. Bell had no hopes that the Roslin lads, at the very least, and probably Nevin and Hume as well, wouldn’t find some kind of mischief to cause, but Duffy and Crewe had assured Arthur they’d keep an eye on things. His section tended to keep casually aloof from the rest of the company--they were even camped closest to the edge of the wilderness--and he didn’t doubt that the shifters in his section (the Roslin lads, Caithness, and Sergeant Duffy) would wind up in the woods in animal form before the night was through. 

Tom McManus, battalion CSM, passed Whyte, who he’d served with before, a bottle of spirits he’d produced from somewhere. He winked at Bell and Mackenzie, who were standing nearby, and wished them a good evening with a jaunty wave. 

Whyte raised the bottle in cheerful salute, and herded Bell and Mackenzie back towards the little bonfire Hendry had jokingly called the Officers’ Mess. There were four logs to sit on, between the six of them, so Mackenzie wedged on beside Martin, leaving Whyte to take the empty log (and a long swig before passing the bottle on) while Bell flopped cheerfully down on the dirt next to Arthur’s legs. While the others were watching Martin and Mackenzie and the movement of the bottle, Bell flicked his fingers at the fire to keep it burning without consuming the little bit of wood they’d scavenged.

Martin elbowed Mackenzie, but didn’t shove him off when Mackenzie passed him the bottle, and Hendry greeted them (and Tom’s spirits) cheerfully. Arthur ruffled Bell’s hair fondly, his other hand accepting the bottle from Hendry. He murmured a soft greeting just for Bell. 

“Oi, Rathbone,” Martin said, rounding on Bell.

Bell, his mouth still around the neck of the bottle of spirits, turned wide eyes up at Martin. He swallowed wrong, and his nose and sinuses burned fiercely as he coughed.

Whyte snorted at him as he took the bottle from Bell. “Smooth, Rathbone,” he teased.

Arthur patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Swallow, Captain,” he said mildly. “Don’t inhale.”

Eyes streaming, Bell leaned back on Arthur’s knee to look up at him, upside down. “Thanks,” he wheezed. “Never’da thought it.” Bell coughed again to clear his sinuses, and then turned to Martin. “Did you need something?” he drawled, “Or did you just want to see me breathe spirits?”

Martin laughed. “Admittedly a fine alternative,” he answered wryly. “But no, I wanted to ask what the devil is the problem with that little shite in your section?”

Bell groaned and tipped his head back against Arthur’s leg again, covering his eyes. 

“Nevin,” Arthur muttered darkly.

“What’s he done now?” Bell asked the sky, despairing.

Hendry silently handed Bell the bottle again, skipping Arthur.

Bell took a long swig and then passed it back to Arthur.

“The mouth on that boy!” Martin said, almost admiringly. “He had some fine words for Macfarlane at the well earlier this afternoon.”

Bell groaned dramatically into his hands. 

“He does have a mouth on him,” Arthur agreed dryly. “And a problem with authority.”

“What did Macfarlane say?” Bell asked, dreading it.

“I only overheard,” Martin said, “Didn’t get involved. Once I heard the swearing I figured he was your authority issue, so I stayed out of it.”

Bell cracked an eye to look at his companions.

Hendry, Whyte, and Mackenzie were all nodding along. Hendry, catching his glance, said, “Oh we all knew about him-- he was a legend back at Sutton Veny. Not his name, but that you’d drawn the short straw.” 

“Oh no,” Arthur said, sounding gleeful. Bell covered his face again. “He likes Bell,” Arthur continued. “Listens to him, even.”

“So if I need to yell at him for mouthing off to Macfarlane, I can,” Bell said, trying to head off all the mocking sure to come. “He’ll take it from me, at least.”

“How?” Hendry asked, sounding startled.

Bell shrugged. “He was about the first person I met when I came on base. One of the sergeant-majors was hitting a recruit with a crop for bumping into him, and Nevin took offense to it. I got into the middle of it.”

“Of course you did,” Arthur muttered from behind him.

“I took charge of the recruit and Nevin, sent the sarn-major off thinking I was going to rip Nevin a new one, and once he was gone I sent the recruit to the medic, Nevin to wherever I figured he ought to be, and reported the dickhead to the base commander.”

“Of course you did,” Arthur repeated dryly. “And Nevin now thinks you’re all right, for an officer, and you’re fond of the little shit.”

“A little,” Bell admitted. “But if he was awful to Macfarlane, I’ll reign him in.”

Hendry was laughing. “You’re the one that got Angus discharged? Bless you, Rathbone!”

“Of course it was Angus,” Whyte said, and passed the bottle back to Bell in thanks. “He needed to go, so good on you.”

“Macfarlane didn’t seem to take it too personal,” Martin added. “Surprised more than anything. Your lads are usually so polite.”

“Except Nevin,” Arthur agreed. “They’re a good bunch.”

“I for one,” Hendry admitted with the air of someone confessing a secret, “Cannot wait to hear what the Roslin Lads have done this evening.”

Bell groaned and covered his face again. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, muffled.

“It’s good for you,” Martin insisted. “Spoiled brat that you are, with such a small section of lovely, polite young men, and Arthur, of course.”

“Of course,” Bell agreed, laughing.

“Not going to protest being spoiled?” Mackenzie asked.

“Oh, no- well, I mean, I went to Eton,” Bell stuttered. 

As the others dissolved into laughter, Arthur said fondly, “I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know if it’s agreement or denial.”

“Agreement,” Hendry said at the same time Whyte said, “Denial,” and then the Brits were all laughing too hard to explain. 

“New question, Rathbone,” Martin said.

“Aye?” Bell asked.

“Your parents never named you Bell,” Martin observed.

“That’s not a question,” Arthur murmured.

Bell laughed. “Oh boy,” he said ruefully.

Hendry, who knew the answer to this question from Bell’s transfer paperwork, grinned. 

“Where’s Bell come from, then?” Whyte asked deliberately.

“It’s a shortening,” Bell replied. “Of my given name, which is Bellerophon.” 

Martin choked on the drink. 

Arthur whistled. 

“Bellerophon Rathbone,” Whyte said. “Did they hate you?” 

Bell shrugged one shoulder. “Could be worse,” he said wryly. “My father’s name was Endymion.”

Arthur said, “What an appalling family tradition.”

Bell laughed. “Mother is already plotting my firstborn’s name, though she has yet to find a suitable mother for this hypothetical heir.”

“Never been more glad I’m not posh,” Mackenzie muttered. 

“Same,” Arthur agreed. 

Bell sighed, deeply put upon and Arthur ruffled his hair, tumbling his cover askew. 

The sounds of cheer drifted from the fields, and they smiled at each other, the bottle moving easily around the circle, shared among friends. The teasing continued, and the conversation flowed. When music began to drift over from the men, Whyte produced his harmonica and began playing along with whoever was playing in the camp. 

Arthur picked up the song immediately, grinning. 

Bell perked up, twisting around so he could watch Arthur.

Arthur sang with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the bouncing tune. “And I never will play the wild rover no more,” Arthur proclaimed. His eyes opened, eyebrows lifting expectantly.

Hendry and Martin joined in on the chorus, bellowing, “It’s no, nay, never!” in time. Mackenzie joined in on the second line, “No nay never no more!”

Bell tilted his head, listening. He joined in on the second iteration of the chorus, one verse later, with less certainty than his friends, but no less enthusiasm. He was just drunk enough to not care that he was a terrible singer.

Arthur grinned down at him, meeting his eyes as he sang what turned out to be the last verse, promising to go home and confess what he’d done, “And I never will play the wild rover no more!” 

There was a whistle and some cheers from the direction of the field; Arthur’s voice and the harmonica had carried clearly to them, and received a raucous response. 

But Arthur was grinning at the other officers,  accepting the bottle and ignoring his distant fans, his eyes bright. “You are terrible at that, Captain,” he told Bell.

Bell nodded earnestly, grinning up at him. “Absolutely awful,” he agreed. “I’ll leave it to you.”

“Well that sucks all the joy out of teasing him about it,” Mackenzie complained. 

“Come here, Captain,” Arthur said fondly, tugging at Bell’s shoulder until he turned back around and leaned back against Arthur’s legs again.

Bell let his head loll back in Arthur’s lap. “You’ve an excellent voice,” he said warmly.

“Thanks, Bell,” Arthur said. “Here,” he said, handing Bell the bottle. 

Bell drank carefully, not lifting his head from Arthur’s lap, and blindly held it out in Whyte’s direction. 

“You are drunk, Rathbone,” Whyte told him, enunciating carefully in the way of the just-passed-sober. 

Bell nodded solemnly. “A little,” he agreed. “Don’t tell Hendry.”

“I promise,” Whyte answered, taking a drink and passing the bottle on to their grinning commander. 

Hendry took his own drink, teeth gleaming in the firelight as he grinned. “Your secret’s safe with us, Rathbone,” he promised.

“There’s so much of you,” Martin observed to Bell. “How are you a lightweight?”

Bell was the tallest of the six officers, by several inches, and broader than all of them but Mackenzie, who was built like a rugby prop player. 

“He’s English,” Mackenzie replied, as if this answered the question. The other Scots officers laughed as though it did. 

Bell considered this idea for a long moment, and then got distracted by Arthur’s hand in his hair. Then he realized his eyes were closed, and opened them again. The world was a little blurry, but the sparks flying from the fire were fascinating. “I’m definitely drunker than I thought,” he observed after a long moment, into what appeared to be a conversation that he hadn’t noticed moving on without him.

“Definitely,” Arthur agreed, smiling fondly down at him. Arthur didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation either. “I think I’m going to put him to bed,” he told the others.

Bell realized Arthur meant him, and struggled to sit up straight.

Whyte, closest to him except Arthur, ruffled his hair fondly, which was not as nice as when Arthur had been petting him, but was friendly so he accepted it. “Good luck with the hangover, Rathbone,” he said, grinning.

Bell thanked him gravely, wished the others goodnight, and stumbled a little until Arthur tucked himself under his arm. When the ground refused to stay still, Bell observed to Arthur quietly as he realized it for himself, “I am very drunk.”

“I think so, yes, pup,” Arthur agreed, pouring him into his bedroll. 

“Sorry,” Bell said. 

“Not necessary,” Arthur answered. “I don’t mind.” He lay in his bedroll at Bell’s side and reached out to resume petting Bell’s hair. 

Bell made a happy noise and leaned into the touch. 

“Sweet boy,” Arthur murmured, and it was the last thing Bell remembered before falling asleep.

Danny Boy

Their intensive training over the spring had not prepared them at all for what the Somme Offensive was. And yet, the 16th Royal Scots had achieved their objective. Bell, Arthur’s shoulder against his as they stood in a quiet huddle with their men, wasn’t sure how much their presence--their magic-- had to do with that. 

But they’d been relieved and sent back to the rear trenches now, and the remaining men of D company had pulled together in their sections. They’d been assigned sleeping areas, but no one had even taken their packs off before crowding close and looking to Bell for news.

“Battalion lost more than four hundred men and ten officers,” Bell reported lowly to the group of them. “Hendry’s hurt badly; Whyte’s taking command and he’s being evacuated back to Rouen.”

A chorus of prayers and well-wishes rippled quietly through them. Hendry was well-liked.

Bell continued with the litany of bad news. “Duncan’s going to lose the leg, probably surgery tonight, if the doc has the time. Carter’s lungs are ruined. They’re both going back on the next transport.” 

Menteith looked away--they’d been outside his shield, but that wouldn’t stop him from feeling guilty about it, Bell knew. Rab was by far the kindest of Bell’s men, and his shields were the best Bell had ever seen: powered by his generous heart. Lennox, at his side, squeezed his wrist.

“We got what we were sent for, though,” Bell told them. “I’m proud of us for that, lads. 15th, 16th Scots are just about the only ones who made our objective last week.”

That got a murmur and some nods, but their faces were still grim. It had been a grim few days, and Bell was worried about his boys. Crewe, Duffy, and Arthur shared his concern, by the tension in their faces. 

As the silence stretched and none of them knew how to break it, as the grief and the tension tightened until it was choking, as the weight on his men’s shoulders pushed them further and further down, Bell knew something had to give. He nudged Arthur with his arm, careful and subtle.

Arthur cut his eyes up at Bell.

‘Danny Boy?’ Bell mouthed. Crewe was the only one looking at them, and his eyes widened, but he nodded slightly. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Bell nodded once.

Arthur nodded back. Then he turned slightly to lean his back against Bell’s arm, tipped his head back on Bell’s shoulder, and closed his eyes as he started to sing. “Oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling,” he sang.

As the song went on, Bell watched his men pull closer together, Lennox’s arm around Rab’s shoulders, Caithness and Nevin gripping each other’s hands, the Roslin lads tucking their faces into each other’s necks, Aitken and Murry leaning into each other’s shoulders. Crewe had leaned into Murray as well, as the only remaining member of his team. Duffy was gripping Ross’ shoulder where Ross was hugging Sterling and Woods. Hume was a singer too, his voice not as warm or rich as Arthur’s, but his comfort singing clear; he joined in as Arthur’s voice crescendoed into “Come ye back, when summer’s in the meadow.”

From the other sections, voices joined in, here and there, but Arthur’s voice soared through the trench. Bell bowed his head, tilting slightly to rest his temple against Arthur’s hair as he let the tears roll, unchecked, down his face.

“For you will bend, and tell me that you love me,” Arthur finished, clear and sweet and sorrowful, “And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”

Bell wasn’t the only one crying, he was glad to see; the terrible tension had broken, and while they were all still wrecked by the last few days, at least now they were draining the poison out. They retreated to their sleeping places in small groups, talking, mourning, and processing together. 

Duffy nodded politely to Bell and Arthur and shooed the Roslin Lads towards sleep. Crewe touched Arthur’s shoulder in silent gratitude, and followed Lennox and Rab. 

“Thank you,” Bell said roughly. 

Arthur turned silently and tucked himself into Bell’s embrace. Bell obediently wound himself around his friend, tucking his chin over Arthur’s head and winding his arms around his shoulders and chest as tightly as he could, until there was no space between them. It had been what the men had needed, and Arthur had been glad to do it, but it had taken a toll on him, too, to crack the shell of distance between them all and their grief. 

Arthur’s cheek against his neck was cold despite the warm summer night, so Bell sketched a subtle warming charm on Arthur’s jacket-back, disguising the gesture as a stroke to his friend’s spine.

Arthur leaned into him, murmuring, “Hellfire, pup,” but he didn’t follow it up with anything.

“Arthur,” Bell replied, and they stood together as the stars came out.

Goodbye, Dolly Gray

Stationed in the rear trenches, there wasn’t a great deal to do, except maintain their weapons and their practice, so when word came summoning Bell to Macrae’s headquarters, Bell was pretty sure his section would be sent on a scouting mission. He left orders for Arthur and Crewe to get the men ready for a patrol, and took Duffy with him.

He took Duffy because the sergeant was a shifter like Bell, and they would get to headquarters and back faster that way. As soon as they were out of sight, Duffy traced the shape that focused his shift and took to the wing. He was some kind of hawk, though Bell didn’t recognize the species.

Their meeting was brief, and they returned the same way and transformed around a bend in the trench. 

As Bell had suspected, they were to scout the area around Longueval and bring back, if possible, detailed maps of the German lines, with the best count they could make without being caught. As he and Duffy wound their way back through the trenches to their billet, they could both hear Arthur’s voice raised cheerfully in song.

