#who doesn't love the marms

[nctsworld]

IN WHICH WE ALL RELATE TO DOYOUNG! BAGGY JEANS MUSIC SHOW BEHIND

#doyoung #mark #nct #nct u #kim doyoung #mark lee #nct 127 #nctinc #itsnctsworld #markgifs #doyounggifs #nctgifs #cee.gifs #i get it doyoung... i get it..... #who doesn't love the marms

[cannebady]

Okay, hand-wavy details but just imagine that Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves on the deck of The Revenge because of fuck you whatever, but Ed is immediately all Blackbeardy like who the fuck are you but he never gets an answer because Crowley couldn't be fucked to pay him any mind. Crowley is actually quite distracted at the moment, because Stede's standing there in all his finery, book in hand, next to Aziraphale, and fuck him for a lark but there's two of them. Just what he bloody needs.

Ed's somewhat cowed, initially, by this lanky guy with weird dark glasses not being afraid of him at all, even though they're the ones that just walked right onto his ship (okay, it's Stede's ship technically but they're co-captains so that's gotta count for something, right?). Sure his reputation may not have been the most brutal as of late, but usually glowering in head-to-toe leather, tattoos on display, got him at least some kind of reaction.

Actually, the guy isn't paying any attention to him at all. There's a legitimate possibility that he hasn't even realized Ed's there.

Cowed descends rapidly into miffed, and he's about to strut a bit to get the attention he fucking deserves when he finally looks over to where lanky and weird is looking and holy fucking shit. Was this some friend or, for fucks sake a relative, of Stede's? It's a ridiculous thought and unlikely considering the lack of resemblance and different accents, but the other explanation is that there's some other gentlemanly fop cruising the sea with a different leather-clad companion and fuck what if there's two of them? It's at that moment that he realizes that the weird guy is looking right in Stede's direction and he does not like the look on his face at all.

Across the deck, Stede, being a gentleman through and through, and Aziraphale, being just british enough to count, decide that tea is in order while they get acquainted. Aziraphale, what a unique name, seems to enjoy literature and Stede has a library he might enjoy! How lovely that this unexpected guest is a kindred spirit!

They turn towards the Captains quarters, Stede laying a friendly hand on Aziraphale's shoulder to direct him while they continue to discuss his plans for a bookshop, but before he can yell to the others to join them, there's a joint exclamation from behind them.

"Watch where you're laying those fucking hands, mate" comes out in Ed's low growl and there's an enthusiastic, "Oi, and just what do you think you're doing with my angel?" from a pissed off Crowley.

Ed rounds on Crowley, full of possessive rage, grabbing him by his lapels and growling in his best 'do not even consider fucking with me I'm the fucking kraken' tone, "What the fuck do you mean your angel?"

It's almost entirely drowned out by twin scoldings from the gentleman on deck.

"Ed, put him down this instant they're our guests!" is yelled in Stede's posh, clipped tone (but something about the possessiveness in Ed's voice and the fierceness in his expression brings something to life in Stede he doesn't have time to think about right now), with a harmony of, "Oh Crowley, darling, must you menace our hosts for sport?" in Aziraphale's school marm tone, while he barely spares a glance at them. Like he isn't concerned at all that fucking Blackbeard has his companion.

Ed's brain takes a break from his minor self-esteem crisis and catches up to him, and he hears angel and darling. It's quite possible Crowley was ogling the gentleman he came here with and not Stede, rendering Ed's dramatics a bit unnecessary. It's also possible that Ed may have shown his hand, if Stede knows enough to read it.

Ed lets Crowley go.

Crowley acknowledges that Ed is there.

"Erm, Ed, I take it?", Crowley says, giving a quarter turn in Ed's direction and no more.

"Yeah, I'm Ed. You're Crawley?" Ed responds, ignoring the eye roll from Stede because he knows Ed heard them just fine and is choosing to be a shit.

"Crowley," is hissed back at him with more sibilance than you'd expect. With an accompanying fond eye roll from Aziraphale, they all head to the Captains quarters, Stede and Aziraphale already deep in conversation like they're lifelong friends and Ed and Crowley begrudgingly walking near one another.

Once a few hours have passed, the tension has lifted. Stede and Aziraphale have moved from the library to the auxiliary wardrobe, and Ed and Crowley are deep in conversation about the stars. Ed gets a feeling this guy knows more about the sky than any man has a right to. His voice when he speaks about them takes on a dreamy quality, more like a memory.

