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#i hold that new years bed wars stream Near and Dear to my heart
cupidlakes · 3 years
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i’m thinking about it and it’s really sweet actually that corpse and tina excessively thanked george for sticking around in the among us lobby commending him for “not leaving after an hour and a half” it’s nice that there’s a track record of people being genuinely grateful to george for the way he offers up his time and it must be nice to hear considering it’s likely quality time is his love language
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band--psycho · 3 years
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Natasha Romanoff x Reader-I Miss You
Marvel Masterlist
Requested by my dear friend @xacatalepsyx​: I know with your challenges and life in general you might be a bit busy, but I was wondering if you’ve got the time maybe you’d consider writing me a wee imagine for me…? 🥺🙏I’ve been in a marvel mood lately, and still can’t get over Nat’s death, (cause she was bloody amazing and I wont hear any less 😭), so I was hoping maybe you’d consider doing something with Nat and a reader/oc, whatever you’re up to do!I’d like it if it could be kept to the script, (I.e. Nat’s death), but the other details of the story are entirely up to you!
This is my first time writing for Natasha Romaoff so I hope you enjoy this 
(Credit to the gif owner)
Third Person POV
“Hey sweetheart,” Natasha began, trying to work out what to say to the camera. It was Steve’s idea, Natasha refused to go to talk about the pain she was feeling about losing Y/n, but just like everyone else who lost someone to the snap, she was suffering. So this was Steve’s idea of helping, the only way he knew how. So he told her to make a video diary of sorts, for both her and Y/n. Part of her thought that this was a stupid idea, what was the point of her recording herself for Y/n when she’d never see it. But there was another part of her. A hopeful little spark in the assassins heart, that maybe, maybe one day Y/n would be able to see these videos. And if she didn’t, for now it was a form of therapy...for now at least.
“God I don’t even know what to say...a lot’s changed around here, I’m now working with some sort of space raccoon...that can talk,” a small chuckle laced her voice, but the sadness was buried deep in her eyes and she knew she couldn’t hide it. So she just continued to say everything that had been happening lately, how the world was adjusting to having half the population vanish, the meetings she’d had with al the leaders about it. Although she tried to stop her thoughts focusing on Y/n. Natasha had been on the run with Steve for two years, she didn’t think Y/n would want anything to do with her when she came back but as soon as they saw each other it was like nothing had changed. Y/n wasn’t mad. She didn’t shout. In fact the first thing Y/n did when she saw her, was hug her, so tight that Natasha thought she was gonna suffocate in the hug (not that she would’ve minded all that much). Natasha just wished she could’ve said goodbye before the snap happened. She was hoping the whole way back to the compound that she hadn’t been turned to dust, that she just had her phone on silent or something like that (Y/n was prone to doing things like that) but when the remaining avengers returned back to the compound, Natashas worst fear was confirmed. She just wished she could see Y/n again, even if it was for thirty seconds, just so that she could tell her how much she loved her, so she could smell the familiar vanilla scent of her perfume and hug her one last time...just one more time. But that wasn’t possible and Natasha knew that, though that didn’t stop the hopeful dreams of Y/ns return from flooding into her mind.
“I miss you, sweetheart, I really...really do,” Natasha breathed with a shaky breath, the tears now freely falling from her eyes. All she wanted to do was bring her back, even if it was just for a minute, just to tell Y/n how much she loved her. Just to hold her in her arms one more time, to hear her infectious laugh, to see her gorgeous eyes and her the smile that she fell in love with...she wanted to be able to say goodbye to Y/n but like everyone in the world who lost someone to the snap, she never got that chance. 
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~~~~~~
Natasha tried to hide the excitement on her face when she turned on the camera, setting it down infront of her. 
“Hey, sweetheart,” She began, starting her video off the same way she’s started all the previous videos before. But this video was different than any of the other before. Natasha’s eyes looked brighter, more hopeful than any of the previous videos. 