“Goodbye Dolly, I must leave you, though it breaks my heart,” Arthur sang. It sounded like a few of the others might have been singing with him. 

The lads were around a little stove, each of them working at some kind of repair or maintenance of their gear. Arthur, it sounded like, was in the little dugout room that was his and Bell’s sleeping place-- there was hardly room for more than their two bedrolls, so they didn’t do much more than sleep there--singing and working on his own gear.

Bell nodded to Duffy to tell the lads, and he turned into the dugout to tell Arthur.

As Bell walked in, Arthur sang, “Hark, I hear the bugle calling, Goodbye, Dolly Gray!” and made a sharp gesture with a strangely-flexed hand--two littlest fingers curled down, thumb tucked in, pointer straight and middle half-curled--and the torn leather on the strap of Bell’s pack smoothed itself together as if it had never been damaged.

There was only silence in Bell’s head, but he must’ve made a noise, because Arthur turned to look at him.

Arthur’s face turned white. “You- shit,” he muttered.

Bell’s mouth opened, and then closed. “Arthur,” he gasped.

“It’s-- Bell, pup, I--” Arthur fumbled.

“You’re magic too?” Bell demanded, finding his tongue. 

“I-- yes-- wait. Too?” Arthur said. 

Bell nodded eagerly, whole body thrumming with excitement. If Arthur was magic too, this would be perfect. “We’re with the 1st Magical Division,” Bell explained, bouncing up to the balls of his feet. “Just got seconded to the 34th, to support the mundane army’s efforts.”

“The whole section?” Arthur asked.

Bell nodded. “Hendry-” he fumbled. “Whyte and the others don’t know, but Macrae does.”

“I wondered why the devil Macrae built a scout section.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I’m mostly hearth,” he said. “What do you do?”

“No specialty,” Bell replied reluctantly, used to this, when meeting new officers in the magical army.

“Because you’re good at everything, or because you’re terrible?” Arthur asked, wry smile suggesting he’d already guessed the answer.

Bell sighed and admitted awkwardly, “Good.”

“No need to sound so embarrassed, pup, I’m sure it’ll be bloody useful.” As usual, the thick Scots emphasis on ‘bloody’ in Arthur’s otherwise painfully American accent made Bell smile. “What’re our orders, then?” Arthur asked.

“Scouting,” Bell answered. “Like I thought. Longueval.”

Arthur nodded. “Got a plan?” 

“About half of one,” Bell answered. “Roslin lads are shifters, so’s Duffy. They’ll go to no man’s land and look for emplacements and mines. Lad’s’re weasels, and Duffy’s a hawk.” Eventually, the Roslin Lads would correct Arthur, as they did with everyone, that they were not weasels (Sterling was a stoat, Woods was a ferret, and Ross was a polecat), but that was much easier in the short run. He continued, “Caithness and I shift too, and we’ll go to the town and count the Germans. Crewe does illusions and Lennox is nearly as good, so your two teams will map the fields around the town.”

“What are you and Caithness?” Arthur asked.

“He’s a border collie,” Bell answered. “I’m a fox.” There would be time later to outline each of the lads’ specialties and strengths, and learn Arthur’s, but for now, they needed to focus on their immediate mission.

“Pup,” Arthur said fondly, taking one minute for the connection between them, unutterably glad to know that this wasn’t a secret they needed to keep from each other any longer.

Bell grinned shyly. “There’s a reason I let you keep it.”

Arthur nodded, grinning back. “Come on; let’s tell the lads.” He led Bell back out of the dugout, whistling cheerfully the same song he’d been singing.

The Water is Wide

Hearth magic, Bell had been taught at the magical branch of the Royal Military Academy, was mostly useless in war. After a month of plain rations, Caithness had taken over mealtimes, and Bell was convinced that hearth magic was actually an integral part of every war effort; if the army marched on its stomach, Caithness kept their section, at least, moving forward.

Bell returned to their billet trench and found the whole section around the stove. Sterling was telling a story, with frequent interruptions from Woods, while Ross struggled against Woods to try to get to Sterling, presumably to silence the story. 

Bell arrived just in time for the punchline, which involved a goat in a henhouse, but didn’t hear enough of the story to know why it was funny. He dropped into the empty place next to Arthur--the lads had started leaving the space open at all times sometime in the spring and Bell didn’t think it was worth addressing, especially as he didn’t actually want them to stop--with a grin on his face.

Arthur was darning a sock, and Bell could see the sparkle of magic on his fingers. Bell watched curiously, ostentatiously ignoring Ross and Sterling tussling. Arthur was using real needle and thread, but his little and ring fingers on the hand with the needle were curled in what was obviously a magic-focus gesture and when Bell reached for it, he could feel the magic twining around the threads. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Bell realized, recognizing another darn near the toe that was not nearly as well done as the one Arthur was working on.

Arthur hummed absent agreement, eyes on his work. He finished his row, and then looked up at Bell. “It is, Captain,” he said. “And I’ve reinforced the other darn already, because it was coming out.”

“Thank you,” Bell said earnestly. 

There was a squeal, and Menteith and Hume hastily lifted the rickety card table the two of them and Caithness were preparing dinner on up out of the way as Ross and Sterling rolled through, still scuffling. Caithness kicked them back the other direction.

Duffy, who had the unfortunate job of corralling the Roslin lads in the field, thumped Woods on the shoulder (“What did I do?”) and scruffed Sterling as he rolled on top. 

Crewe caught Ross by the collar and kicked him playfully in the rear to make him let go of Sterling. “D’ye ever feel ancient?” he inquired dryly of Duffy and the officers.

“Act like my granny,” Nevin muttered snidely.

Crewe ignored him, as was usually the best recourse with Nevin if you were someone who wasn’t Bell. 

Bell quirked an eyebrow at Nevin.

Nevin rolled his eyes, but subsided.

“Only around these raucous lads,” Duffy said.

“All the time lately,” Arthur agreed. 

“I hadn’t till I met this lot,” Bell said. “But now, almost daily.”

Crewe and Duffy looked at Bell skeptically.

Arthur laughed warmly. “Captain, you know you’re one of the lads, right?”

Bell clutched dramatically at his chest as though Arthur had shot him. He allowed himself to topple straight out of the chair.

“Due respect, Sir,” Crewe drawled, “But you’re only proving our case.”

Bell, on the tarp they’d laid down to keep down the mud, with his head on Arthur’s boot, grinned up at them. “I accept that.”

There weren’t actually enough chairs for them, so with Bell out of his, Hume--done with his kitchen duties--slowly and carefully took Bell’s chair, watching to see if his captain was going to object.

Bell rolled over so he was sitting leaning on Arthur’s legs, and let the private take the chair. It wasn’t proper Officer Discipline, but they were hardly a proper army section. 

As Menteith and Caithness started handing around supper, Bell tipped off his cap and accepted his sock back from Arthur. 

“Any orders, sir?” Lennox asked Bell.

Bell, who’d been meeting with Whyte and the other officers of D company before returning for the meal, shook his head. “Whyte just wanted to check on morale, I think.”

There was another squeal from the direction of the Roslin lads, but when Bell looked, it honestly appeared that Nevin had done something to Sterling, rather than the three of them messing with each other. They were now, the four of them, hissing at each other in whispers.

“Can you lot not?” Arthur inquired dryly. Smirking, he added, “Especially today, on this the day of my birth.” Several wide, startled gazes were sent towards Arthur and Bell, and Arthur started to laugh. “You’re not subtle, lads,” he told them gently. “But I appreciate you.”

Caithness, whose magic had been sparkling in the corner of Bell’s eye since he sat down, tilted the iron skillet he was working in for Arthur’s inspection. “It’s not exciting, sir,” he said apologetically, “But it’s a sponge.”

The Roslin lads and Nevin were still pushing and hissing at each other. “Menteith should do it,” Nevin growled, the first audible words between them. “They like him better.”

“Which could be an argument for you to do it, little shite,” Crewe told Nevin fondly, the insult very nearly an endearment by now. “Make him like you better.”

Nevin flipped him off. He didn’t, he’d made it clear, care if anyone liked him. Then he glanced furtively at Bell to see if the Captain was displeased by him flipping off the nco.

Bell let him have it, smirk playing about his mouth. He thought he knew what the lads were about (Arthur was right; they weren’t subtle), and he knew Nevin would never want to claim his role in it.

Arthur chuckled, and waved imperiously at the lads as a whole. “I am going to sit here with the Captain and enjoy the evening. You lot feel free to sort yourselves, and let me know when you’re ready.”

The Roslin lads, Nevin, Menteith, Lennox, and Aitken immediately disappeared further down their part of the trench. Caithness was still working on his sponge, and Hume busied himself with cleaning up from supper.

Duffy and Crewe kicked their feet up, and Bell leaned his head back into Arthur’s lap. Arthur had produced another sock from somewhere, along with his yarn, needle, and darning egg, but he ruffled Bell’s hair fondly before resuming his mending. Soon enough he was humming, and Hume quickly joined in. 

Arthur picked the words up midway through the line, Hume still just humming counterpoint. “A boat, that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I,” he sang, easy and low. 

Hume joined in with words on the second verse, and Crewe picked up the humming. 

Bell closed his eyes, listening peacefully. He actually knew this song, but was too content to listen to Arthur, and knew his lacking skills well enough as well. 

Arthur and Hume were in the middle of the last verse when the lads returned at a shuffle, nudging and pushing at each other, but silent in deference to the song.

“When roses bloom,” Arthur sang alone, Hume dropping back out as he scrubbed at a stubborn spot on their pot, “In winter’s gloom, then will my love return to me.”

Menteith had obviously been nominated, or lost the draw, or however they had decided. Probably Nevin had declared it, and swore at the others till they gave in. “Lieutenant?” he asked softly into the silence after the song. 

“Loo-tenant,” Nevin muttered, ostensibly mocking Arthur’s accent, but the look on his face was full of fondness and mischief.

“Rab,” Arthur greeted, ignoring Nevin.

 “You ready, Caith?” Rab asked Caithness.

The oldest of Bell’s men beyond the ncos (at an ancient 22), nodded cheerfully. “Your timing’s ace.” He started dishing out the sponge, the first piece going on the table before Arthur.

“Lieutenant Stone,” Rab said formally. “We’re glad you’re with us.”

“And glad you’re magic too!” Lennox called.

Arthur smiled. 

“And we wanted to give you a little token, for your birthday,” Rab continued. 

“It’s not much,” Aitken added.

 “We’re in the arse end of France, sir, or we might’ve done something different,” Rab continued.

“And not a nice arse,” Woods called.

Rab sighed and pushed on. “So this is from all of us, and he didn’t want me to say but I’m going to anyway, it was Nevin’s idea.”

“Wasn’t,” Nevin growled. “I just said it was his birthday!”

“If you wanted me to do it, let me do it,” Rab complained. “Sir,” he said, pushing on gamely, “For you,” and he offered a newsprint-wrapped parcel.

“Thank you. All of you,” Arthur said warmly. And he met Nevin’s eyes as he said it, to clearly indicate he understood and wasn’t going to say anything more.

Nevin snarled silently.

Arthur delicately opened the paper to examine the box within. 

Bell propped his chin on Arthur’s knee, watching with a little grin as Arthur carefully opened the fragile cardboard without tearing it. Bell had a front row seat to Arthur’s understatedly joyous smile.

“Lads,” he said softly. “This is lovely.”

“Sarn’t Duffy helped,” Ross offered. “He did the transformation, anyway. And Aitken did the sketch and Woods did the engraving. Lennox and Menteith got the materials for the cake, and Caithness baked.” Left unsaid, but implied, was that the Roslin lads had found whatever object had become this beautiful, delicate thing.

It was a pocket watch, with the Magical Army’s shield on the cover, and on the back, his name, the section’s full unit designation, the year, and around that, a careful stylized rendition of a fox’s head.

Arthur had tears in his eyes, so the lads scattered, taking his thanks and bailing. The ncos nodded politely to the officers before they too, left them alone with Arthur’s emotions.

“Happy birthday Arthur,” Bell said softly when the last of them had gone.

“Thanks, pup,” Arthur murmured, and tucked the pocket watch away. 

“A good one?”

“In the arse end of France?” Arthur replied, chuckling. He pronounced the r in arse, just to see Bell’s nose wrinkle. “As good as it could be.”

Bell nodded. “Good,” he said softly, and rested his cheek back on Arthur’s leg.

Arthur hummed The Water is Wide and petted Bell’s hair.

Scottish Soldier

Bell and Caithness returned from a patrol of the area between the rear trenches and the front, both in their animal forms, and both their white points coated in mud. 

They found the section in a grim, silent huddle, with no sign of Arthur except his voice, echoing in the trench. He was singing, “The Scottish Soldier,” Bell realized distantly. 

“Fought in many a fray, and fought and won,” Arthur’s voice said, drifting from the far end of their billet. 

Bell trotted, still four-footed, up to Duffy’s feet, nudged his shin with his nose, and tilted his head deliberately.

“News from Macrae,” Duffy said quietly over Arthur’s song. “Hendry didn’t make it.”

“As fair as these green foreign hills may be, they are not the hills of home,” Arthur continued, and his voice, deeply uncharacteristically, cracked on the word home.

Bell headbutted Duffy’s shin, and turned from his men to bound onwards, following the song.

“Leaves are falling, and death is calling, and he will fade away in that far land.” Arthur had tears on his cheeks as he sang to the setting sun.

Bell padded on quiet paws to stand with his shoulder against Arthur’s leg. He tilted his head into Arthur, nuzzling the only part of his friend he could reach. He briefly considered shifting, but honestly, rather thought his fur--muddy and matted as it was--might be more comforting.

Arthur, indeed, folded slowly to his knees, still singing, to sink his hand into Bell’s ruff. “So the soldier, the Scottish soldier will wander far no more, and soldier far no more. And on a hillside, a Scottish hillside, you’ll see a piper play his soldier home,” Arthur sang, and scooped Bell up.

Bell squirmed around until he could rest his muzzle in the crook of Arthur’s neck. He licked gently at Arthur’s cheek, drying his tears, and rubbed his face against Arthur, trying to comfort. His own small chest was a tangled knot of ache. 

“As fair as these green foreign hills may be, they are not the hills of home,” Arthur finished, voice cracking again. Then he buried his face in Bell’s ruff, cradling the fox close.

Bell let himself lay limp in Arthur’s grasp, both wanting to offer comfort and desperately wanting it.

“Did they tell you?” Arthur asked softly.

Bell yipped a soft affirmative. And then he nodded when Arthur pulled back to frown at him.

“Macrae said he finally succumbed to his wounds. They’ll bury him in a military cemetery in Rouen.” Pressing his face back into Bell’s ruff, he muttered, “He had a wife and child.”

Bell nodded again; he’d known, vaguely, about both wife and child, though Hendry rarely mentioned either, and mostly only to praise his wife’s courage and grace. Hendry had been one of the best officers Bell had ever served under, the perfect mix of warm and stern, steady and brave and stubborn. D Company had missed him terribly in his absence, and the world was a poorer place for his loss. 

Arthur knelt in the trench with Bell cradled close to his chest for a long time, and Bell rested his muzzle on Arthur’s shoulder as they mourned their captain together. It was dark before they slowly made their way back to their dugout room and their bedrolls, Bell still a fox at Arthur’s heels.

Duffy was waiting by the stove, but everyone else had retreated to bed already. Duffy nodded once at them, and stood from his chair. “Nevin took the watch, sirs,” he offered softly. “And Lennox’ll take his place at midnight.”