Aziraphale and Stede exit the wardrobe and Ed is not at all surprised to find Aziraphale ensconced in one of Stede's lovely robes (though Ed could swear it used to be yellow, it looks more like cream now - must be the lighting, or the wine) and it seems that Crowley isn't particularly surprised either.

"I see you've made yourself at home," Crowley jokes, his voice laced with warmth and adoration. Something in Stede's chest yearns at that. He doesn't think too hard about why he looks at Ed at that moment either.

"Crowley, you must feel this, it's divine," and Ed sees the underlying smirk a mile away. Must be an old joke between lovers, because Crowley looks a little shocked for a moment before he tosses his head back with a laugh that makes Aziraphale smile ear-to-ear.

Ed and Crowley go back to their conversation while Stede and Aziraphale get more alcohol. Stede has a lovely brandy that they'd adore.

While he's fishing it out, Aziraphale looks at Ed and Crowley, both clad in leather despite the heat, both forces or nature that pull you in until you're completely in their gravity. It's like coming home, he thinks, when he thinks of his dear demon.

"It seems we may have even more similar tastes," Aziraphale says to Stede, looking over at the other two men.

Stede, looking at the bottle he just procured and not at Aziraphale's eye line, responds, "Oh yes, absolutely if you know this vintage. Quite rare but worth it."

Aziraphale realizes he's talking about the booze but replies, "Why yes, I have to agree. Very rare indeed." Armageddon couldn't have pulled his eyes away from Crowley in that moment.

Much later, once angel and demon have absconded from The Revenge under cover of night, Crowley looks over at Aziraphale and squeezes his hand where they're linked.

"D'you think they'll ever figure it out?" he says and Aziraphale doesn't have to ask to whom he's referring.

"Oh, I think they just might." Aziraphale replies with the confidence of a being made of and for love.

As usual, he's right.

#Good omens au #Ofmd au #Ofmd x good omens crossover #good omens #ofmd #crowley #aziraphale #our flag means death #stede bonnet #blackbeard #edward teach #my fic #good omens fic #Ofmd fic #Ficlet #Mini fic #blackbonnet #Gentlebeard #Ineffable husbands

[anissapierce]

Rewatched Fire island while sewing patches into the inside of the thighs of my work jeans and trying to distract myself from the fact that ill be alone in the house for a month with me and the dogs and i paid special attn to max

So here are some notes about the movie n max thoughts.

:readmore:

So they all met in Williamsburg, keegan and luke were the only ones who knew each other before. We Dont know wht jobs Max,Keegan and Luke have.

Max seems pretty ... Neo-liberal? Noah describes him as "sweet" and "supersmart" but "a little uptight"

The Atwood memoir he's reading is important to note but he's probably the most... Well academically book smart than the rest and i don't think from what we know about his character that he was reading it bc he agrees w her politics or worldview. He is actually the first person we see call into question the fact that noah is kowtowing to norms by maintaining the body he does . "why would you confirm to this community's toxic body standards?" noah as the narrator agrees with him and owns up to being a "class traitor".

"and this why straight people hate us" hints towards max himself buying into the structure of respectability politics but honestly im not reading too much into the line because its often something tht lgbt folks will throw around without actually meaning it.

"its actually a logistical nightmare if you want to fuck on this island,at least if you want to do it indoors,no privacy anywhere"

This plus generally everything else show that Max is a private person,giving a narrative reason why we nvr see him kiss,fawn or fuck anybody onscreen. That doesn't excuse that Max is a part of a long line of characters who are desexualized for being Fat,Black and/or Gay,in Max's case him being all three is pretty rare in film or tv but its not rare for characters that are like him to not get fleshed out narratively.

"have you heard of ticks? How bout their best friends? Lyme disease" is why he doesn't wanna fuck outdoors so we know hes prudent

"oh my god i think i saw a tick in my room"

He is technically the reason that Noah's phone ends up in the pool bc he does come running out of the house and bumping into him. But i do like the fact that Noah trying to convince everyone to look on the bright side means he doesnt seem angry or even resentful of Max?

"itll give you the chance to unplug from social media" Max trying to look on the bright side is pretty sweet considering the others responses are pretty blaming (Luke) or just kind of offering sad looks.