“If you ever tell Tony I said this, I will deny all knowledge but he’s a genius,” she said a chuckle lacing her voice at the end, as she continued to explain the plan they’d all come up with. A wide smile tugging at her lips as the words,“We’re gonna bring everyone back.”left her mouth. 
“I’m gonna bring you back,” she whispered, her heart almost leaping out of her chest at the excitement of seeing Y/n again. For two years, Natasha had been on the run, never seeing Y/n until Thanos arrived and even then, the meeting between the pair was brief, no where near enough time for either of them to makeup for those lost year not with the war that was going on and Y/n understood that. She knew Natasha had a job to do, the plan was that once the war was over they’d make up for all the time that had been lost. The snap changed that all though but now, now the reality of getting Y/n back was starting to sink in and for the first time in five years Natasha found herself truly happy. 
~~~~~~
Y/ns POV
I looked around the room, confusion racing through my brain, my eyes . I was back at the compound. I couldn’t believe it. I was back home. I never gave up hope, I knew everyone that was left behind would find a way to bring us back. I didn’t know how they were gonna do it, but they did. And now I was back. I bolted down the stairs of the compound only to be met with a mixture of confused and relieved looks. 
“Y/n...?” Steve breathed, walking closer to me.
“I don’t know how you did it, but whatever you did, it worked,” I replied, before being pulled into a hug which I gladly reciprocated. I peered over his shoulder seeing all the familiar faces that I’d missed so much (and a few new faces) but the one face I longed to see, I couldn’t. 
“Where’s Nat?” I asked, pulling away from the hug slightly. I saw a frown tug at the super soldiers face when I mentioned her name, and his eyes looked away from mine, purposely avoiding my gaze. 
“Steve? Where’s Nat?” I asked again, the confusion and worry evident in my voice as my eyes landed on Clint who was already looking at me with a solemn look. 
“Clint?” I asked as he made his way towards me. I felt the worry grow inside me when I saw his bloodshot eyes. 
“I’m sorry...” He whispered as he pulled me into a tight hug, his head resting on the top of my head. 
“I’m so sorry Y/n...” he whispered again; I pulled away slightly to see the tears running down his face.
“We needed to get all the stones from different times to...to attempt to bring everybody back,” Tony explained from behind us, causing my eyes to focus on him.
“But...the souls stone..it needed a sacrifice-“ Clint muttered, squeezing my shoulder softly. I didn’t need to him to finish the sentence, I knew what he was saying. His eyes said it all. And in that moment, I felt my heart break. I practically collapsed into Clint’s arms, breaking down completely at the truth that was now setting in. Natasha sacrificed herself to bring everyone back...to bring me back. She was gone, she wasn’t coming back...I was never going to see her again. I was never going to be able to tell her how much loved her..I’d got my life back but I’d lost her.
~~~~~~
I left the others downstairs so that they could discuss the next steps for their plan. I went up to the bedroom Nat and I had shared before she went on the run with Steve. I noticed a few of my old jumpers lying on the bed, I picked one up, and the aroma of Nat’s perfume filled my nose. I held it close to my chest, as I fell down to my knees, the tears streaming down my eyes, wishing that I could just bring her back. 
A few moments passed and I heard a knock at the door, I didn’t answer, unable to find my voice in between the sobs. At my silence, the door opened and I saw Steve standing at the entrance. 
“Steve, I’m really not in the mood-“ I began only to be cut of by the knowing look of Steve. 
“To deal with people? I know, I’m not staying, I just thought I should give you this,” he explained with a sympathetic smile as he placed the camera down infront of me. 
“Why?”I asked sending him a quizzical look as I lightly picked up the camera. 
“Because it might help,” He said, squeezing my shoulder comfortingly before leaving the room. I looked at the camera for a few minutes, fighting myself on whether or not I should watch it or not. Tentatively I picked up the camera and clicked the play button. 