“Thanks, Duffy,”  Arthur answered.

“Get some rest, sirs,” Duffy said. 

“You too,” Arthur replied. 

Bell yipped agreement.

“Aye sir,” Duffy agreed. “Goodnight, Lieutenant. Captain.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant,” Arthur answered, and led the way into the dugout. 

Bell stood in the entryway, head tilted, listening to Duffy put out the stove and head to his bed, before padding across the little room to curl up in the curve of Arthur’s throat. 

Arthur didn’t protest, didn’t push Bell back to his own bedroll. He curled around the fox in his bed and closed his eyes, but neither of them slept for a long while.

Auld Lang Syne

A year, Bell thought sadly. In a few days, it would be a year that they’d been in Europe. He should have been celebrating, like everyone else; for once, the officers of D company had released their separation from the men, and everyone was passing around cigarettes, alcohol, little tins of treats from home, regardless of rank. Even Nevin was being passably polite.

But Bell couldn’t settle. He’d shifted to fox form in a quiet corner and watched the revelry from afar, his heart aching. 

“We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,” Arthur’s voice rang over the throng on the traditional song. Even at the distance, Bell could hear the Scots burr in his voice that never appeared in his spoken words, and only rarely in his songs. But he’d clearly learned this song in Edinburgh, and it rang true. “For auld lang syne!”

The whole company joined in on the chorus, raucous and cheerful and drunk. Bell chittered softly, unable to help himself.

“Ey, Captain,” Lennox said softly, looking down at Bell in surprise. “What’re you doing out here by yourself?” He was clearly tipsy, and had clearly slipped off to relieve himself, and found Bell as he returned. “I hope it’s you, sir, or else some poor fox thinks I’m a nutter.”

Bell tipped his chin up and chittered again, nodding clearly. 

Lennox nodded. “Aye sir, question stands, then.”

Bell yipped.

Lennox checked the perimeter and nodded.

Bell shifted. “Lennox.”

“Captain.”

Bell smiled. “Just getting some quiet,” he reassured the younger man. 

Another rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne echoed. 

Lennox nodded. “Aye, Captain, understandable. Sorry to disturb you.”

Bell shook his head, and fell in beside the private as they headed back to the revelry. “Never a disturbance, Lennox,” he promised. 

Lennox flashed him a bright smile, and then peeled off to join the crowd around the Roslin Lads, who appeared to be juggling odds and ends. 

Bell shook his head and wandered on. 

“Happy New Year, Captain,” Nevin muttered, almost furtively, as Bell went past. 

Bell just winked at him in return.

“And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,” Arthur sang as Bell approached where he was near the fire. “And gie's a hand o' thine! And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught, for auld lang syne.” As the unit took up the chorus again, Arthur dropped out of the song to take a long drink and flash Bell a warm grin. “Happy New Year, Bell,” he said under the noise.

“Happy New Year, Arthur,” Bell said softly.

Arthur tilted his head. “Are you all right?”

Bell paused, taking stock of himself. “Maudlin,” he decided on. “I’m fine, just… sulking.”

Arthur smiled at him, tugging him close. “You? Never,” he teased. 

Bell smiled and leaned into Arthur’s side.

Lennox must have said something to the section, because over the next two hours or so, every one of them wandered amiably past and greeted the pair of them warmly, offered well-wishes, and wandered off again, at nearly perfectly regular intervals. 

“Do you ever feel thoroughly monitored?” Arthur asked him wryly in an undertone as Aitken ambled away. He’d kept a steady stream of commentary and rambling, and he’d taken the lead in every conversation as people stopped to talk to them, letting Bell stay caught up in his head.

Bell chuckled softly, but didn’t reply.

As midnight neared, Arthur was pressed to sing Auld Lang Syne again, and he did so, smiling fondly. He stood from the crates they’d been sitting on, but stayed tucked close, their knees brushing and his palm warm on Bell’s nape. 

Bell closed his eyes, leaning into the grounding touch, and joined in on the first chorus.

Oh Shenandoah

Neither Bell nor Arthur were particularly surprised when muffled shouting woke them in the night. They’d both had enough nightmares of their own to recognize unquiet dreams in their men. They exchanged a quiet glance, debating whether officers would improve matters or make them worse, but in the end, the desire to support won out over propriety.

When they stepped quietly into the dugout where the lads slept, they found that Aitken had lit a magelight, shining a soft yellow glow over where Rab had curled around Hume. Hume was still asleep, but his face was creased and he was muttering still.

Lennox sat cross-legged on Hume’s other side, and his fingers traced delicate patterns through the air, like an orchestral conductor. His eyes were half-closed in focus, and his fingers sparkled in the magelight as he carefully twisted and shaped Hume’s dreams to make them more pleasant.

Arthur started to sing softly, voice a low rumble. Bell didn’t recognize the song, but it was soft and slow.

“Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you, away you rolling river,” Arthur crooned. “Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you, away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri.”

Bell smiled; obviously an American folk song, and the repetitive tune was quickly lulling the handful of them awake back to sleep. Aitken’s light flickered, and Bell took it over with an open-palmed sweep, his own magic a little more orange, but just as gentle. 

Aitken and Rab dozed off again quickly, but Lennox continued to hold his control of Hume’s dreams for the duration of the song. 

As Arthur sang, “Oh Shenandoah, I’m bound to leave you, away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri,” and slowed into the obvious end of the song, Lennox slowed his hands and then released the magic entirely.

Hume sighed softly, face gone lax and body relaxed between Rab and Lennox. 

Arthur hummed another verse of the song as Lennox settled in for the night, and then Bell and Arthur returned to their own quarters.

“Like that one,” Bell murmured as they bedded down.

“Sweet pup,” Arthur replied. “It’s a sea song, about an Indian chief’s daughter.”

“Soothing,” Bell slurred sleepily.

Arthur huffed a soft breath, not quite a laugh, and hummed until Bell fell asleep.

Blue Bonnets Over the Border

It had been a bad day. Perhaps not the unrelenting terror and misery of the Somme, but the survivors of the 16th would remember the freezing sleet and bloody trudge of the First Scarpe for the rest of their lives. 

The section hadn’t lost anyone, but D Company, and the 16th had both suffered heavy losses. The lads were huddled down in groups, leaned close and murmuring together. Duffy and Crew had slipped off to be with their friends among the ncos. Bell sat watching over his men, waiting for sleep to come; he was pretty sure it would be a long wait.

Arthur, however, couldn’t seem to settle. When he sat at Bell’s side, his leg bounced, and when he stood, his fingers tapped an intermittent pattern on his jacket. Every now and again, he hummed a scrap of tune.

Bell caught Arthur’s sleeve on one of his loops past as he paced. He swept a gaze over his--exhausted, shell-shocked, mostly settled--men and deemed them ‘well enough’. He tugged Arthur down into the chair across from him.

Arthur met his eyes ruefully, shook his head, and sat.

Bell caught Arthur’s tapping fingers. “Athur,” he murmured.

Arthur tipped his forehead into Bell’s and closed his eyes. “It’s stupid,” he muttered hoarsely.

“Nonsense,” Bell said gently.

“I can’t get the damn song out of my head.” 

Bell gathered Arthur up into an embrace. 

“I just-” Arthur choked off the words, his tapping fingers turning into a full-body tremor. He huffed out a soft breath, and then hummed enough notes for Bell to finally recognize the song.

Willie Duguid, the battalion piper, had played “Bluebonnets Over the Border” as they’d overtopped the trenches. The song had played as they’d entered no-man’s land, as the bullets had rained, and as the earth had shaken. As hell reigned on earth, and every one of them broke their own hearts. 

Bell didn’t know the words, but he thought the tune might wind through his dreams for years to come, somehow integral to the horror of the day. He could see how for Arthur--already so musically oriented--it would haunt him. 

“He didn’t finish it,” Arthur muttered against his neck.

“He’s fine,” Bell promised. He’d heard the battalion casualty reports at their evening officer’s call, and Duguid hadn’t been on the list. “Probably just had to watch his feet or his gun,” he said into Arthur’s hair. He rubbed Arthur’s back slowly. 

“Finish the song, Lieutenant,” Rab said softly.

Bell and Arthur both looked at him. 

Rab was in the middle of a puppy-pile of the Roslin Lads; his shields had probably saved all their lives at least once over the course of the day, and the three of them, in turn, had kept him from seeing the worst of the sights. 

“Aye,” Lennox agreed, magic already sparking at his fingertips, hand flexed in his conductor’s pose. “Sing the song, sir.”

Arthur left his head on Bell’s shoulder, and his voice was rough and jagged, but he sang. His voice curled in the peculiarly Scots way of songs he’d learned in Edinburgh as he croaked out the marching song. “March, march, Ettrick and Tevot-dale, why my lads dinna ye march forward in order.”

Hume joined in, to Bell’s absolute lack of surprise, and to his actual surprise, so did Nevin. 

As they sang, Lennox carefully leeched the poison out of their memories; Bell could feel the pull of it, and let him. His mind-magic was among the most focused Bell had ever seen. In the field, Lennox used it to make scouts forget they’d seen anything, or to make everyone who saw them look past, but he used it more in the camp to soothe their nightmares.

They wound through the whole song, voices quiet and only barely rhythmic, but by the end of it Bell could tell they all felt better. 

Arthur, as usual, sang the last lines alone: “March! March! Eskdale and Liddesdale! All the blue bonnets are over the border!” Then he turned his face back into Bell’s neck and let the last of the tension ease from his shoulders. 

“Should stay here tonight, sirs,” Aitken suggested.

“Hardly proper,” Bell said, not at all a protest.

Nevin was the only one who scoffed aloud, but it was written across most of the lads’ faces. “We’re hardly proper, sir,” Nevin said.

“Well you’re certainly not,” Caithness drawled, “Little Shite,” he added playfully, repeating Crew’s fond nickname. 

Nevin flipped him two fingers, sneering, but then looked back at Bell and Arthur. “We’re sleeping out here tonight,” he said. “Want to see stars, not that dark hole. Should stay with us.”

It was certainly not proper officer’s decorum, though neither was the easy way Bell and Arthur were still leaning into each other; neither was most of the way Bell and Arthur handled the section. But the Magical Army was laxer in their divide between the officers and the men, and as a special action section Bell had more leeway to his command than most. 

Silently, they exchanged a glance and decided to stay, where the sound of the others sleeping might keep the horrors at bay for one more night. They wound up tucked together in a corner, leaned together and more upright than prone. They fetched their bedrolls, though; it was bloody cold, and they weren’t mad. 

Loch Lomond

Arleux had not gone much better than the Scarpe; in many ways, indeed it had gone worse. Bell’s section had been scattered in the assault, and he was still waiting to see who made it to the rendezvous. 

Arthur was at headquarters, checking in with Whyte, and Crew was at D Company’s grouping, sending any lads who made their way there to Bell. There’d been no sign of Duffy yet.

Aitken and Nevin were still with Bell, and Caithness had shifted and was securing the perimeter. But Lennox, Hume, Menteith, and the Roslin lads were all still missing. 

Bell stood as near as he could to Nevin without being obvious about it, since it was clear the younger man was upset, but also that he wouldn’t take kindly to Bell ‘coddling’ him. 

Aitken chewed his lip, and then said absently, “Twas a helluva couple of days, sir.”

Bell nodded. “A mess, to be sure. We’ll be trying to regroup for a while yet.”

“Captain!” Crew called, trotting around the corner of the trench.

“Crew,” Bell greeted, and let some of the tension ease out of his shoulders when Lennox, Hume, and Menteith followed Crew around the corner. “Lads,” he added, relieved.

“Evening, Captain,” Hume said with some forced cheer. “Glad Crew found us; we’d never have got here without him.”

Bell nodded and welcomed his men into their huddle. “Lieutenant Stone is talking with headquarters, but we haven’t seen Sergeant Duffy or the Roslin lads yet.”

Rab murmured a prayer, and the others nodded. 

Caithness trotted back on four feet, and transformed to join the group. “Everything’s quiet,” he reported.

Bell nodded to him, and stood quiet, waiting.

After a few quiet minutes, the cry of a bird of prey caught Bell’s attention, and he looked skyward, searching. A few moments later, Duffy circled down into the trench.

Bell offered his arm, and Duffy landed in a rustle of feathers. After a moment, he shifted easily. “Captain,” he said, ducking his head.

“Sergeant, you’re okay?” 

“Yes sir,” he said, looking around. “The lieutenant?”

“Headquarters,” Bell answered.

“Here, actually,” Arthur said, rounding the corner. “Whyte wants us to settle in and we’ll take stock in the morning.”

Duffy still seemed to be taking a headcount. He looked grave. “Sirs,” he said. “The lads.” His voice cracked and he looked away for a moment.

Bell’s heart dropped. “Duffy,” he said softly.

Jaw clenched, eyes on a point off Bell’s shoulder, Duffy rasped, “Lost all three, sirs,” he said. 

Arthur turned away, his hand over his mouth. 

“They took the gun nearest the tracks,” Duffy continued, struggling to give a detached report. “I saw the whole thing from above. Sterling and Woods held the trench while Ross fragged the gun.” He shook his head, eyes closing.

Bell swallowed the lump in his throat. That gun had been hammering D Company, and they must have shifted to get behind enemy lines. “It was bravely done,” he said hoarsely. 

Duffy nodded. Crew stepped up into his shoulder and leaned, and Rab walked straight into Duffy’s open arms and buried his face in Duffy’s shoulder. Rab was crying openly, and the others huddled close, grieving in their own way.

Bell looked for Arthur, who mostly tried to grieve alone, and Bell would have none of it. Arthur leaned into Bell’s embrace when Bell stepped up to his side. “Those boys,” he said roughly. 

“They were together,” Bell answered. “And they saved us. They wouldn’t have wanted anything more.”

“They never talked about going home,” Nevin said. “Wasn’t anything there for them. They’d’ve been glad to die heroes.” His eyes were red, but his face was stone. 

They’d been orphans, all three of them, Bell knew. Ross had made a comment once about Stirling’s terrible, finally-deceased father; the old man had refused to let Stirling join up, and Ross and Woods had refused to leave without him. They’d wound up in the 16th because of the timing of the old man’s much-anticipated demise. 

“Woods had a girl,” Rab protested wetly from Duffy’s embrace. 

“He told her not to wait,” Nevin argued. “Why do you think he was always singing Loch Lomond?”

“Won’t be the same without them,” Lennox said softly.

“Whose shenanigans will I complain about now?” Bell said, his own eyes wet. 

“Who will tell us useless facts about weasels?” Aitken added.

“Not weasels,” Rab, Nevin, and Caithness said simultaneously. They didn’t quite laugh, but there was some wet chuckling.

There was a moment of silence as they all reflected on their fallen brothers. 

“Come on Lieutenant,” Duffy said gruffly after a moment. “Sing the song for us, then.”

Arthur huffed and dried his tears on Bell’s shoulder. Then he straightened and launched into the song. “By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,” he started.

Hume, Lennox, Duffy, and Caithness joined in on, “Where me and my true love will were ever wont to gae, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond!”

By the end of the first chorus, they were all singing, wet-faced, red-eyed, and hoarse-voiced. By the end of the song, something had cracked open in Bell’s chest, and he no longer felt like he was choking. 

Into the silence after the song, Duffy asked roughly, “Remember when they exchanged all the desk sergeant’s pens for sheep ribs?”

“They what?” Bell demanded. 

“No one knows how,” Crew said, laughing. 