Says a lot that his response to "the island will always be there, " is: "except for the whole climate change thing". Like if something being said and it isnt true he is going to speak up abt it. ( I think there is an issue of the Fat friend in various media being the buttoned up bookish school marm type)

"im not sure this is what the gay liberation front imagined for us" another line of him judging others based on respectability politics

" I texted him but it went to green, maybe hes right although you're more likely to be murdered in your own home" Max being the one to text him when he was off his mind the night before on who-knows-what shows that he's probably the one whos usually rallying the troops n making sur everyone got home safe. (Esp considering the fact tht he usually doesnt partake in the drugs that the rest of the guys do)

Once again cant help dropping tidbits, trying to reassure the others and himself that howie probably wasnt murdered statistically speaking.

"Calm down Bernie Sanders i love the pantry small businesses are the lifeblood of this country " probably the most neo-lib weve heard him get but he doesn't object to luke n keegan stealing so like , he's prob more left leaning than his lines indicate

"we have to go direct sunlight...raw chicken..."

Good to know that someone is paying attention to food safety

"i didnt prepare for an extra person so ..." And hes annoyed about dex being invited over?

"not you two salivating over a basic white guy again "

Love Max as the voice of a pragmatic audience member

A random note but luke is shown in the bg of the getting ready scene gesturing to Noah to see how he should take the G..... And uhh he disregards noah gesturing differently. So that explains a lil that they planted the seed of Luke getting beyond fucked up

#drugs - #fire island talk tag

[moider-time]

Okay, headcannons for the group to adopt a child whose parents abandoned them?

Thanks for the ask anon! These are fun to do. I'm gonna assume that this an abandoned baby in this scenario:

They see into Marm in a box outside Steven's apartment when they're coming back. He's been left there by shitty parents who didn't want to deal with him anymore.

He's around 7 months and Jake named him Marm cause he smelled vaguely of marmalade.

They take him to the police but it'll take some time to process him cause the police are busy (there's some wacko dressed in all white running around) so they have to take care of Marm for a bit.

Now they're all fucked. Like none of them have any child rearing experience. Marc and Jake have probably never even seen a child.

Steven and Layla are slightly better but they still can't deal.

The best choice is surprisingly Khonshu. He's been around for a long time and he's had avatars that were either older siblings, parents or surrounded by children in other ways.

So he's the one telling them how to do everything.

"No worm! You have to test the bottle on your wrist first!"

"For goodness sake, hold him properly so he doesn't hurt his neck."

"Oh my Ra, cover his eyes so soap doesn't get in them."

Due to Marc's money as a mercenary and Steven's savings they're able to buy toys and stuff for Marm. He gets really attached to a Nemo toy.

Marc was the one that got him that.

Layla is his favourite. He likes pulling her hair.

Marm can't see Khonshu but he loves it whenever he sees Steven, Jake or Marc talking to thin air.

They're a mess but it works out. When the police finally take him, they all deny that they cried a little.

#moon knight #moon knight 2022 #moon knight headcanon #steven grant #marc spector #khonshu #jake lockley #layla el faouly #khonshu is the best dad #thanks mx. anon! #beck's asks

[theblondebondd]

Where should new fans of Sharon, well I say new but I've loved her since she first appeared in the MCU. What I should be asking is, what comic books would you recommend for us to read to get to know Sharon better? What are some of the best ones?

I've never read a Marcel comic book and don't half a clue about them.

well then luckily for you, yoyve come to the right place because i JUST put this list together on my tiktok and have it prepared.

most of early comics sharon's story isn't " canon " anymore ( her being peggy's sister, shields first female agent, etc ) but there's some gems in those old stories so i'm gonna start the list there :

- tales of suspense ( 1959 ) / issues 75 - 99 | don't worry about reading any of the EARLY cap vol1 unless you want to. this is really all you need to understand how her character was written in the 60s. it was a lot of cheesy romance, kinda soap opera - esque drama between the characters, etc. cap stories are known for their dramatics ( tbh you don't even really have to read her " death " bc it wasn't really a death anyways and you learn more abt it later than you do when it actually happened ).

- captain america ( 1968 ) / issues 445 - 454 | the start of mark waid's era, bringing her back from the dead. you'll hear from a lot of sharon fans that marm waid wrote their favourite sharon era from the writing, to the arc, to the artwork. tbph, if you started hear and skipped the early stuff, you'd probably be fine. you might be a bit irritated by her at first ( she's a very angry, polarizing character here ), but she'll grow on you.