I felt my heart swell as the tears spilled from eyes when I heard the voice I longed to hear say “Hey sweetheart.” She’d changed so much, yet not at all. I saw the sadness in her eyes and I wanted nothing more than to reach through the camera and hug her as tight as I possibly could. 
“I miss you, sweetheart, I really...really do,” I heard her say and the words felt like a dagger to my heart. 
“I miss you too, baby,” I sobbed as I pulled the camera into my chest listening to her words. 
Tagging: 
@barneswidow​ @muzzyandbusy​ @impala1967dwinchester​ @coldlilheart​ @amaryllis23​ @wild-rose-35 @rustedbridges​ @tigerf-cker​ @mesmerisedangel​ 
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Far away - P. Parker.
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This is an overload of angst, inspired by - and named after - ‘Far Away’ by Nickleback (yes, I’m a nickleback fan, I’m sorry). There WILL be a part two.
No this was not requested, and the gif is not mine. I hope y’all like it!
Original story by sarcastically-defensive17
WARNING: the contents of this story may be triggering to some readers. This story contains: domestic arguing, mentions of familial death and guilt, mentions of violence, mentions of abandonment, pregnancy, Peter and Y/N both being bitches, and all round angst. Please do not read if this may cause you any offense or trigger you in any way
It had been near 2 months since she had seen Peter. In person, that is.
The relationship between Y/F/N and Peter Parker was an odd one. Best friends through middle school, they were like two peas in a pod. Inseparable to the point where Y/N was adopted as an honorary Parker.
In high school, tragedy struck both of them. Y/N’s mother left, divorcing her father and leaving for California. Ben Parker died, shot by a lawless mugger when he was out looking for Peter. Peter blamed himself. Y/N fell in with the popular crowd, looking for any chance to distract herself from her overwhelming anger. Peter became distracted, finding any and every excuse to escape school once he began an internship with Mr. Tony Stark. Peter and Y/N often vied for the attention of Liz Allen, their crushes on the woman making their anger with one another overflow whenever they were in each other’s presence.
In University, they reunited and decided to start over. One thing led to another and they quickly became lovers, with distance between.
Until she fell pregnant. 7 months into their relationship, she found out about the new life growing inside of her. She was ecstatic, but full of nerves. Peter was anxious, worried for his child and the woman he loved.
Life as Spider-Man was hectic. He grappled with the thought of her getting hurt because of him every day. He had seen the danger that had come to Pepper, what happened to Ben, Ned, almost everybody he held dear.
Her first trimester went by with a rocky start. Y/N fought with her own fears, wondering how she could be a mother when her own wasn’t there to teach her. Nevertheless, she loved peter. She gave her all to him, but he was distant, growing more so every day.
She didn’t want him to go. He had risked his life - and their relationship - far too many times in the past year. He knew it was a risk, he knew his life would be in danger every second he was undercover, but he still went.
Then Tony told him to go undercover.
She was in New York, about to hit her third trimester, and he was in Belgium, unaware of the life growing inside of her.
He broke the news to her of his undercover mission with Clint three nights before he left. That same day, he had missed their scheduled appointment to find out the sex of their baby.
To say there was an argument would be an understatement.
She had printed the picture up, gotten a card for him, and left it waiting on their shared bed for when he got home. Spider-Man was only half of his job, the other half was spent with incredibly long hours at the lab with Tony working on whatever their incredible minds could think of that day.
Sometimes she felt as if their relationship had been mostly made up of her waiting on him.
He had walked in the door, moving to gather his stuff together from the spare room they had in their apartment that housed his gear. They were set to turn it into a nursery.
He told her of the mission as soon as he walked in, immediately erasing the excited grin from her features.
“How long is it going to take?” She fought the nerves from building, knowing that the longest mission he had been on before had been two weeks. Tony told her when her and peter moved in together that Peter wouldn’t be expected to go on a mission any longer than that.