“Even the one in his pocket,” Rab added. 

Bell shook his head wonderingly.

“Or the time they dressed the cow in the battalion colors and brought it to formation?” Lennox offered.

“When they spiked the mess’ coffee,” Caithness offered.

“That was them?” Arthur demanded, then, ruefully, “Of course it was. They were always up to something.”

“And not a thing that would hurt anyone, and always when spirits needed lifting the most,” Crew said softly. “I wanted to strangle them more often than not, but they were good lads.”

Bell gently shooed his men into seats and to the ground, gathered in a huddle, and he and Arthur began passing around rations from headquarters. Caithness took up the stove and, as the lads continued to exchange stories of the Roslin Lads’ particular brand of mischief, started dinner. 

There was no alcohol, but they had a good wake over the meal, and as dark drew on, they settled into something like contentment, as near as could be found in the muddy hell of France.

Wayfaring Stranger

Bell was not a fantastic healer, but he could manage to close a gash, though not, it became apparent, without leaving a scar. Three days after Nevin had half-carried Rab, blood pouring from a deep bullet graze on his scalp, to the rendezvous in the trenches near Hargicourt, the wound looked years old.

Less well healed were the wounds to Rab’s gentle heart--concussed, blood-blinded, stumbling more under Nevin’s power than his own, he’d been in no shape to cast his usual shields, but nothing would convince him Hume’s death hadn’t been his fault. 

Nevin had told them, once Rab was asleep, that the bullet that had ended Hume’s life had been aimed at Rab, but he was quick to insist that Hume had made his choice. Rab, though, would hear none of it. 

He was still withdrawn and quiet, eyes focused far away more than they were on the present.

Nevin, of course, responded to the awkward silence in their section by being more of himself than usual, and Bell found himself suddenly called to command to answer to charges of insubordination on Nevin’s behalf. Lieutenant Colonel Stephenson himself (Mccrae’s replacement) and Majors Warden and Lauder (executive officers) were finishing up their own business before dealing with D Company.

Whyte shot Bell an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he muttered when Bell came up on his side. “I’d’ve let it go, but Major Warden was there.”

Bell pressed his mouth flat. “What did he say?” he asked softly.

Whyte’s mouth curled in wry amusement. “Nothing, for once. Improper salute.”

Bell sighed deeply, and then drew himself to proper attention as the older officers turned to the pair of them. Stephenson raised an eyebrow, looking at his two captains. “And where is private Nevin?” he inquired dryly, clearly already briefed. 

Bell tipped his chin up. “Clearing the latrines, at the moment, sir,” he said. “And then he’s off to the mess to clean the stoves.”

Lauder winced theatrically. “You didn’t waste time,” he observed to Bell. 

Bell nodded politely. “Yes sir. Wanted it taken care of soonest. As long as that’s satisfactory?” he asked Warden, who’d made the complaint in the first place.

Warden frowned. “I think it’s fine, Rathbone,” he said. Then he tilted his head. “I confess to some concern that it’s a pattern, though. You’ve had issues with insubordination from this young man before?” This was aimed at Whyte.

Whyte was perfectly still for a long moment. “I don’t know that that’s the word for it, sir,” he said. 

Stephenson raised his eyebrows. “What’s that mean?”

“Nevin’s an asshole, sir, if you’ll excuse it,” Bell explained, “but he’s not insubordinate.”

Whyte waved at him. “He’s never disobeyed an order from me or anyone else in the company. He’s never not saluted an officer. He’s never offered outright insult.”

This last wasn’t true, but it had only ever been to Arthur, and Arthur plainly did not care. Bell said nothing.

Whyte continued, “He’s rude, he’s snide, and his salutes are sloppy to everyone except Captain Rathbone, who he seems to genuinely respect, but he’s not, strictly speaking sir, insubordinate.”

Stephenson chuckled grimly. “That’s putting a rather fine point on it.”

“He’s a good soldier, sir,” Bell said quietly. “He’s just never had much luck with authority figures.”

“So he joined the army?” Lauder drawled.

Bell inclined his head. “Not… entirely willingly, as I understand it, sir.”

Stephenson crossed his arms and looked at Whyte. “You say he respects Rathbone?”

Whyte nodded. “He had one altercation with Hendry early on, sir,” Whyte said, “And Bell handled it, and we haven’t had an issue since, as long as none of us try to push authority for power’s sake.” 

There had also been an altercation with an officer of another unit, but he’d been even more of an asshole than Nevin, in Bell’s opinion, and he’d died at the Scarpe before he could report Nevin. Bell, once again, said nothing to correct Whyte.

“And you’ll handle this?” Stephenson asked Bell.

“Of course, sir,” Bell replied. “When he’s done in the mess, I plan to have a strong word with him.”

Stephenson nodded. “Then I’m content with this. I don’t want to get too involved in your commands, gents,” he told Bell and Whyte; to Lauder and Warden, he asked, “You know Private Nevin by sight?”

Warden nodded, and Lauder shook his head. “I’ll point him out at formation next,” Warden told him.

“Talk to Captain Rathbone instead of confronting him directly, if there’s an issue. There’s no need to lose us another scout for something Rathbone has in hand.”

“Thank you sir,” Bell said quietly. 

Stephenson smiled at him. “I’m glad to have you and your section, Rathbone, and you’re down enough men. I won’t take another just because he’s unconventional. Your whole section is unconventional.”

Bell nodded, saluted crisply in time with Whyte, and let himself be dismissed. “He’s a good man,” Bell observed to Whyte as they made their way back to their trenches. 

Whyte nodded. “We’re lucky.”

Bell nodded. There wasn’t an officer in his chain of command that Bell didn’t respect, and only a scattered few he didn’t like. He was aware how unusual that was. 

Arthur was singing, voice carrying in the trench, as they returned. Whyte peeled off at his own command, smiling at the lilting tune. “Give Stone my regards.”

“Aye, sir,” Bell agreed, and followed the folk song back to his men.

“There’s no sickness, toil or danger in that bright world to which I go.” 

Bell didn’t quite register the figure bolting past him until Menteith’s shoulder brushed his as he went by. The tears on his face registered only a second later. “Rab!” He shifted, because he was faster as a fox, and gave chase. 

Rab crumpled to his knees in a dark corner within earshot of their trench, and his shoulders heaved in one great sob, then he stuffed a fist in his mouth to silence himself. 

Bell pushed his head against Rab’s side.

“I'm going there to see my father, I'm going there no more to roam. I'm only goin' over Jordan; I'm only goin' over home,” Arthur sang easily, as Rab gathered Bell up like some kind of pet and buried his face in Bell’s coat. A shudder ran through Rab, a muffled sob.

Bell nuzzled against Rab’s cheek, licking at his hair and squirming helplessly. 

“Was my fault,” Rab muttered.

Bell bit his wrist sharply, through his jacket. 

Rab startled. 

Bell headbutted his cheek, rumbling a little growl. Then he licked the scar on Rab’s forehead. 

“He’s right,” Nevin said from the corner. His hands were still soot-stained from the mess stoves. “You’re being stupid.” Then he carried on back to the unit.

Rab and Bell looked at each other, and Rab burst into slightly hysterical laughter. “Nevin,” Rab said finally, exasperated, fond, and rueful. After a more sober minute, he added, “I miss him.” 

Bell licked his cheek again. He missed Hume too. 

Rab put him back down, gently. “I’m all right, Captain,” he said softly. “I just need a minute.”

Bell nodded, headbutted his leg, and trotted back up the trench. 

“Yet beauteous fields lie just before me where God's redeemed their vigils keep,” Arthur was singing as Bell trotted into their dugout and shifted. “Hi, pup,” he added, mid verse, and then picked back up again, “I’m going there to meet my mother; she said she’d meet me when I come.”

Bell waved, and went looking for Nevin. 

His youngest recruit had washed the soot off, and was sitting with the other lads around the table. His shoulders drooped when Bell crossed his arms and frowned at him. 

Bell stared hard.

Nevin dropped his chin and looked away. 

Bell pointed at his chest. “They will send you home in disgrace if you don’t quit backchatting the officers.”

Nevin’s jaw worked, mouth pressed furiously flat. “I didn’t say anything,” he muttered furiously, but he wouldn’t meet Bell’s eyes.

Bell tipped his head in exasperation. “Look,” he said. “Stephenson’s ordered the battalion to leave you to me, but that’s been Whyte’s order all along and you managed to get Warden’s attention, so I have no faith that you won’t manage to irritate someone outside the battalion if you don’t knock it off.”

“I didn’t,” he started indignantly, and then subsided, scowling fiercely in the direction of Bell’s shoes.

“Tam,” Bell said softly.

Nevin finally looked up at his Christian name in Bell’s mouth.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Bell said. “So I need you to pretend like they aren’t the useless areseholes you think they are.”

“Yes sir,” Nevin agreed softly, mouth finally beginning to lift.

Bell nodded. “Good. Let’s never talk about it again.”

There was a round of chuckling, and Crew ruffled Nevin’s hair. “Little shite,” he said fondly. 

Nevin flapped his hands furiously at Crew, batting him away and smoothing his short-cropped hair. 

“Now,” Bell said. “Someone tell me what sent Menteith running off.”

“The Lieutenant,” Duffy answered.

Off Bell’s raised eyebrow, Lennox explained, “He and Hume used to sing this one, evenings back in training. Think it just hit a little raw.”

Bell nodded, wondering vaguely if Arthur had done it on purpose, but didn’t think so. He’d seemed quite caught up in his mending in the dugout, and he always sang absently when he was working.

“He okay?” Crew asked Bell.

Bell nodded. “He said he needed a moment, but he’s getting there.”

Crew nodded, and Bell settled in with his men, the low rumble of Arthur’s voice washing over them. 

Twa Bonnie Maidens

Bell and his team were the first to return to the trenches when they had been asked to map the area of Poelcappelle, and the three of them, returned to the trench in the animal forms, hastily sketched out their version of the map, conferring together to mark scale and distance. 

Crew returned next with Nevin and Menteith, and they joined the group around their little table, offering their sketches. They’d pieced together a good portion of the lands around the village.

Then Arthur returned with Aitken and Lennox, and they nodded. 

Bell and Arthur exchanged a glance, all safe and accounted for, and Lennox and Aitken started adding their scraps to the assemblage on the table. 

Bell went to get the map roll from his dugout. 

Aitken took the blank map paper and protractor with reverent fingers and produced a pencil from one of his pockets. 

There were little sketches done by Aitken in every one of their journals by this point, and Bell had the one of the tangle of mustelids that were the Roslin lads in their animal forms pressed between the front pages of his Bible for safekeeping. Aitken always insisted he wasn’t trained, just liked it, but he was talented.

It was always a little bit like magic, watching the neat lines and symbols of the map take shape under Aitken’s deft fingers, and they all watched–not to correct him, they’d never needed to, but just because they liked to see him do it.

Once he’d laid out the map properly to scale in pencil, Arthur offered a good ink pen, one of the few they’d managed to keep hold of all along. Which was why it was part of Arthur’s gear; he was the one who’d managed not to lose his. 

Aitken traced his own lines and then sat back.

Menteith took his seat at the table, and started labeling. He had the best handwriting of all of them, they’d discovered early on. When he finished, he blew gently on the ink to dry it, and then smiled up at Bell. “Good to go, sir,” he offered.

Bell nodded and rolled the map. “Be good,” he told his section, and headed through the trenches, rolled map in his hands.

Arthur’s voice rose behind him, and he smiled as he walked.

“Rathbone,” McManus said wryly, and gestured him into Whyte’s dugout office. “Cadre’s here,” he added in an undertone as Bell stepped past him.

Bell was therefore prepared to salute Stephenson, Lauder, and Warden as well as Whyte.

“Rathbone,” Whyte said cheerfully. “What’ve you got for us?”

“Map, sir,” Bell said cheerfully.

“Oh,” Lauder said. “Is this one of the infamous Rathbone maps?”

Bell was startled. 

Whyte flashed him a grin. “Bit famous, around headquarters, your maps, Bell,” he said.

“They’re not my maps, Sirs,” Bell immediately insisted. “The only thing I do with them is carry them over here.”

Stephenson smiled at him. “Said like a true officer, Rathbone. Your men are good at what they do. You spent some time with the Lovats, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Bell said. “Never in the field, though. Just drilling at Croyard Road.”

“Still,” Stephenson said. “It’s been invaluable. Some thought George was mad, to assemble a scout section, but I’ve never regretted his choice.” He nodded down at the map Whyte had unrolled between them. “This is Poelcappelle and its surrounds?”

“Yes sir,” Bell said. “As detailed as we could make it in a day’s scouting.”

“And you weren’t seen?” Warden asked.

“No sir,” Bell said without inflection. 

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Lauder said. “If he did a turn with the Scouts I imagine the Germans will never know they were there.”

Bell inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment. 

“Thanks Bell,” Whyte said.

Bell saluted and let them dismiss him, heading back towards their section of the rear trenches.

“Come along, come along with your boatie and your song,” Arthur was singing as he approached. “My ain bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maids!” As usual when he sang a song he’d learned in Edinburgh, his voice curled sweetly around the burr. “For the nicht, it is dark, and the redcoat is gane, and ye are dearly welcome to Skye again!” 

Bell asked Crew in an undertone, “Does he even know what he’s singing about?”

‘’I heard that,” Arthur said cheerfully, and then picked the song back up where he’d left it, “Her arm it is strong, and her petticoat is long, my ain bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maidens.”

Crew grinned at Bell and joined in. “And ye are bravely welcomed to Skye again!”

“What are they singing about?” Nevin asked quietly.

“Bonnie Prince Charlie,” Menteith answered, just as low. “When he escaped to Skye by dressing as a woman.”

“He did?” Nevin asked, voice a hiss.

Menteith nodded. “Didn’t you take history in school?” and then he ducked his head, realizing this was the wrong question to ask.

Nevin scoffed. “Woulda had to go,” he muttered.

Menteith looked away, still pink-cheeked, and joined in on the next chorus.

Bell winked at Nevin, who rolled his eyes extravagantly. 

Barbra Allen

Caithness and Arthur were darning socks, and Bell was pretty sure that neither of the socks in question belonged to the darners. In fact, he was, once again, in the embarrassing state of his lieutenant darning his socks, because his own efforts were laughable. 

At least he wasn’t the only one who was useless. Menteith was mending one of Nevin’s shirts. Nevin, in turn, was cleaning his own gun and Menteith’s. 

They would go over the top in the morning, and they were all trying not to think about it. 

“In Scarlet town where I was born,” Arthur sang softly, “There was a fair maid dwelling, and every youth cried well away, for her name was Barbra Allen.”

Bell grinned. 

Crew produced a recorder and started to play along.

“Has he always had that?” Lennox asked wryly.

“Sister sent it in the last package,” Duffy explained.

“Sweet William on his deathbed lay for the love of Barbara Allen,” Arthur sang. 

“This is a terrible song,” Aitken protested. “Who dies of love?”

Arthur laughed. 

“It gets worse,” Bell offered, for he actually knew this song. “She dies for love too.”

Aitken looked affronted. “Who invented this?”

Menteith laughed at him. “It’s supposed to be romantic,” he said.

Arthur punctuated this with the line, “Sweet William died for me today, I'll die for him tomorrow.”

Aitken grumbled wordlessly.

Menteith joined Arthur on the last verse, about the rose and the briar. 

“No,” Aitken said. “Flowers on graves is not a good enough ending to call it romantic.”

“You’ve got no soul,” Menteith complained.