- fury and agent 13 | 2 issue run that you won't find on marvel unlimited. technically doesn't happen until like issue 4 of vol3, but it doesn't really hurt to read it ahead of reading vol3 either.

- captain america ( 1998 ) | one of, if not the best, cap run to date. the run that ended mark waid's era and is ultimately a fantastic story through and through for every character in it.

- captain america ( 2004 ), civil war, captain america : reborn & who will wield the shield | the beginning of ed brubaker's era. another one of those writer eras that people agree is sharon's ( and steve's for that matter ) best. it's a bit more gritty than most cap comics, so if you do read it, prepare for the shift, but that was in preparation for civil war. quite frankly, as much as i love civil war, it's a long story and...it can be hard to get through the registration garbage. most characters are OOC and insufferable and honestly reading the 2004 run - tie ins & and an overview of the event itself, is probably just easiest. reborn and wwwts come after.

- the secret avengers ( 2010 ) / issues 1 - 18 | not much character development per say, but it's good run for stevesharon mush.

- captain america ( 2011 ) & captain america ( 2013 ) | both runs debatable in character development for sharon. they have a bit, but are obviously more focused on steve. 2013 run is important for her story going forward but that necessarily mean it's GOOD for her character & is regarded as a pretty weak cap run. an overview of both might suffice honestly.

- read an overview of secret empire. don't torture yourself.

- captain america ( 2018 ) | fantastic run that's HEAVY on sharon's side of the story. really tackles how she handles the aftermath of secret empire, her depleting youth, etc. ( also has peggy moments if you're into that but...quite frankly if you like her from the mcu, then honestly reading her in comics might frustrate you because she is...insufferable, to put it gently. )

and there you go! after that is coming the newest cap run, coming out this year, but i can't say anything on how that will handle her yet.

#marvel #sharon carter #captain america #agent 13 #marvel comics

[doctordaddysir]

Hate mail, pissed off ex's, jealous followers I wasn't interested in, and just trolls in general

I get a lot of anon hate mail. I usually delete it, but sometimes I'll repost it here. Today I received a couple that honestly I won't repost because the hate spewed was vile. Vile toward me, vile toward close friends and family.

Here's my line in the Sand. Be vile toward me because you're pissed off that you perceive I hurt you, be vile to me because you wanted me and I wasn't interested. Be vile to me because you don't think I'm what I say I am. I can handle hate. What I do not tolerate is hate spewed about or directed toward friends, family, subs in my life etc. I'll delete that shit all day and never post it. This is Tumblr, most of you, save a select few, no nothing about me. You know what you read, you know my stories, you know my advice, but you don't know me.

I get called a liar, a fraud, and get told I put up a "fake facade" which really makes my eye twitch, a facade itself is fake, so a fake facade is overkill lol. Anyway, I get hate mail that say things like this and I try to laugh it off. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes I want to respond but that typically just feeds more hate.

I am pretty real about stuff on here, I admit I've hurt women, hurt subs, emotionally, and even accidentally physically some. I've lost subs because of my acknowledged fuck ups. I've also learned from those over the years and grown a lot over the years. In also admit I've had amazing relationships with subs that were damn near perfect to me and I end up hurt by them. The truth is we all mess up, no one is perfect. The thing I try to do is share my experiences to help others learn so that maybe they avoid trouble or at least grow and learn when they find that trouble.

I tend to believe that the advice I give is really solid and I love doing it. It doesn't work for everyone and that's ok. The way I see it is in real life I could be a 73 year old retired school marm named Delores who hasn't left her house full of 47 cats, all named Sue, since 1995, but if I'm giving good info, and telling good stories, making people laugh, cry, get turned on, then it really doesn't matter who the real me is.

Call me names, insult me because you feel hurt, tell me I'm a fake, a fraud, etc, but don't attack my friends and family. I'll still be here helping people that need it, awriting the best stories I can, sharing the humorous side of D/S, and trying to be real.

I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but that's ok with me. The messages I get that say thank you for helping me get through a hard break up, or thanks for helping me understand my partner better, or thank you for making me laugh for the first time in a while, hell even the I came hard reading your stories messages, they all mean a ton to me and make me keep going.