Peter sighed, grabbing a large bag. He had to head back for debriefing, and training before the mission began. He didn’t expect to be back home before he had to leave. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had came to terms with the fact that he was Spider-Man before he was Peter.
“I don’t know, Y/N. At least a month and a half-“
“You can’t go!” She interrupted.
Peter chuckled softly, paying no mind to her growing anger. “Yeah, I do. Clint and I are the only ones that can go unnoticed. Nobody has seen my face, and Clint has done so many undercover missions. He’s practically living a new life every month.” He hustled around the room once again, grabbing every box of spare cartridges for his web shooters. “After all, this is what I do.”
Y/N scoffed. Recently, he had been putting everything before his family. He missed their anniversary in favour of working on a new web formula with Tony. Her birthday was spent alone with nothing but a 10 minute phone call from him because he was on patrol. Now, he had missed the day they had both been looking forward to for months.
She didn’t want to be selfish, she loved him fiercely, but his child needed him too. Every time he left the house with his suit, she feared for his life. Now, she had the baby to think about too. It was about more than just her.
She tried to push down her feeling that he didn’t even want to be a father.
Peter rolled his eyes at her scoff. “Y/N. I’m Spider-Man. That means that I need to help people, not just be here when you want me to.”
“That’s not what it is, Peter!” She exclaimed, eyes widening at his words. “I’m due in three months!”
He rubbed his hand down his face, huffing. “Y/N, can you just stop? Please? I need to go, and you’re not going to stop me. This is my job. Tony and May are here.”
“I thought your ‘job’ was spending hours with Stark and forgetting that I exist,” she snarled, making quotation signs with her hands. Tensions had been high between them lately, the past two weeks turning their house into a war zone. She was sure her news would bring a happier note, but the news was all but forgotten at the time. “We are your family, Peter!
His eyes were blazing with anger, his bags in his hands as he slipped past her to the door. He spared a look at her swollen stomach, almost sadly.
“Peter!” She called after him as he ignored her, stomping through their apartment.
She tried a few more times, latching onto his hand as he got closer to the door.
“Please, don’t go. The last mission you were on, you came back with four broken ribs and a concussion. I can’t lose you, we need you,” he refused to look at her.
“You won’t lose me, y/n. I’m an adult, I don’t need you to babysit me. Enough, I need to go. This is about more than just you, so please cut the crap,” he sighed at her, anger pulling his brows down and crinkling his nose in the way she had memorized.
Y/N had struggled with trust issues since before her mother left, and she had used all of her courage to trust peter, but the anger and fear were too much, her mouth working without instruction. “Why don’t you just fucking admit that you don’t want to have a family, Peter? You’ve made it perfectly obvious that the baby means nothing to you!”
That set him off. “Grow the fuck up, Y/N. This may shock you, but this isn’t about you, for once! Don’t you ever say that I don’t want this child.”
She scoffed at him again, spitting, “you couldn’t even bother to fucking show up for the sonogram today. Our baby is fine by the way, not that it matters, obviously.”
His laugh was evil. “You’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? I’m sorry that I have a job, unlike you. I fucking save people, every day. I don’t have time to hold your hand through fucking everything because you’re a narcissist!”
She was taken aback by his shout, her next words flying out without the filter between her brain and mouth coming into action. “You know what? Fine!” She shoved his arm away. “If you walk out that door, don’t fucking bother coming back. You don’t care that we need you here, so don’t even bother being apart of this.”
“You’re kicking me out because I’m going on a mission?” His laugh was sarcastic, almost full of disbelief. “You really are selfish, Y/N.” He wrenched the door open with his free hand, not bothering to kiss her like he always did before a mission. No further words were exchanged, only a longing glance at her stomach and a fleeting look in her eyes.
She was left in the quiet apartment.
She trudged to their room - her room, now - fighting the tears threatening to fall. The photo of their baby was sitting carefully on the bed right next to the card.
The dam broke, tears streamed down her face and sobs ripped from her chest.