“No, I just think laying down and dying because some girl doesn’t love you is stupid,” Aitken grumbled.

Nevin said, “Because this is a better reason?” He waved around them illustratively.

Menteith elbowed him. “For King and Country?”

Predictably, Nevin made a retching noise of disgust.

Menteith patted his shoulder. “You’re a horrible cynic, Nevin,” he said cheerfully.

“Little shite,” Duffy said fondly.

Nevin blew a raspberry. 

“Sing us something happier, lieutenant?” Aitken pleaded.

Arthur chuckled. “As you wish,” he agreed, and launched into a lighter tune.

Bell, ostensibly writing a letter to his mother, rested his pencil on the page and smiled down at his paper without seeing any of the words at all. 

Keep the Homefires Burning

It was the spring of 1918, and Bell’s little section of nine was almost the only group still recognizable from the battalion that had left Edinburgh three years prior. By the end of the first Somme, they had lost more than three-fourths of their fighting men, though they had been reinforced along the way. It felt unending, the drag of mud and blood. After the Somme had been Arras, and then Ypres, and then the Somme again, to their horror. And then the Lys. 

It was just Bell and Arthur, Whyte, and Mackenzie left of the original D company officers–Hendry’s loss was still a wound, and Martin, McManus, and Robertson had been transferred and replaced. 

This evening was quiet; they were back in the rear trenches, and not expecting orders for days or weeks yet. The men, smaller in number, were just as subdued as their officers, were in billets, huddled in small groups.

Bell sat quietly at Arthur’s feet in Whyte’s dugout billet, and the four of them passed a bottle of wine around. They were mostly silent, every now and then one of the making an assay into conversation that went for a few minutes, and then petered out into their bone-deep weariness. 

“Heard a new song,” Arthur said quietly after a little while. “Back in Hazebrouck.” He’d been one of the lucky few tapped to go back to the supply depot, and the small crew had spent the night there rather than travel in the dark. 

“Any good?” Mackenzie asked gamely.

“Melancholy,” Arthur said. “But I liked it.”

“Go on then,” Whyte said, and he smiled, a thin, wan thing, but more of one than they’d seen on his face in weeks. 

Arthur huffed, and hummed a few bars, trying to find the tune. “They were summoned from the hillside, they were called in from the glen, and the country found them ready at the stirring call for men,” Arthur sang, voice soft and low. 

Bell felt his throat hitch tight at the thought. 

“Oh,” Whyte breathed.

Arthur squeezed Bell’s nape. “Keep the Home Fires Burning,” he crooned, “While your hearts are yearning. Though your lads are far away, they dream of home.”

Mackenzie handed Whyte the bottle of wine, and Whyte took a blind drink and passed it on to Bell. He had tears in his eyes, and didn’t seem to notice.

Bell, Mackenzie, and Arthur did him the grace of not noticing either, and Arthur sang. When the song finally ended on a final refrain of “Till the boys come home,” all of them were slightly emotional. 

Arthur took a long drink of the wine, and curled his fingers into Bell’s collar. 

They lapsed back into silence again, but Bell thought it might have been a little less oppressive, a little more hopeful now. 

The Parting Glass

“So that’s that?” Nevin snarled.

Bell didn’t reprimand him. The section was as alone as they ever were in their new billets west of Poperinge. 

“We’re digging trenches and you lot are training the yanks?” Nevin hissed.

“Not quite,” Arthur said. “The seven of you, under Sergeant Duffy are headed back to the First Magical Division, outside Marne. The rest of the battalion is digging trenches.”

Nevin scowled.

Rab asked quietly, “Are we going to join a unit?”

Arthur said, “They have an equally decimated scout section, and they want you to join them. Their officer will lead, and Duffy will be senior NCO.”

Nevin’s jaw worked.

“Hey,” Bell said quietly. 

Nevin grudgingly met his eyes. 

“It won’t be long,” Bell predicted softly. “Just. Bite your tongue.”

Nevin nodded tightly, shot Rab a look out of the corner of his eye, and growled, “I guess.”

Bell smiled.

“Little Shite,” Crew said fondly. 

Nevin flipped him two fingers, and very generously didn’t do the magic blast that he used that gesture as a focus for. 

Duffy chuckled. “And you two, sirs?” he asked quietly. “Training the bloody yanks?” 

Arthur said, “Excuse.”

“Oh not you, Loo-tenant,” Crew said cheerfully. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m helping train the Americans, yes, partly because, as Colonel Stephenson says, I speak the language fluently.”

Nevin scoffed.

“I’m being sent to Macedonia,” Bell said. 

“Why?” Lennox asked.

Bell shrugged one shoulder. “Serbian magical army lost three fourths of their officer corps over the course of the Macedonian offensive,” Bell answered. “And as I am now a magical officer with no unit…” he trailed off. “There are a dozen of us, getting sent from reduced units.” He smiled at his men. “I’ll be fine, lads,” he insisted. “War won’t last forever, and then they’ll ship me home again.”

They stared at each other. “When do we ship out?” Crew asked.

“In the morning,” Arthur replied. “And Bell will go with you.”

“And we have to leave you here alone?” Rab said quietly, voice small.

“But since it fell unto my lot,” Arthur sang softly. “That I should rise and you should not.”

Slow smiles started spreading across their faces.

Bell grinned. 

“I gently rise and softly call, goodnight and joy be to you all,” Arthur said, and then he looped around to the start of the song. “Of all the money that ere I had,” he began, nodding encouragingly at them.

“I spent it in good company,” Rab sang.

“And all the harm that ere I did, alas it was to none but me,” Nevin continued.

Bell couldn’t help but laugh.

Nevin grinned back, clearly having taken that line on purpose.

“And all I've done for want of wit,” Caithness sang.

“To mem'ry now I can't recall,” Crew continued.

The silence hung a beat too long, Duffy, Aitken, and Lennox staring at Bell.

Bell sighed. “So fill to me the parting glass,” he obliged them, “Good night and joy be to you all.”

“Aw, pup,” Arthur murmured, just for him. Then he picked up the chorus, and the singers in the section joined in with him.

Voices around the billet started to join in, the rest of D company hearing Arhtur’s voice and drifting closer to hear. 

Bell met Whyte’s eyes across the campground, winking.

Whyte smiled back, mouth moving as he sang along.

I wasn’t in Macedonia long; I was right that the war wouldn’t last much longer, though once the ceasefire went through it did take too long in my opinion to get me back to British soil. 

I went back to the ancestral pile first, of course, to pay my respects to my mother and do my duties as the heir of the family. The regiment would call me back eventually, but they were content to give me indefinite leave for the moment; the twelve of us they’d sent to the Serbian front had earned that much leeway, if not more. 

Then I went to Edinburgh, ostensibly on business of my mother’s, but she could have done it herself, or done it by telegram except that I wanted to go. 

Inquiry at headquarters before I was released told me Crew and Duffy had been remobilised in the reconstruction of the 34th Division and were currently stationed in Cologne, but the lads had all been sent back home. 

Aitken went to art school. Turns out that army maps made an okay entry portfolio. Lennox married his girl and they were already expecting. Caithness went back to his father’s shoe trade, and was set to take it over when the old man passed. Menteith went home to his mother and sisters, and to my surprise, took Nevin with him. The pair of them are running the Menteith family cooperage better than it’s ever been, and Nevin, to everyone’s surprise and no one more than his own, never swears around Mrs. Menteith. 

So then, mother’s business done and the lads looked in on, I did what I’d been planning to do all along, and went to find Arthur. 

The Braes of Balquhither

Gordon Dry Goods was open, Arthur’s aunt was in her office doing the books, and his cousin was behind the counter, chatting amiably with the customers. Arthur, no less out of place here now than he had been before his stint in the army, was unloading pallets in the back room. 

“Arthur!” James called from the doorway.

“Aye, Jem?” Arthur called back.

“Captain Rathbone’s here,” James hissed.

Arthur startled upright. “Bell?” he demanded, coming into the store proper. 

Bell was in civilian clothes, a beautifully cut suit that highlighted both the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist, and his copper-penny hair was so neat it gleamed in a way it never could under his helmet. All the want Arthur had never allowed himself to feel in France punched him straight in the gut. 

“Arthur,” Bell said warmly. 

Arthur was conscious of the regulars watching this exchange and made sure his handclasp was the proper degree of both warm and distant for two old army chums. “Bell,” he said again. “Come upstairs?”

“If it’s no trouble,” Bell said, ducking his head bashfully, green eyes sparkling. He knew they had an audience too. “I know I’m a horrible shock,” he said, all those posh manners he’d never used when it was just them alone.

Arthur tugged his hand gently and released him. “I’m going up, Aunty,” he said to Aunt Gwen, watching with a smirk. “I’ll bring tea down in a bit.”

“You do that,” Aunt Gwen said wryly. “It’s nice of you to visit our Arthur, Captain.”

Bell half bowed, quite gallantly. “Only for the honor of meeting you at last, Mrs. Gordon,” he said.

Aunt Gwen rolled her eyes. “Now, why didn’t you warn me he was a rogue, Arthur?”

“Sorry Aunty,” Arthur said obediently. “I did tell you he was a gentleman, wasn’t that enough?” 

Bell laughed and let Arthur pull him upstairs.

The upstairs apartment was Arthur’s alone–his aunt and cousin lived in the old carriage house behind the loading dock–but had become something of a communal kitchen when they were all working, since it was easier to get upstairs for tea than across the alley. “Let me take your coat,” he offered, and soon had Bell in his shirtsleeves, drinking tea at his table. 

It was almost torture, to have him so soft and close, and yet so restrained by the rules of civilization which they had never quite felt bound by in France. 

“How are you, Arthur?” Bell asked softly.

Arthur held his eyes and shrugged helplessly. 

Bell nodded. “The house is quiet,” he said softly. “And Mum is about to tear her hair about my clothes. She says I’ve got to get a valet before I embarrass her entirely.”

Arthur scoffed.

Bell grinned at him. “I know. The household’s down to just Mum’s maid and the housekeeper, of course there was no sense keeping a valet for me when I was stationed away, but I’m on indeterminate leave now, and she expects me to put in all the appropriate appearances.”

Arthur shook his head, too busy watching Bell talk to pay attention to the words he was saying. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

Bell’s grin spread. “I missed you too.”

His eyes were deep green. He swallowed tightly, and then stood to take his empty teacup to the counter. With his back to Arthur, Arthur could see dark lines under his white shirt.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked, rushing to him to put a hand carefully on Bell’s collar.

Bell made a confused noise, and then eased into Arthur’s touch. “Oh,” he said. “No. It’s a tattoo.”

“What?” Arthur demanded. He was pretty sure Bell hadn’t had a tattoo in France!

“Yeah,” Bell said, rubbing the back of his neck, a fetching flush on his freckled cheeks. “I got it in Serbia while we were waiting for orders. There was a guy who did magical tattoos.”

“Can I see?” Arthur breathed.

Bell swallowed, met his eyes, something weighty in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Arthur felt his heart in his throat as the lovely expanse of Bell’s freckled shoulders were bared to him. His back was almost so distracting it took him a moment to take in the tattoo.

The tattoo was exquisite work. Delicate black scroll work in curving arcs traced what was unmistakably a sword from Bell’s nape till the blade disappeared into his trousers. As Arthur traced his fingers down the hilt and goosebumps broke out across Bell’s neck, the script on the blade changed. Arthur hadn’t registered what it said before, but the new text was “Take me up.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. 

Bell turned, green eyes warm and hopeful. “Arthur,” he asked softly. 

“Sweet pup,” Arthur breathed, and dragged Bell’s mouth down to his. 

Much later, when the last splashes of candlelight were painting ribbons across Bell’s skin, and Arthur could pet his fingers through that copper hair as much as he liked, after the meal with his family was past and Bell was his for the night, Arthur stroked his fingers down his claim on Bell’s spine and sang softly, “I will twine thee a bower, by the clear siller fountain, and I'll cover it o'er wi' the flowers o' the mountain.”

The beautiful boy in his arms made a low noise of contentment, stroking one palm tenderly over Arthur’s side. 

“I will range through the wilds, and the deep glens sae dreary, and return wi' their spoils to the bower o' my deary,” Arthur pledged softly, the best way he knew. 

“I love you too,” Bell promised softly, and closed his eyes to listen to Arthur sing. 

#writing #original work #jessewrites #I think that's going to be my writing tag #urban fantasy #magic #WWI historical fiction #this started it's life as an idea for a Fantastic Beasts Fanfic that died on the runway for a multitude of reasons

[kittynannygaming]

[Dreamling Bingo 2023] 06

05/25 - You’re here - 07/25

Square: C1 - Mind Control

Title: Uld Ases' Dreamling Bingo 2023    

Rating: T

Word Count: 668

Ship(s): Dream of The Enless|Morpheus/Robert ‘Hob’ Gadling

Warnings: Mention of people/children being captives

Additional Tags: Brief mention of the cereal convention,

Summary: Dream takes control

Link: AO3,

For @dreamlingbingo​ 

Finding one of the scientist that worked in the laboratory wasn’t hard. Astreus told him about one who could probably be an ally because she was nice. Indeed, Doctor Lawrence was a kind woman, hired under false pretences and who stayed because of the children. Didn’t mean she was turning a blind eye. She tried subtly to gather intelligence to end the experiences. But she had to be careful.

When Dream came to visit her in her dreams, when she was told what he wanted from her, she didn’t even think before saying yes. “Everything”, she said, “everything to get the children out of here and to safety.” The plan was simple: he would possess Doctor Lawrence’s sleeping mind and enter the laboratory. Once he saw for himself the place and the children, he would leave Doctor Lawrence’s body and the King of Nightmare would bring justice to these beasts.

Everything went according to the plan. The children/Dreamlings saw nothing of the punishment and Doctor Lawrence was, with her accord, left in the facility, as the sole survivor. Dream didn’t get a good look on his children until they were all in the Dreaming. Astreus came to see them as soon as he knew of their arrival.

Dream left the boy hugging his siblings and then decided to introduce himself.

“Children. I’m Dream of the Endless. For all intent and purpose, your father. I didn’t know of you because I was also a prisoner until recently. I would like to know you and know what you would like to do now.” The children all looked at Astreus, as he was the oldest.

“Well, I will go first, as example. I’m Astreus. I may look around 20 but I was born in 1989, so I’m 33. I want to discover who I really am and what I can do.

- 1989?

- Yes. They discovered, I think, that your… whatever stuff they took from you was the most powerful the 7 of June. So, they will mix it with the mother’s egg the 7 at midnight and one minute and we would be born the same day. Different hours though. Mine was the shortest.

- Hob and I, before I was imprisoned, met each other the 7 of June every century since 1389. You were born the day of what should have been our 7 meeting, or 6 if you count 1389 as the introduction of our centennial meetings. You have now the same age as Hob did when he became immortal.”

The second child was a shy d ark-blond one who seemed to be 5 or 6. He was looking at the ground and said in a small voice:

“I’m Doric. I’m the youngest. I’m 5. I want to play and have friends and for people to not be scared of me.

- Why would be scared, my child?”

Doric looked up to him and it was visible that they tried to recreate the Corinthian, for instead of eyes, there were mouths. Doric gave a tentative smile and Dream could not not find cute a child with missing teeth: one in the mouth, one in the left eye. He even had (a few and very light) freckles. Dream smiled.

“You’re such a cute child. You’ll make friends in no time.” That was broke the dam. One by one, the 10 other children came to him and tell him their name, their age and what they would like to do now they were free.