I never say I'm perfect, and never pretend to be. Hell, I've messed up lots of times, but those all make me better suited to give opinions and advice because I take every chance to learn and grow and I don't hold on to hate. My advice to the hate mail anons, of I truly hurt you, dismissed you, etc, move on, I'm not worth it. The hate isn't worth it.

[singtotheskiies]

Saving Grace

​​​​​​pairing: lafayette x reader words: 3000 (i know guys i'm so extra lmao) warnings: blood, war, things of that nature, ending is literal crap because it's 5 in the morning summary: reader is a battlefield nurse who must take care of a wounded Laf, who becomes smitten with his savior.

You had always been different. It was just a fact. When you were a young girl, only seven, you acquired a reputation with your classmates of being a tomboy. You weren't interested in such things as clothes and looking pretty—in fact, you hated such ideals. Instead, you preferred to play with the boys in your school, searching for bugs and rocks in the scratched ground, hiking up your skirts in such an undignified manner that your highly proper mother would surely have fainted at the sight. She was certainly upset when you enlisted to be a battlefield nurse. You had always been interested in medical topics and signed up nearly right after you heard. As soon as she found out, she came flying into the room, managing to look dignified even as her numerous skirts and petticoats flew out behind her in a bustling mass that reminded one of a ship at full sail. "(Y/N), you have done many unwise things before, but this—" here she waved her hands about helplessly, hopelessly "—this tops them all. How could you, young lady? You could be killed! You could be traumatized or catch an illness and die! What were you thinking?" You rose, incensed. "Mother," you said, in a low, angry voice, "this is the only way I can help the Revolution. I can't fight, I can't run for office, and I cannot vote. I am hopeful that this will change one day, but I am not about to sit around at home and do nothing! At least this way I am able to help men who can make a difference by saving their lives and putting them back on the battlefield!" Your father had come in by now, drawn into the living room by the loud voices of you and your mother. "What is going on?" he shouted over the two of you. "Your daughter—" your mother spat at the same time you said, "Mother doesn't—" "One at a time," your father said, spreading his hands in a gesture that clearly meant slow down. "Your daughter has enlisted to become a battlefield nurse," your mother said angrily. "I have tried to warn her of the dangers of such a profession, but she refuses to listen. Dear, please tell her not to go." You uncrossed your arms, gazing intently at your father's face. You knew his abolitionist beliefs ran deep, causing him to support the ongoing rebellion. Doubt played over his face; he was clearly torn between his beliefs and love for you and the desire to please his wife. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "As disappointing as it will surely be to you, my dear," he said, motioning to your mother, "I have to agree with (Y/N). She is able to help our country in this position and I believe it will be better for her than just sitting at home and revolving through the social circles." Your mother's face grew stormier still. "We have no country! We belong to England! It is simply a passing phase, a small period of rebellion that will be subdued! And (Y/N) needs to become acquainted with the ins and outs of social life! It's the only way to find her a suitable match and you know it!" she cried. You sighed. This again. "Mother, I want to choose the man I marry. Love shouldn't be forced. It should be mutual and founded on deep trust and respect. I'm not interested in flirting and gossip. When the right man comes along, I'll just—well, I'll know it." You and your father both knew what came next—the long spiel about how your parents' marriage had been arranged and how they were just as happy as any natural couple. He dragged your mother out of the room with a soft "Let's go, dear," and a pitying look that you knew meant he would try to talk some sense into her. He must have been somewhat successful, for you were off to training in a matter of days. There were twenty other young women in the class with you, which was considered a high number, and you were put under the charge of the local doctor, who was known to be surly at the best of times. However, your talent became clear and you soon left everyone behind in terms of progress. He couldn't help but admire your skill, and he gave you many kind, if rather gruff and grudging, compliments. After three weeks of training, it was clear that you needed to be sent out to the lines as soon as possible. Someone with your level of skill couldn't be left behind; you were needed. You were told that you would be sent out to a battlefield to serve Continental troops under General George Washington. He was famous everywhere, and you were always swamped with questions at social events. The ride to the camp was somewhat lacking in comfort; you rode in a carriage drawn by a horse who seemed bent on running the vehicle across every single rut and stone lying in the street. However, you emerged from the two-hour ride all in one piece, if a battered and bruised one. You were greeted by a young soldier who looked to be about twenty years of age. He snapped a crisp salute. "Miss (Y/N), ma'am?" "Yes, that's