She picked up the photo of herself and Peter from when they announced their pregnancy. He was on his knees in front of her, hands on either side of her small bump, smiling brightly with love in his eyes, and she was looking at him the same way.
She flung it against the wall, watching the glass shatter from the frame and fall to the ground.
She pulled the card up from its spot, reading over the words inside.
‘I have loved you all along, Peter. Thank you for beginning this journey with me. We’re so far from where we began.
I know that our little girl will be as perfect as you are.
All my love, Y/N.”
The two months has passed agonizingly slow. Her heart wrenched each day when she woke to an empty bed. Their baby grew steadily, now a month away from making her entrance.
Her new routine had been to watch the news every morning before her daily run. Her work hours had decreased, but she filled her schedule to clear her head, in order to stop the pain.
She hadn’t spoken to peter since he left, she barely even knew where he was.
Jedd Walters was on the news, his booming voice echoing through her house as she watched from the kitchen.
“This just in,” his voice grew more urgent. “After months of being undercover, we are saddened to report that beloved Avengers, Spider-Man and Hawkeye are missing after a KGB detonated bombing brought down the building they were in. After two days of searching, neither man has been found, but many Belgium citizens have been wounded, with no casualties as of yet. More information will come available as the story progresses.”
The scream that tore from her throat was full of pain, and the tears that fell from her cheeks burned.
Tag list: @starshonerose @another-lonely-heart @mantlereid @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3
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13atoms · 3 years
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Centuries Apart (Dhawan!Master x Reader)
Based on this lovely request for a Chameleon-Circuit-ed companion by @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ <3  [2.1k]
The Master could never explain the way he was drawn you. From first sight, it had been a fascination which you felt in yourself too. He wanted you with him, both of you excusing his weak excuses to spend time with you. At first it had seemed magnetic, possessive, that was the only type of connection that you had imagined him capable of. But soon you were living with him, watching as he sauntered around his TARDIS, insistent on impressing you with all of space and time. He was sweet and kind, when he wanted to be, and each time it surprised you.
Your undefined relationship was something strange, something unique and more than any earth terms could define. The lack of labels didn’t bother you. He never gave you time to worry about that, because you were enjoying yourself so much.
Spending time with him suddenly felt like all that mattered, as natural as breathing.
The early days had just been fun. The flirting, the planets, the adventures and the attention. Moreover, it had been surprisingly fulfilling for both of you. Then things had changed. Late night conversations had drifted towards the personal, the Master feeling more at ease with you than he had in centuries. With trust came casual fondness, caring for one another, confessions about Gallifrey, about his fears and your own and then finally it all felt so natural.
‘Adventures’ and ‘research’ and ‘conquests’ turned into ‘days out’ and ‘holidays’, then tentatively… ‘dates’.
It was all innocent, in a way which surprised you with this impossible man. In some ways, it felt like you’d known him forever.
Then he’d brought up the locket. Burnished silver which had hung around your neck for as long as you could remember, you had protected it through adventure after adventure, never letting it out of your sight.
“Where did you get it?” he’d asked one night, the pair of you exhausted and drunk on adrenaline, laying on adjacent TARDIS sofas.
One day you’d summon the courage to share, you knew he was waiting for you, for the day you’d lay down beside him instead of a few feet away. I’ll summon up the courage tomorrow, you’d told yourself a hundred times.
Absentmindedly you picked it from where it lay off centre on your clavicle, toying with the locket on its chain.
“I don’t remember,” you shrugged, “why?”
“You never take it off. I’ve bought you nicer jewellery, you just… don’t wear any of it. You never take that old locket off.”
You gave a laugh, and he smiled.
“Fine, I’ve stolen nicer for you. Answer the question,” he teased.
A few months ago it would’ve been too personal to ask about, but now there was nothing of your foggy memories he didn’t know. You always wanted to tell him more, but your life on earth just felt so… different. Like it wasn’t yours.
Still, you had no secrets anymore. You supposed.
“I just… I’ve always had it. I like it.”