Later, when all the children were asleep, because they were still half-human, Dream visited each and every person who knew about them and thought nothing was wrong with that and did to them as he did at the cereal convention. He striped them of their dreams and delusions and forced their mind to confront their crimes.

A few days after, every newspapers in the UK titled:

108 PEOPLE INVOLVED IN SECRET EXPERIENCES ON 12 CHILDREN

DOCTOR ROSEMARY LAWRENCE TELLS US EVERYTHING ABOUT HER UNDERCOVER JOB

[agentcable]

Mouse (2021) Ep. 12 Recap

Ba-Reum closely monitors the investigation after eliminating Kang Deok-Soo, taking measures to evade detection. In the meantime, Bong-Yi refrains from voicing her doubts about Moo-Chi's involvement in Kang's murder, even though she is under suspicion herself.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

We are taken back to the past where Jae-Hoon discovers a dying woman under a blanket while approaching a dog in a tunnel. Despite his annoyance at the interruption of his game, he continues on.

Ba-Reum makes himself a coffee and comments on how his energy has been replenished. Suddenly, a knock at the door jogs Ba-Reum's memory, and more details of the previous night come floading back. He did not kill Hoon-Suk but instead stalked a cat and struck it several times. However, the kitten is still alive. A news report reveals that a woman in her 70s has committed suicide. Ba-Reum becomes concerned about Bong-Yi's safety and sets out to find her. He follows footprints in the mud and discovers Bong-YI, who is bloody and beaten. It appears that Ba-Reum may have killed Deok-Soo.

Hoon-Suk's mother arrived in the morning to pick up her son. She looked spooked and hurried off, telling him he shouldn't have gone to Ba-Reum's place. Ba-Reum showed up at the hospital to see Bong-Yi, who was beaten and bruised. After Moo-Chi left, Ba-Reum stayed with Bong-Yi until she woke up.

Later, Moo-Chi was brought into the station due to scrutiny from the news. During questioning, Moo-Chi reveals that he was mugged and beaten the previous night. The investigation team then tries to identify the psychopath responsible. Ba-Reum secretly places a knife in one of the evidence boxes and acts as if nothing happened the next day. He later discusses the killer of Deok-Soo with Moo-Chi. Moo-Chi is determined to catch the perpetrator and likens their behaviour to that of a psychopath. Ba-Reum's suspicious behaviour does not seem to make him happy.

With the president overseeing the case from the police station, Moo-Chi takes charge and explains the details of the case without using honorifics. He mentions a mistake in the form of a cut in the wrong place and notices burn marks. To illustrate how psychopaths try to maintain an air of perfection, he cites the Unabomber case. A police report reveals that the burn marks are actually from a cigarette. Moo-Chi considers whether the killer could be someone on their side.

He and Ba-Reum interview Yoo-Na. She escaped from Deok-Soo by throwing something in his face and hiding in a locker. Someone locked her inside, but it wasn't Deok-Soo. After an unspecified period of time, the door was unlocked. Yoo-Na initially distracted by Ba-Reum, but eventually decides she has nothing to say. Moo-Chi shares his theory with Ba-Reum on their way back to the hospital. He believes that Bong-Yi is responsible for the incident, which makes sense considering her motive.

All evidence points to Bong-Yi, but Moo-Chi is determined to prove that theory wrong. He returns to the crime scene and figures out what really happened base on the evidence.

Yoo-Na made a sound, and when Deok-Soo turned, she threw dirt on him. The sound attracted the killer, who watched Yoo-Na struggle from afar. The killer then moved the pipe and set a trap for Deok-Soo, using it to strangle him with a chain. Bong-Yi is not strong or skilled enough to do this. However, she found something that belonged to Moo-Chi at the crime scene. Ba-Reum seems to have dropped it, based on his behaviour in the evidence room.

Moo-Chi is pressing for answers and goes to Yoo-Na but she refuses to talk and remains tight-lipped. Bong-Yi is asked by the officers to help Yoo-Na open up and admit the truth, which causes a big problem for Ba-Reum. He tries his best to prevent them from meeting.

Hong-Joo changed Bong-Yi's clothes in the hospital parking lot. The CCTV footage confirms this, as we see her wiping down the car. Unfortunately, the clothes are in trash bags, which Hong-Joo has in her buggy. The are covered in blood, and the knife is also there.

Ba-Reum is suspected of locking Yoo-Na inside the locker.

Shin Sang finds the murder weapon wrapped in a raincoat near the shore. Bong-Yi is released from custody and meets with Hong-Joo, who admits to initially suspecting Bong-Yi of killing Deok-Soo but later realizing it wasn't her. Moo-Chi takes Ba-Reum to the docks and shows him what they have found. He admits confusion and uncertainty in interpreting the situation. The episode ends as he glances at Ba-Reum's wrist.

#Korea #TV Serie #K-Drama #2021 #Mouse

[shummashum]

Zeus Brundle Happy Ending [6~10]

well let's think about it later I didn't expect that the centuries-old curse would be lifted with just one attempt in the first place... the answer will come out during his route

then shall we go back? but how can they go back is there a train or maybe Hiro will do the dimension rip once again

huh you know, the headmaster is very very sus! somehow I feel like he knows this whole series of events I don't think Solmare put a new character in the headmaster's position for no reason!! d o u b t

if he wanted to handle things in a big way, he had to be prepared… isn't it

boo the height of incompetence is plotting something again you think a group that was deceived by just one student has the right to interrogate someone? just close the shutter and quit your business

well since he is a member of the Ministry, he must have been especially angry at Zeus? besides it was his job to protect the devil's whispers. if it were me, I would never be able to say good things for him

Hiro always adds something like that and I like his comments

Zeus might really get expelled from school in his unhappy ending,, but since he is so talented, I think he'll live well even if he is expelled? Queensblade Academy could also be an option maybe the Academy will welcome him and roll out a red carpet…?

A few days later, Liz arrived at the headmaster's office after being summoned by Remb.

now that I think about it, he didn't break the 'academy rules'… at least

oh? they decided to overlook?

but you know seems like they're so humiliated about being deceived by a single student that they're just pretending it never happened and burying the incident… does this sound too much like a conspiracy theory? I can't help it, I have a very positive impression of the Ministry

it's been a while since I've watched your seisai behavior again please wait, I'll observe your route in a few days…

what's that

ah…… Remb probably didn't do it (right?), then who might be the culprit erm, you know, I heard that there are some guys doing the antagonist move, like Vain and Felix? I don't think they'll be involved in the main story already though

then he has a reason to stay here! watch this, you red-haired guy belonging to the Knight somewhere. this is how you make a reason, not that damn visiting student settings come to think of it, wasn't the Ministry, which ultimately gave such instructions, the fundamental problem in his route? aaaaargh again

At that time, Remb announced that Zeus had something to say.

oh, I know is it about the Prefect?

ooh… she passed? for real?

oh god it was true that he considered the Minotaur incident to be a third test this isn't your plan right?

but is it right to like it you're becoming a postgrad now you're becoming a voluntary slave now you think you'll be okay?

w you talk as if you won't suffer in future and you think you're not the chump? you are also the chump you are I swear

anyway! thanks for letting her pass!

erm what if you-know-who steals it too?

lmaooo

She asked him for something else she wanted.

Night Class Prefect clothes? why is it that only he can see her show me too!!

With that, they started touring the Night Class.

#shumma plays wh

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

Drug Traffic 'Amateur' Jailed," Windsor Star. March 10, 1943. Page 5. ---- Michael Ivens Admits Stealing Morphine at Hospital ===== Six months in the Ontario Reformatory and a $200 fine or an additional six months was the sentence given Michael Ivens, 22, in city police court this morning when he pleaded guilty to a breach of the Narcotic Drugs Act involving 994 morphine tablets which R.C.MP. officers found him carrying in his artificial leg on February 16.

REGARDED AS "AMATEUR" Magistrate D. M. Brodie said he was taking into consideration the fact that Ivens had never been in trouble before and was an "amateur" in the drug traffic, according to RCMP officers who testified.

"A very large amount of the pure drug," was the way Corporal R. L. Woodhouse of the R.CM.P. commented on the 994 tablets he found on Ivens, who was charged with illegal possession of the drug.

"That's quite a supply for an "amateur." isn't it?" asked Magistrate Brodle.

"Where did you get them from, Ivens?" IVENS' STORY In reply Ivens told how he had come to get into the drug traffic. Five years ago he lost a leg when he fell while riding a freight train. Not long ago his artificial leg started to give him trouble and he decided he wanted a new one which would cost him about $50. At this time he was employed at the Essex County Sanatorium where he made the acquaintance of a patient.who, police say, was formerly in the drug trade.

About two weeks before he was arrested he left the sanatorium and about three days later gained employment at Metropolitan Hospital as an assistant stock clerk. This gave him access to the drugs, and, when a large shipment arrived, he stole two bottles of morphine pills.

TELEPHONED FRIEND Then, he said, he telephoned his acquaintance who met him at a downtown hotel and took two of the pills to a buyer. About 15 minutes later the acquaintance returned and said, "All right. Come on with me."

Ivens then stated that he followed the acquaintance to another hotel and shortly after he entered the lobby of this hotel he was arrested by Corporal Woodhouse.

Pleading that he did not know the true value of the pills or the seriousness of the crime he was committing, Ivens stated: "I just knew they were. a drug and I thought I could get $50 for them to fix my leg."

He denied having had any previous experience in the traffic.

[AL: This is actually a great example of how individuals, at least in the first half of the 20th century, got involved in the 'drug trade.' Seriously injured and with pressing financial and pain relief needs, Ivens meets someone who found out about narcotics through prison - and they arrange a sale. The police have an active role in facilitating the so-called 'drug trade' in order to basically entrap sellers.]

#windsor #police court #illegal possession of narcotics #narcotics possession #morphine #drug trade #fines or jail #sentenced to prison #selling narcotics #canada during world war 2 #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #undercover cops #police sting #injuries of class #riding the rails #causes of crime #burwash industrial farm

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Hello! Love love the blog so much!!! The stories are incredible. I particularly like the part in the one story where Merlin is a secret BAMF with a sword. I know you don’t really do this so feel free to ignore this question but do you know any other stories that involve the same idea?

(Masterlist) (Rec List)

Uuuhhh... Merlin being good with a sword and/or generally badass. That could be a couple of mine:

Merlin is a Badass Series - Not so much with a sword, but he kicks a ridiculous amount of ass with daggers and his fists, and then semi-tortures someone for information.

Scar Reveal Series - Arthur forces Merlin to join in on training one day, and Merlin beats both Lancelot and Arthur in a sword spar. Though the main point of the story is that Merlin's tunic comes off and all of his scars are revealed.

Marksman!Merlin - Merlin learns to use a longbow, not much actual fighting in it, but he still kills a few people, much to the bewilderment of the others.

Child!Soldier!Merlin - I think this might be the one you're thinking of. Merlin's tragic past as a child soldier from Essetir is revealed by his previous... owner? Said Essetirian Lord convinces Arthur to make Merlin join in on training, where he beats all five knights (Lance, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Leon) and then refuses to fight Arthur.

As for other Recs, these ones from my Rec List have Merlin being a Badass outside of his magic:

Is This the Best You Can Do? - A set of two fics in which Merlin is just generally really cool and keeps saving the gang. Not with swords, but in one he just takes torture really well and then leads the rescue mission, and in the other he survives being poisoned and then kills the people that had captured him and the gang. I think. It's been a while since I read them lol.

Throwing Them Through Hoops - Merlin makes a bet with a mean knight that he can throw daggers better than everyone else. He wins the bet.

A Considerable Headstart - The gang follow Merlin into the woods, where they see him have a VERY concerning conversation with an evil visiting Lord. Then they have a sword fight, which Merlin wins. That's only half of the fic, the rest is about everyone realising that they teat Merlin badly, and don't really know anything about him anymore. Still a GREAT fic though.

The servant´s tournament - Uther decides that because of how often Arthur gets attacked, his manservant needs to also be able to act as a bodyguard. He insists on a tournament that anyone can enter, and the winner will become Arthur's new manservant. Arthur basically resigns himself to losing Merlin, who he is convinced is a wimp with a sword. Merlin wins, though the tournament is anonymous so no one knows until he reveals himself at the end and Uther goes "Oh... I guess as a reward you can... keep your job?". Arthur is dumbfounded, 'tis very funny.

Do You Have Need of Me? - Merlin is the Spymaster, and has been since not long after he arrived in Camelot. He reveals himself to Arthur and things get really tense and angsty because trust issues. A healthy dose of God!Merlin later on. Happy ending though :D

Around the Corner (Secrets Lie) - Elyan accidentally walks in on (without Merlin noticing) Merlin apprehending and consequently extracting information from a would-be assassin. Before killing him, and then just going about his day. Elyan is like... not sure whether to be horrified, impressed, guilty, proud, or what.

~

There are plenty more on both my Masterlist and my Rec List with Badass!Merlin with his magic, but these are all the ones where he's badass specifically without his magic :D

#bbc merlin #merthur #merwaine #arwen #rec #bbc merlin recs #merlin rec #merlin recs #bbc merlin rec #merlin rec list #fic rec #merlin fic rec #rec list #bamf merlin #badass merlin #powerful merlin

[sorryimanon]

Character: Katsuki Bakugou

Warnings: so much fluff and a bit of spice

In which you and bakugou witness your child’s quirk for the first time

-

Early mornings were the best in your opinion. The warmth of the blankets hugging every inch of your cold body, the sound of cars zipping by outside the cracked window, and the familiar wandering hands that belong to none other than your boyfriend. It’s quite a sight, seeing Katsuki all vulnerable with his head angled just right into the base of the pillow, a pool of drool collecting on it. Usually he’s an early bird, waking up before you to cram in a quick workout then head off making breakfast in the kitchen. However, the routine switched up when a little bundle of joy enterd both of your lives.

Everyone, including you, was surprised you managed to settle Katsuki down let alone have him become a domesticated father. Of course it scared the living shit out of you. Sex with Bakugou was amazing, tenfold even, but one night both of you made an irrational decision to not use protection while being intimate, resulting in you heaving yourself over the toilet the following weekend.

“Stomach flu, right?” Katsuki reasoned anxiously.

“Right.” You reassured him with a crooked smile.

Nine months later you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. To say you were happy was an understatement. Hell, everything you ever wanted landed graciously on your lap like a silver plater. Even though you and Katsuki weren’t planning having kids for a long time, the moment when your daughter finally arrived, it’s like both of y’all knew she came into your lives at the right time.

Now she lays crushed between Katsukis chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her as though something were to have grabbed her in the middle of the night. Their breathing synchronized each time they inhaled and exhaled. For a second, you admire the two figures in front of you. She sure inherited the looks from your boyfriend. Same blonde hair, toothy grin, and crimson eyes. At least she had more of your personality and mannerisms. Although occasionally her sudden outbursts reminded you of Katsuki when he was a teenager.

Your daughters head was in a awkward 45 degree angle, making her blonde hair cover half of her face. Instinctively, you reached over and brushed aside the tangled mess, making her squirm in place at the sudden touch. She opened her eyes finally and obnoxiously yawned, stretching out her small arms. One of her arms accidentally whacked Katsuki in the face during the process.

“Ugh you fucking gremlin...” Katsuki mumbles, playfully swatting his daughters hand away from his face. Your daughter eventually unlatched herself from his arms and began to jump up and down in the space between you and your grumpy looking boyfriend.