me. The new nurse." "I am Sergeant Locke. I have been ordered to show you to your quarters. Doctor Scott will show you everything you will need to know tomorrow." There was something odd about the man—he wasn't even in a proper uniform, but he exuded all the cocky confidence of a British officer. It wasn't exactly a negative thing, it just seemed odd and out-of-place in such a situation. "Thank you, Sergeant." He held out a hand for your luggage and marched smartly to a small tent towards the center of the camp. "This one's yours, ma'am," he said, placing your suitcase on a small table made of dark wood in one corner of the tent. "Try to sleep. It may be the only rest you get for who knows how long." He left on this cheery note. You dropped into the single straight-backed chair, exhausted, and looked around the bleak interior of the tent that was now yours. You didn't know what the next day, week, month, however long, held for you. Death and suffering beyond imagining would be manifested to you, and you knew that it would shape you for the rest of your life. Of course, you didn't realize just how important your service would end up being. You were just concerned with sleep; you needed it after that horrendous ride. Despite your new surroundings and forebodings of the following day, it came quickly. ------- Fortunately, Doctor Scott was the nicest man you could ever hope to work for. He was also unexpectedly old. You had imagined a man in his mid-thirties, maybe, but he was around sixty. His hair stood up around his face in a round, white shock, and his clear blue eyes were framed by small rimmed glasses. However, despite his age, his spotted hands were gentle and skilled. You liked him at once, and he couldn't help but feel the same. You were a young, pretty woman who was clearly passionate about what you were doing. No matter how bad an injury was, you always kept your wits about you and worked calmly in life-or-death situations. Hundreds of lives were saved because of your work. You did so well that General Washington himself commended you on your successful treatments. Everything was going perfectly—that is, until one day, a certain patient came to the medical tent and shattered life as you knew it into shards. The Marquis de Lafayette. ------ "Critical patient coming! Miss (Y/N), you're needed!" a minor doctor yelled. Two soldiers came rushing in, stepping quickly but carefully, bearing a stretcher between them. They hoisted it up onto the table and released their grip. You wiped your hands on a towel and hurried over to check the wounded man. Needless to say, you were blown away. He he was badly battered and bloodied, but you could see that underneath the caked dirt and dried blood, he was undeniably attractive. His skin was a rich brown color, a nearly perfect match of the coffee you made for your father every morning at home. His hair spiraled from his head in thick corkscrew curls, and his defined jawline was dotted with stubble. His large mouth opened slightly to reveal very white teeth, and his eyes were closed and drawn tight with pain, despite his unconscious state. You took this all in, then shook your head. "What has happened to this man?" you asked hurriedly. "Shot in the leg, he was, marm," answered one soldier. "Blood everywhere, there was. Passed out about a minute after bein' wounded, I'd say. Shot mighta severed somethin' important." "Thank you," you said, your mind working quickly. "Please step outside for the time being. I need all the room I can get." They did as you said, and you got to work, lifting up the cloth covering his lower body. The wound was much worse than you expected. His entire leg was stained with the blood from the gaping hole in his lower thigh. You quickly tore off part of his pants, trying to subdue the rising color in your cheeks. He made a small, soft groan of pain, and you saw his eyes slowly, and with no small effort, blink open. Chocolate. His eyes were rich, dark chocolate. ------- Blurred shapes. A light-colored streak directly in front of him. After the shades came the pain. Then the darkness, the nothingness. But then, too soon, the light was back. No, no, let me go back, he thought. The darkness is better. No pain there. But the light refused to go, would not stop coming at him, growing until he was able to move and was hit with waves of pain. He groaned, the quiet sound too small to express the hurt. Then his eyes opened, two slits of the world revealed. And what saw made his eyes widen immediately. He didn't even feel the pain for a moment. He saw what could only be described as an angel. Her hair was what he saw first. Shiny and soft-looking, it was tied back. Strands of it escaped from its confinement, reaching down to frame her face like a crown. He smiled internally. Your halo is tattered. The face her hair framed was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. The soft curves of her cheek, her eyelashes, the more angular lines of her nose, her upper lip. I have never known beauty before now, he thought. Now I have found it. He sank into the darkness again, but this time, it had to pull at him more insistentently. ------ He had stared straight into your eyes for what seemed forever, then wandered around your face, his mouth parting slightly as if to say something. Then he went under again, and you shook yourself. Get to work, you thought. This man could be dying. ------ He made it through the night. That was the first sign toward a good recovery. A few of his