“Can I see?”
With a shrug you reached to unfasten the clasp, finding your fingers trembling. Instead, you turned to face away from the Master, allowing him to reach up from his reclined position and undo the fastening, taking the necklace to inspect. You found yourself getting strangely nervous as he pulled the chain between his fingers, playing with it. You swallowed the irrational feeling.
This was the Master. You could trust him.
“I wonder how old it is?” you pondered, and he smiled.
“Not old, but I don’t think it is from earth, which is…” he frowned suddenly, “curious.”
You frowned too, as his finger slid along the clasp.
“I don’t think it opens – ” you began.
You would know, surely, if it opened. How could you not? You’d had it for years, your whole time with the Master and on earth, surely you’d –
The Master’s thumb slid easily along the edge of the locket, cracking it open as he inspected the intriguing metal with his bottom lip between his teeth.
Then everything went blinding gold.
*
Everything burned. Your whole body, as you gasped for air on the Master’s sofa. The pulsing of the TARDIS and the Master’s fear were bombarding your mind, making your own fear rise as you could hear the Master’s high-speed train of concerned thoughts projected unprotected into your mind.
As you grew more and more frantic in your own telepathic thoughts, he stopped projecting, apparently unaware you’d been able to hear.
“Darling?”
His voice came into your mind and your ears milliseconds apart, but you could tell, even in the void of the Time Vortex where the ship rested.
The string of Gallifreyan which left your mouth felt strange, muscles unused for decades. How long had you been flung on earth? Who had left you there? The Doctor? You remembered a stolen ship, and an eccentric scarf and screaming for a Koschei as the bright light of regeneration energy had been snatched from you into a petite necklace. And after the Doctor had hung it around your neck he’d thrust you into a life you didn’t recognise and left you. And –
The Master’s deep brown eyes were watery, impossibly wide as he stared down at you.
It was like he was seeing you for the first time, taking in your every feature as if he was committing it to memory.
Without making eye contact, he pressed one hand to your wrist, delicately finding your pulse point and holding his breath. You could feel it yourself – what he was looking for.
That unmistakable double heartbeat.
You could feel it in your own chest, as your body painfully shifted into place, numbed a little by adrenaline. Your newly strengthened senses took in so much that you couldn’t focus on a single thing, overwhelmed. Though an overture of the warmth of his fingers and the smell of his sweat still managed to permeate through the haze.
“Who are you?” he breathed.
Another string of unfamiliar Gallifreyan rushed from your mouth before you could think a word in English, and the Master’s eyes shone with tears, his breath hitching.
There was only one emotion bombarded towards you, along with the TARDIS’ noisy stream of consciousness, and that was hope. From the ship and her Timelord.
Hope.
“It can’t be you,” he seemed to be begging, refusing to let his hearts be broken by an imposter or a mistake.
You could feel his fears, in plain and simple Gallifreyan in your head.
It’s me, you projected back.
Then, your fake childhood was replaced with a real one.
It flashed across your mind, a flipbook of memories. Hours in the academy with Koschei and Theta, stolen glances at the former and raucus fun with the latter, your friendship with them growing and maturing and straining and then –
“You thought I was dead?” you realised.
“Of course I did,” he breathed, suddenly crouched by your side, his couch now a hospital bed as he seemed to beg for this to be real. “I’d… I thought I’d never see you again.”
“How long was I on earth?”
You looked around for the discarded locket, like it might offer you answers, but it was in the Master’s hands. He pulled it to his lips with a gentle reverence, and you wondered if he could somehow tell how old the Chameleon Circuit was from its cool metal against his lisps.
He just shook his head.
“How old are you?” you asked, and the Master smiled wryly.
“I don’t remember,” he admitted, “so much has happened since you…”
The word died lingered on his tongue, but found its way into your mind. His telepathic barriers were so unused, you hated to think how long he’d been alone.
“This is my second body,” you realised, and he smiled indulgently.