“Daddy’s up! It’s time for breakfast!” Your daughter joyfully proclaimed while bouncing around on the king sized bed.

“No it’s not.” He swept his feet that weren’t covered by the devet under hers, causing her to land softly against the bed. You knew she enjoyed the harsh playfulness when you heard her cries of laughter. You giggled and looked over at Katsuki, who at the moment had a temporary scowl across his face.

“Squirt you know the rules. Get yourself cleaned up and then we’ll start making breakfast,” you promised her.

Her eyes lit up at that moment like it was Christmas morning and hoisted herself off the large bed. She closed the door behind her, like you taught her, and scurried off to the shared bathroom. You wanted to have a moment of peace before she comes barging in again. Closing your eyes, you hummed in satisfaction and snuggled more into your pillow. Across from you, Katsuki had other plans in mind. He closed the space between you and laid his hand on the base of your waist, the other bunching up your shirt. Wanting to feel your skin, he slipped his hand under your shirt and rubbed circles around your abdomen. The coldness that clung to your skin immediately warmed up by his gentle touch. The sensation dragged a familiar sensual feeling down your body. A feeling that you haven’t felt in a while. Opening your eyes to where they’re just tiny slits, you can make out Katsuki staring right back at you.

“I know you’re still awake dumbass,” he softly spoke, his breath fanning the crook of your neck. So close he took the opportunity and started kissing the sensitive area. His tongue darted out, licking a small strip in the crevice. You didn’t need a third party to know a bruise was already forming.

“K-Katsuki. Not right now. Our d-daughter is just down the hall from us,” you manage to croak out as he attacked your neck with love bites. Oh how you missed these small little interactions with him. You knew they resorted to adultry, but anything involving foreplay with Katsuki excited you.

He sucked and bit some more of your supple flesh, causing you to ripple out a soft moan.

“Oh baby, how I missed your fucking moans.”

His morning voice mixed in with his already deep brooding one made you even wetter by the minute.

Soon the hand that was rubbing circles around your stomach extended to your breast, grabbing it playfully in tune to his tongue massage on your neck. Katsuki flicked his thumb over your perky nipple, giving it much desired attention. You parted your mouth slightly at the action, letting him latch his lips onto yours. Thankfully your moans were muffled, or else your daughter would’ve heard.

To return the favor, you carelessly grope Katsukis member through his boxers, earning a groan from him within your mouth.

“Fuck baby. You almost made me...cum by just... doing that,” he said in between sloppy kisses.

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted yourself on top of him, straddling his waist with your bare legs on display. His hand left your breast and replaced itself onto your hip, massaging the skin that was exposed. You removed your mouth from his, catching some air you forgot existed until he meshed into you. The two of you were a panting mess.

“It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” You whispered into his ear.

If looks could melt, his infamous smirk would. “Quickie? Before the brat ruins the fun.”

You huffed and pinched his cheek to the point where the flesh turned red.

“Ow fuck! Okay shitty woman. I take back what I said.” He smacked your ass as revenge and kissed the corner of your mouth. “For later then.”

You triumphantly smirk and peck his lips for good measure. Despite being cold turkey from sex, you knew punishing him by having him wait was the best part. You pushed yourself off him and rejoiced to the warm feeling of his chest. Defeated, Katsuki begrudgingly snaked his arms around you, kissing the crown of your forehead. He had to admit, he’d rather enjoy your body next to his than underneath all sweaty with lust. Don’t be fooled, he loves that too.

“What’s taking that brat so long-“

A loud beep startled both you and Katsuki to sit up straight in bed. It was your fire alarm. An alarm that hasn’t gone off since when you first moved in. Katsuki activated his quirk by accident one time in the kitchen, emitting the same annoying blast of noise this morning.

Leaving the bed in shambles, you both hurried out the door in search for your daughter. A foul scent of smoke and ash was wafting through the air. What you weren’t expecting was for the living room and kitchen to be perfectly pristine of any flames or smoke. You checked the perimeter of the area a second time to make sure you weren’t going crazy. Nothing. Maybe the fire alarm was glitching out? You were pull out of your daze when Katsuki slipped on his own feet coming out from the long hallway.

“I think I found out where the smoke is coming from,” he said breathlessly.

He dragged you along with him to your daughters room. Scared and confused, you turn the nob and slowly open the door. There sat your daughter, in the middle of the room laughing hysterically at something. She then noticed you two standing there and smiled widely. Gosh, she looked so much like her father there.

“Mommy daddy, look what I can do!” She said before plugging her nose and lighting herself on fire.

You’d think, this image would scare you, but no. You stared at awe towards your inflamed daughter, basking in at how the flames protected her body and moved with her. It finally came the day where your child’s quirk manifested. She was basically a lone torch. Katsuki mirrored the same emotions you were feeling as well. Your daughter extinguished herself and trailed over to where you both stood. She hugged your lovers leg, cranking her head to where they can directly look at each other.

“Does this mean I can be like you daddy? I can be a future hero just like you?”

Katsuki couldn’t help but to chuckle and bend down to grab her and place her on his hip.

“Just don’t be hanging out with extras when you’re older kiddo.” He reached around and started tickling her aggressively on the sides.

“I promise d-dad n-no stupid extras!” Her laugh with the combination of Katsukis childish taunts was like music to your ears.

And that wasn’t the last of the rude awakening mornings. Nevertheless, you cherished them more now than ever.

-

(Might be a reoccurring story bc I love daddy katsuki with a torch daughter)

#katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #mha imagines #mha x reader #bnha smut #katsuki fluff #bakugou fluff #fluff #dad!baku

[woman-with-no-name]

Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

Title: Affection

A/N: Wrote this because I was in a weird mood. I was really inspired by this post I saw about men getting to experience non sexual intimacy for the first time. Idk how to link on mobile, sorry! English is not my native language so don't judge me too hard :) Not proof read so excuse any stupid mistakes.

Warnings: Angst. Some fluff. Not really any smut. Soft Dutch.

Story under the cut.

"How about a treat tonight?" You wait for an answer from Dutch but he seems to be deep in thought. You walk up to the cot where he has been sitting for what it seems like an eternity.

You touch his shoulder to get his attention and he raises his eyebrows at you. "I'm sorry dear, did you say something?"

"Let's go to a hotel tonight." You pat his shoulder. "With a bath in the room. What do you say?"

He gets a hold of your hand and leaves a small kiss on the tips of your fingers. Your gaze lingers on his face. The exhaustion is more than visible in eyes. "Whatever you want, my darling." But nevertheless, he smiles. Hiding the pain, as always.

You left camp at sundown. The ride to the closest hotel was short but sweet, and it was nice to be finally alone, away from prying eyes. You arrive at the small hotel and take the nicest room they had. You will be staying for only one night, so you wanted to make the best of your time together. You walk up the stairs, Dutch following closely behind you. He opens the door for you, and you both enter the neatly furnished room, with a big bed, a small dresser, a chair, and a already filled tub sitting in the middle of a fur rug. You both get a bit more comfortable, he hangs his jacket on the chair, you kick your boots off, and sit on the bed. You watch him move around the room, searching for a place to leave his hat on.

"My, my, dear, if we weren't already involved, seeing the way you look at me, I just might assume you like me." He chuckles.

You smile at his remark and stand up.

"Well, someone has to."

"Very funny, miss."

You place your hands on his chest, feeling his warmth under the silky fabric of his vest.

"Now, let's get you in the tub before the water cools off."

"Me? You won't join me?"

"I will, but later. Come on. Dutchy. Let me take care of you." You tease him, slowly unbuttoning his vest.

"I'm not the one that should be taken care of...". He flirts, and tries to get a hold of your waist. But his words pain you, you see the deeper meaning behind them. He genuinely feels like that. He's not the one that gets care, rather the one that is expected to give it, no matter what. It's what a good leader does, right?

You poke his chest with your index finger, keeping his wandering hands away from you. "Get. In."

He raises his hands in defeat. "Alright, just don't shoot me."

He starts taking by taking of his shirt and then the rest of his clothes. You smile at your small victory, and bring the chair behind the tub. You turn your back at him and search for a matchbox in your satchel. The light of day was going away quickly. A candle would be helpful. The sound of splashing water distracts you from the lit match in your fingers as you were bringing it to the wick.

"How romantic." He states with one leg already in the tub, feeling the water. He looked absolutely mesmerising. His torso toned and firm, but not too much, just the perfect amount. Strong arms at his sides. A light trail of dark hair leading all the way to...

"Oouch! Fuck!" You hiss and suck on your burned fingers as you throw the match on the floor. "Goddamnit, get in there you devil! Ugh!"

He bursts out laughing at you, the deep tone almost shaking the room.

He finally settles in the tub and you sit behind him.

"You forgot something." You rise from the chair and stand beside the tub. You hold out your hand to him. He looks at it, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Give me your hand."

He stares at you and then finally lifts his hand from the water and puts it in your, much smaller one. You hold his palm with one hand, as you start to take of his rings with your other one. You slide the lion one first and then the big D. As you take them off you realize that you never saw him like his before, without anything, even his rings, completely bare. You hold them and walk up to the dresser. You take out and open your handheld mirror, and place the rings on the base of it, just as you do with your own jewelry so you don't lose it. You go back to the chair.

"You know, I still have no idea why won't you get in here with me." He sounds slightly annoyed but masks it.

"Just, let me do this... Okay?"

You start patiently running your fingers down his hair to untangle the curled ends. Strand by strand, you seperate the raven locks. He is tense as you do this. You can't see his face but you feel the the tension in the air. His shoulders refusing to go slack against the tub.

"I'm not a child, you know." You ignore him.

"Lean a bit forward, love." He hesitates but obeys in the end. You gently cup the warm water and pour it over his head, keeping one hand on his forehead to stop any of the soapy water to get in his eyes. His hair is completely wet now, you admire the color that you didn't think could get even darker. You start to rub some more soap in your hands. He takes the hint of what's next and leans back against the tub, resting his arms on the edges of it. You start to massage his scalp, spreading the vanilla soap down the length of his hair. Your hands run down to his neck and over his broad shoulders. His grips the edges.

You begin to feel uneasy, he's being awfully quiet, and if anything, he was rearely silent, not if he felt good, not with you. You don't know if you are simply boring him or he's just unaffected by your administrations. You compose yourself and decide to continue with your plan, to make him feel your love. Even though he can't see you, you smile behind him, you stare at the back of his head, you mind wanders and deep in thought you close your eyes, and barely stop yourself from weeping out loud of how happy you are to have him by your side, how it hurts you to see him burdened, how you want him to know that you will be there, no matter what.

You rub the wetness from your eyes with the back of your hand and lift your gaze. You let out a small embarrassed gasp as you finally notice the view in the small pocket mirror you left resting on top of the dresser. His reddened eyes, and the tear stains down his cheeks. He's looking right at you.

You bring your face next to his, cupping his cheek, and hold him close. He closes his eyes, and fresh tears roll down to melt in your skin.

"It's okay, it's okay..." You whisper, and gently kiss his cheek.

"I don't deserve you."

"Yes. Yes, you do. Don't ever forget that."

...

#i just needed to give him some love heh #one shot #dutch van der linde #or is this called a drabble? #i have no idea #rdr2 #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #dutch van der linde x f!reader #rdr2 fanfic #my writing

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Aim For The Heart | Chapter 1: At First Sight

Pairing: hitman!jk x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, angst, drama

WC: 4.5k

Warnings for this chapter: alcohol consumption, language, stalking kind of? I think that's all lol. Pls let me know if there is anything else I should put.

tag list; @teresaisla @hopekookies @moonchild1 @barbellastyles98 @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @yukiehyukie

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn't sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn't his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger. 

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A bright smile graces your features as you tuck the little star-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into a tiny container, just barely getting two of them to fit as you squish them down a tad bit in order to get the lid clipped on.

Then you grab a little tangerine and a cheese stick to drop into your lunch bag along with the sandwiches, counting the number of items aloud to yourself as they make themselves at home and then you zip it all up.

"Th-There we go!" You lift your lunch for the day in triumph.

Your phone startles you when it starts to ring, then you grapple in your purse to find it. You pull it out and answer right before the last ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, girl! Are you ready to go? I'm downstairs." The voice of your best friend comes through the phone and you look at the clock on your microwave. You stare at the little black screen, confused as to why the time isn't showing up before remembering that you were never able to figure out how to display the clock when you bought the microwave three years ago. So, you hold your phone out to look at the time.

6:32

"Oh geez! I didn't r-realize the time. I'll be d-down in a minute, k?" You say, earning a lighthearted laugh from the girl on the other end.

"Take your time, hun. I'm not in any rush."

You thank her quickly and hang up, then you run to your room to grab your favorite pink cardigan and throw it on over your white shirt. As you're hurrying out and grabbing your lunch, you stumble and knock your knee into an open lower cabinet that you had forgotten to close the previous night after pulling a pan from it to make dinner.

"Ouch!" You hiss in pain and rub the sore spot, although it does nothing to ease the ache. Then you grab your purse and run outside, almost forgetting to lock the door. But you remember just in time and clumsily lock it before rushing down the stairs leading to the parking lot of your apartment complex.

Your best friend, Mina, is laughing. You can see her through the windshield as she waves to you. Lifting a hand to wave back, you don't realize in time that your arms are full. You drop your lunchbox and have to crouch to get it again, only taking up even more of your time.

But Mina finds it hilarious and tells you so as soon as you slide into the car and fumble with your seatbelt to get it buckled.

"Honestly, ___. I can't believe you're still single. If I wasn't straight as a board, I'd be head over heels for you and all your shenanigans." She states in a matter-of-fact tone as she pulls out of the parking spot.

A blush creeps up your neck and you try to laugh it off, "D-Don't be silly." You whisper, turning your gaze outside to look at the fluffy white clouds decorating the sky beautifully. You smile and lean your forehead against the glass as you imagine lying on a soft cloud, just drifting in the air.

"If you c-could go anywhere at all, where would y-you go?" You ask Mina suddenly, turning to her. Her eyes are focused on the road but she bites her lip in thought at your question. "Mm, probably Italy. What about you?" She's used to your sudden questions and ramblings, so she smiles when you start to go off.

"I'd wanna go up in the c-clouds. I wanna sit on one and maybe even see a r-rainbow up close! I wonder if I could slide down the rainbow..." Your brows furrow in deep thought. "Or would I f-fall?" You turn to her again and she glances over to see your signature puppy dog eyes that you use when you are either confused, upset, or want something.

Mina turns back to the road, a tiny ache in her heart that she hides with a bright smile, "Girl, you would ride that rainbow straight down into a pot of gold!"

"Really?" Your eyes widen and you feel your heart lift at the image.

She nods and you giggle happily, "You can come w-with me, Mina." You say confidently, your gaze turning back to the sky. "We can sleep in the clouds and slide down rainbows for the rest of f-forever."

"Sounds like a deal."

By the time Mina pulls up to the school, you've discussed everything you'd do up in the clouds and what you'd eat when you're hungry (stardust, you've decided, is the best meal anyone could eat.)

You unbuckle and gather your things. Then you remember something and turn back to Mina, "Oh yeah. W-When are you leaving on your business trip?" You ask a tinge of sadness in your voice.

"This weekend," Mina says solemnly. "I'm sorry I won't be able to drive you for a while. I'll be gone for a month this time."

That makes your heart sting but you manage a small smile, "D-Don't worry about me. I can walk! I'm gonna m-miss you though."