veins had been severed, but you were able to tie up the loose ends. However, his lower leg remained pasty and colorless. You had your doubts about whether or not he would ever regain the use of his leg. The word amputation even crossed your mind a few times. Although you were most worried about the fact that he was still unconscious. He hadn't felt a thing as you were touching his wound, and that concerned you. However, you decided to clean off some of the dirt and dried blood that caked his face. You made your way over to his bedside with a bowl of cool water and a cloth and began softly wiping off the grime. This time, his eyes fluttered open to meet yours, and you were shocked again by the concentration of the color, the intensity of the pure pools of brown. He croaked out something unintelligible, and you leaned closer, furrowing your brow. He tried again, but couldn't speak. However, you could tell that his mouth was forming the word "water." Working quickly, you filled a cup with fresh water from a pitcher and held it up to his mouth. He drank with some difficulty, then sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. You looked concernedly at him. His eyes found their way to your face again, and you couldn't stop the blush staining your cheeks no matter how hard you tried. "Your name...What's your name?" he asked, hoarsely. "(Y/N)," you told him. "How are you feeling?" "Like I've been shot," he responded, the corners of his mouth twitching up. You listened to his voice. There was a heavy lilt to his voice; his words were laced with a rich, lovely accent. "Are you—French?" you asked him. "Oui, mademoiselle. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. But those who know me call me Lafayette. It is a sort of a—how you say—nickname." Your eyes widened. This man was one of the most important men in the Continental Army. You felt even more of a duty to get him back up and fighting. "And, mademoiselle, I must say that I have seen wonders great and small, but none so stunning as you." Your eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I am considered quite...plain at home. Ordinary," you told him. "In all of my native France, there has never been a fleur so magnifique." You understood enough French to know what he was saying. Feeling suddenly flustered and awkward, you excused yourself. "I...I must be going. Please tell me if you need anything." He nodded and lay back down. "Thank you," he said. ------ However hard you tried, you couldn't get the Frenchman out of your head. His words swirled through your mind, bringing a smile to your face every time. You were required to administer to him every day, and you savored the time you spent with him. He told you stories about France and you told him about your family, how your mother wanted to arrange every aspect of your life and how you wanted to be free, independent, able to make your own choices. And each time you looked into those chocolate eyes and softly wiped down his forehead and heard his lovely accent, you couldn't help but fall more in love. Despite his words the first time you spoke, you couldn't help but feel that he didn't feel the same. He was an important figure in the newborn American cause, a famous soldier and diplomat. You were just you. The everyday battlefield nurse; nothing special. However, you didn't see his eyes following you when you were busy around the tent, humming to yourself and straightening up anything that needed it. He saw your instinctive ability to please without trying, to brighten the day of every soldier you cared for. The look in his eyes as he gazed at you would have made you melt, but you were busy and never once thought that he could love you back. Even General Washington noted how highly he spoke of you when he came to check on your patient. "Keep treating him well, (Y/N)," he would tell you. "Yes, sir," would be your reply. It wasn't until he was leaving the medical tent that you realized how much he really meant to you. You walked into the tent, then stopped short. His bed was empty, unoccupied. You ran out to the door of the tent, and saw his form walking away, steadying himself with a large stick when needed. "Mister Lafayette!" you called after him. "Ah, Miss (Y/N)," he responded. "Where—where are you going?" you asked, anxiously. "Why, haven't you heard? I've been cleared. You have done your job well," he told you, grinning his wide smile that never failed to make you go weak. "Oh," was all you could say. "What, does the lovely nurse miss me already?" he asked, teasing in his voice. "I—I didn't think you'd leave so soon," you told him. You had never felt weaker, more powerless in your entire life. "I won't see you again." "My dear lady," he said, stepping closer to you. "I practically have free range of this camp. I will always find you. Besides, you mean too much to me. I could never leave you behind." And with that, almost before you knew it, his mouth was on yours and the rest of the world vanished. His lips were finally, finally yours. You made a small sound and he pulled you impossibly closer to him, his arm snaking around the small of your back, its strength evident. Your hand tentatively reached up to do what you had wanted to do forever, to run your fingers through his mass of ebony corkscrew curls. And it felt so right that you didn't even think of letting go, of stopping, even when a voice screamed out, "Good God!" Sergeant Locke was scandalized.

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