"I'll miss you too, buttercup. We'll hang out this Friday night before I leave the next day. How about that?" Mina asks kindly.

You nod enthusiastically and she smiles, "Ok, get your butt in there before you're late! The bell rings in half an hour and you can't be late on a Monday." She urges you and you nod, hopping out of the car and thanking her again for the ride, reassuring her that you'll walk home from work today.

You blow her a kiss and she laughs as you turn and hurry into the school.

You're all set up only a few minutes before the kids are supposed to arrive, so you go onto Pinterest and look through your fairytale boards, feeling a little spark of joy in your chest.

A couple of minutes later, the kids start streaming through the door, greeting you with the same amount of enthusiasm as you greet them. Your kiddos love you so much that all the other teachers are jealous and they let you know it every day. Of course, you have the sweetest kindergarteners and they're always the best for you.

"Hello, Teacher! Good morning Miss ___! Teacher, look at my new haircut!"

"Hi, Jina! Hello M-Minhhyuk! Kun, your new haircut l-looks so good!" All the kids have bright smiles on their faces by the time they've settled in their seats.

You always start the day off by getting everyone to stand and do a few stretches, then you sing the nursery rhymes you learned yesterday and start learning a new one. You honestly have as much fun as the kids during the school day.

"Ok, l-little ducklings, have a seat!" You get their attention and they immediately oblige. Next, is the alphabet that you guys have been working on since the beginning of the year. Every little one sings it perfectly all the way through and you give them a round of applause and they each get a little punch in their reward cards.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, with only one temper tantrum thrown and that was resolved quickly.

It's nearing the end of the school day and the kids are all playing during their free time. You're sitting with Ae-Cha, a small and fairly quiet girl, playing with colorful blocks; the both of you competing to see who can build the highest tower. You've learned that she responds well to playing games when there isn't too much talking involved.

You're constantly glancing around the room to make sure everyone is safe and playing nicely and you're always pleased. They've all improved so much since the beginning of school back in September. It's June now and they've all learned their alphabet and how to play nicely with their new friends, along with so many other things. They've really made you so proud this year. You can even hear them reciting the alphabet and nursery rhymes to each other as they play.

Your heart warms at the sound of tiny voices filling the room as they sing. Then you glance at the clock and realize the bell will be ringing in a few minutes. So, you declare Ae-Cha the winner with her foot-high tower of blocks and she beams proudly. Then, you get up and clap three times, "One, two, th-three! Eyes on me!" You singsong, then smile when the kids immediately respond by clapping twice and shouting "One, two! Eyes on you!"

"G-Great attention today, everyone! Alright, the bell will ring soon. Who can tell me w-what that means? What are we doing n-now?" A few little hands go up and you point to the little boy that raised his first, "Yes, Joon Woo?"

"We...Uhm...time to clean up toys...Uhm..." You smile to encourage him and he finishes cutely, "Time uh, to clean up our toys and pack bags."

"Yes! Thank you, Joon Woo. It is t-time for us to clean up and make sure our bags are packed up and ready for h-home!"

The kids start to pick up their toys as you put on the cleaning song that you play every day for them. You all sing along until the room is all tidied and their bags are packed with their homework papers.

You always give them little mazes to do for homework to get their little brains to learn to concentrate, along with instructions on what to draw to show the class the next day. Today, their homework is an extremely easy maze, a coloring page with the alphabet and instructions to draw themselves doing their favorite activity. The kids always love drawing pictures and sharing them with the class and it's a good ice breaker for the shy ones at the beginning of the day.

You always have less and easier homework for the kids on Mondays and Fridays, it just seems fair to you that way. You also feel like it's good for kids to express themselves and be able to share what they like and dislike. You've found drawing helps with communication and creativity for the kids in your class.

The sound of the bell ringing makes a few of you jump, then you hurry to the door. "Alright, ducklings! T-Time to line up!" A few of the kids make quacking sounds as they line up, giggling and talking to their friends.

You smile and open up the door, holding it as the kids walk out in a straight line, some of them still quacking like little ducks.

You lead the kids to the front of the school and make sure they get into the correct line for the bus if they take it. You wave goodbye to them as the kids that take the bus climb on and they run to a window to wave back to you.

The rest of the kids that are left are soon picked up by their parents or siblings. You wave to Ae-Cha, the last student to be picked up. She smiles shyly and waves back before hurrying after her big sister.

After that, you go back to your classroom and finish a few things before packing up to go home. As you're leaving your classroom, you run into one of the other teachers coming from his own room.

"Oh, h-hello Mr. B-Baek!" You bow, missing the ugly sneer on his face as you smile brightly at him. He pushes his glasses further up his nose as he scrutinizes you with his beady little eyes. "You don't belong here, Miss ___." He snaps.

You look at him in confusion, "I-I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I've waited the entire school year to say this to you. But now that we are nearing the end, I think you should know that you have no business being a teacher at this school. You ought to make the right decision to discontinue your work here." Mr. Baek watches your face fall with a sick sense of satisfaction.

"B-But, why?" You ask, still not understanding.

"First of all, you're inexperienced. You just got out of college last year, am I right?"

You nod uncertainly.

"You're still a child. Why should a twenty-two-year-old girl come marching in here and take a spot that should have been given to someone with more experience? And especially someone like you." He glares at you before turning on his heel and walking away briskly.

Someone like me? What does he mean by that?

You watch after him, feeling a tiny pinch in your chest. You aren't sure what he means, but whatever he's talking about, it sounds like he believes you shouldn't have become a teacher at all. At this school or another. You'll have to ask Mina later because you really have no idea where his rant came from.

Is there something wrong with you becoming a teacher?

You shake your head and laugh it off, "He's probably just had a bad day." You tell yourself as you make your way out of the school.

As you walk home, you sing quietly along with the song in your headphones, a little skip to your step.

You never notice the dark figure across the street, his eyes trained on your every move.

One day earlier...

Jungkook groans as he tosses and turns in bed, searching for his phone to turn the alarm off. He finally finds it and hits dismiss, tossing the phone back down and rubbing his eyes with a tired yawn.

After another minute he sits up and looks out the window, frowning at the sun seeping in and pooling across his floor in a golden river. He stares at a small bird that lands on his windowsill until it flies away.

Jungkook yawns again and reaches up to rub his eyes for the second time. After a few minutes, he's finally able to drag himself out of bed and into the shower. He almost falls asleep again in there, but he manages to make it out after half an hour.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he makes his way to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of soju that's sitting on his tiny dining table to take a small swig from, finishing off what he'd left last night after his third bottle right before he passed out in bed.

He sighs and grabs a bagel, searching for the cream cheese he swears he saw in his fridge last night. A small smile appears on his lips when he finds it. He snatches it and makes sloppy work of spreading it on his bagel before tossing the leftover trash onto his counter and plopping onto the couch, snarfing down the first half of his bagel in thirty seconds.

Jungkook sighs through his nose as he tiredly chews his breakfast, then he glances down and sees the file he'd left open on his coffee table last night. He swallows the bite he has in his mouth and leans forward to read over it.

Y/L/N Y/N...

Why is that name so familiar?

He shakes his head and flips the file closed, then he leans back on the couch, wanting to spend his Sunday relaxing before he has to get to work on this case. He isn't going to think about it again until tonight.

Jungkook settles down and lays his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

He won't think about it.

Jungkook lays there for a minute, then he opens his eyes and lifts his head, glaring at the closed file on the little table.

He grunts in annoyance and drops the other half of his bagel onto the table, grabbing the file angrily and sitting back again. He opens it and starts to reread everything he's read many times since Friday. There's just something that has felt off since he met with Mr. Ling, but he can't put his finger on what it is.

Jungkook squints at the name he's read a thousand times.

Y/L/N...Y/N...

"Ugh." He rolls his eyes, frustrated at not being able to remember where he's heard that name before. Then he looks at the occupation.

Teacher at Sunshine Kindergarten.

His brows furrow again, much like they have each time he's read this. He's never had a hit on a teacher before, let alone a Kindergarten teacher. That's such an odd target...

Most of his targets in the past have been sleazy business owners, rapists, leaders of gangs that have terrorized neighborhoods for years, even other hitmen. He's never had a problem with those jobs, but there's something about this one that's telling him to be careful.

Maybe it's because he knows nothing about his client, except for the large sum of money he must have due to the pay he's been promised. Other clients of his were more than happy to explain why they wanted him to do what he does. They never paid him until after the job was done, either.

That leads Jungkook to believe that this guy (or girl) is desperate for his services, convincing him to do it with payment before and after. Almost as if Jungkook would refuse after he found out who the target was...

Jungkook flips the page and scrutinizes the picture of the target.

She's very simple looking, Jungkook thinks. The girl in the picture is wearing a white flowy skirt with a blue blouse that covers her whole arms and white chunky tennis shoes. Her hair is in a low ponytail and it seems like she has headphones in as she walks down the street. There's a tiny smile on her face as if she's thinking about something that makes her happy.

Jungkook doesn't find her particularly beautiful, but she isn't ugly either. She's just very...

Simple...

Jungkook shakes his head, his eyes going over the photo and the girl's smile one more time. Maybe she's a double agent? Or a part of the mafia disguising herself as a school teacher?

He can't figure it out.

It doesn't matter much though, the job seems simple enough and the pay is more than he's ever gotten. After looking through everything once more, Jungkook closes the file and grabs his bagel, quickly eating it before getting up to get dressed for the day.

That night, Jungkook lays out his outfit for the next day.

It's all black, but not suspicious-looking. After all these years, he's been able to design the perfect outfits to avoid attention being drawn to him and simple enough so that no one would think much of him if he were to catch anyone's attention.

It might seem simple, but he prides himself on being able to get each part of his job perfectly designed for each case he gets.

Heaven knows it's taken him years to accomplish.

After he's gotten that all figured out, he walks over to his closet and pulls out a small safe. Setting it on the bed, he swiftly unlocks it and looks inside. He pulls out a few things, examining each of them before he sets them one by one onto his bed. Once he's got the items all laid out, he steps back to look it all over.

"I should wait to decide..." Jungkook mumbles to himself. After a minute of staring at everything, he nods and gathers it all up, carefully putting it back into the safe and locking it tightly. Then he brings it back to his closet and shoves it into the darkest corner where it lives.

That can wait.

He pulls his phone out and checks the time.

11:45

"Damn it," Jungkook mutters. He had wanted to get some sleep earlier tonight since he would have to be awake early tomorrow.

He changes into some shorts, then he yanks his shirt off and immediately climbs into bed, not even bothering to shower or brush his teeth. He really couldn't care less with how tired he is. And he hasn't even started yet.

His alarm blares at an ungodly hour as Jungkook groans loudly, resisting the temptation to chuck his phone across the room.

"I hate Mondays." He mutters angrily, setting his phone back on the nightstand far from gracefully.

He miserably drags himself out of bed and into the shower, going through his morning motions almost like a robot. His brain isn't fully awake and it's just on autopilot right now.

An hour later, he's just finishing his coffee, his eyes no longer squinting in exhaustion. Jungkook unceremoniously drops his coffee cup into the sink, promising himself he'll clean it up later, then he sighs as he grabs his black boots, walking to the couch to sit and pull them on. After he's done lacing them up, he grabs the file he's been avoiding like the plague since yesterday morning.

He mutters to himself, looking at the name on the page.  

"I know that name."

Then he smacks his forehead to get himself to focus again. He stands up and folds the page with the girl's information and then her picture and tucks them into the inside pocket of his black jacket.

Time to get to work.

Jungkook spots the girl almost instantly, the second she steps out of a black car. He glances at the driver, but can only see a person with shoulder length black hair waving. The girl from the picture has a bunch of things in her arms as she blows a kiss to the short-haired driver.

Jungkook has been here since six-thirty in the morning and just as he was beginning to think she called in sick for work, he's finally gotten a chance to see this girl in person. She looks exactly as he remembers from her picture...plain.

She's even wearing the same white skirt and chunky tennis shoes, although this time she has a different top. Her hair is in a high ponytail this time.

"Well, ___. Nice to meet you." Jungkook mutters, watching closely.

After a moment, the black car drives away as the girl scurries into the school, tripping on the last step before straightening herself out again, then disappearing from his sight.

Huh.

Jungkook stares at the door for another minute, then he makes his way to the stores nearby, knowing he's gonna have to wait until the girl leaves. School for the young kids typically gets out at around three-thirty. So, he'll have to be back here around then.

He's definitely going to need to find something to do to kill time.

Jungkook heaves a sigh of relief when he hears the school bell finally ring.

He hurries from the clothes store he was browsing and down the street a block until he's almost across the street from the school. He finds a good spot where he can sift through some newspapers at a little stand and still have an eye on the school.

After a minute, he sees a long line of tiny children coming out from the school. The girl is with them and smiling brightly. Jungkook thinks he can hear some of the kids quacking like ducks. He tries not to look puzzled as he goes back to talking to the person working the paper stand. Jungkook makes small talk with the old man, still keeping an eye on the girl across the street as she waves to each child that leaves.

If she's some mafia boss disguised as a kindergarten teacher, she's one hell of a good actress.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" The old man inquires curiously.

Jungkook laughs softly and shakes his head, "No. I've been so busy with my work I never got the chance to date."

The man nods knowingly. They chat a bit more and Jungkook finds himself trying to balance talking to the man and watching the girl.

"Well, did you want to buy a paper for the day?"

Jungkook turns his gaze back to the old man and nods, "Yes. Two, please. My neighbor would probably enjoy one as well."

The old man laughs and nods, taking the money Jungkook hands him and giving him two papers, "What a kind young man you are. Someday you'll find a lovely young lady, don't you worry, son. You will realize that work is important, but love is even more so."

Jungkook just laughs and thanks the man, then he opens the paper as he slowly starts walking, pretending to read.

He stops at a bench and sits down to wait. The girl went back into the school a few minutes ago, hopefully, she won't be in there long.

Luck seems to be with him today, because, after only about five minutes, Jungkook sees a familiar white skirt flowing as she skips down the steps of the school.

He folds his paper carefully, tucking it into his back pocket. The girl puts little earbuds in and immediately starts to mouth the words of whatever song she's listening to. Jungkook tugs his black baseball cap down a little more as he follows on the other side of the street.

The girl has a bag decorated with cupcakes and cookies that bounces up and down as she dances a little.

What is she, twelve?

Jungkook watches in confusion as the girl stops to pet a dog, giggling when the puppy licks her hand. She straightens up, then after another minute, she seems to get distracted by something else.

Jungkook looks carefully and notices she's picked up a flower that was laying on the ground, seemingly trampled on. She gently holds it in her hands as she continues on her way. It goes on like this for the next fifteen minutes, the girl waving to people and smiling almost the whole way.

By the time she is walking up the steps to her apartment, Jungkook is dying to just get back home. That must have been the longest most annoying walk he's ever taken while tracking someone. The girl had stopped over twenty times, distracted by something else each time, he's sure of it.

Just to be sure, Jungkook lingers around the apartment building a little longer, but when it seems apparent that the girl is going to be staying there, he finally heads home.

Geez, Jungkook thinks in annoyance as he climbs the stairs that lead to his own apartment. His head is spinning with so many questions while he unlocks his door and yanks his boots off with a groan.

But when he plops down onto his bed in his tiny studio apartment, he just stares at the ceiling, his mind suddenly blank apart from one question.

Who in the hell would put a hit on this girl?

Copyright © @writemywaytoyourheart 2021

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a/n: I hope you guys are liking the setup so far, thank you for all the positive reactions from the prologue!

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