“I’ve had far more than that, dear.”
There was an ancientness, a sadness, in his eyes that you couldn’t remember from your childhood. It was forever ago for him now, you supposed. Gallifrey was gone. Your home was gone, you realised numbly. The Master seemed to hear your projected thoughts, his face falling, making you want to reach out and stroke his cheek until you could rouse a smile.
You longed for the strength to sit up, but you knew your body couldn’t take it. It was still bubbling, fizzing, settling, as regeneration energy coursed through you.
“How did you get here?” he whispered, “How did you die?”
“The Time War, I crashed, trying to – trying to run. Towards the Doctor. He… he saw the opportunity. Let his TARDIS spit me out here with a new identity. As a human. It is over?”
“The Time War?”
You nodded, fighting to keep the tears at bay, so many new thoughts battering your mind that it seemed ridiculous to be talking about the Time War as you woke up in your new body. It was regeneration sickness dialled up to 100, your consciousness slipping as a million new senses bombarded you.
“I… I think I told you. It’s all over…”
“Rassilion!” You realised, “When you told me that – ”
You stopped talking at the surge of pain which flowed from the Master at the mere mention of that name. He’d told you so many stories which you had never fully understood as a human, and now it was all flowing back into place. Your head ached, all the new stimulus and memories fighting for your attention, even as all you wanted to do was talk to the Master.
What were you now, you and him? Your childhood of longing to be near him, of treasuring every moment of your friendship, and now it was just you and him and the Doctor. The only survivors.
And you weren’t sure you could ever face the Doctor again. Not after they had forced you into humanity without your consent, in a fresh regeneration had never had the time to come to terms with.
“You need to sleep,” the Master soothed, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack as your thoughts spiralled, leaking from your mind to his.
“I’m… regeneration sickness… is it bad?”
It was covered at the academy, though it was academized and smoothed over, the information becoming useless. It had seemed so alien then, when you were young and stupid and arrogant. You remembered Theta saying he’d make each body last millennia, and Koschei had made fun of him for it. You certainly couldn’t remember any those classes now, so long ago and buried beneath memories of your friends joking around.
A sharp pain brought you back to the present, the Master wincing as you writhed on the sofa.
“It’s not fun,” the Master confessed, his warm hand smoothing your furrowed brow, “especially the first time, but you’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.”
“I know you will,” you smiled, curling up, watching as his face disappeared.
*
When you woke up on the couch, you were covered by the rich silk of your own bedsheets. The Master was mere feet away, a cup of tea in each of his hands.
“Morning,” he smiled, “you were out for days.”
You sat up, pulling the sheets around you. You couldn’t feel the cold, not in the way you had as a human, but the safety of the sheets was nice. You took the tea, stifling a cry as the hot cup burnt your skin, and the Master muttered an apology as you took it more carefully.
“Fresh skin,” he smiled sympathetically, “always tender.”
He sat beside you, careful not to hurt you or make you spill the tea, closer than he had when you were human. You noted it, even as your body felt like it was molten inside, how his hip pressed against yours through layers and layers of clothing and fabric.
“How do you feel?”
“Alright, weird, but good,” you smiled, and he gave an understanding nod.
He’d been through this plenty of times, and the thought broke your heart a little. How much had he done, lived through, endured, between the young man you’d left during the Time War and the version of him who sat beside you.
You let yourself relax a little, your body still sapped of energy from regeneration. You were starving, but you let yourself enjoy the moment for just a second. Food could wait. Your shoulder sagged against his, and he hummed contentedly at the contact.
“What should I call you?” you asked, blowing steam off your drink.
“What do you mean?”
“Master?”
“Oh! Koschei, please,” his voice dropped, both in volume and pitch, and you felt a sudden seriousness in his tone, “Koschei.”
A silence fell over the room, the comforting repetitive pulse of the TARDIS even more comforting now than it had been when you were human.
Back when he’d invited you on-board.
You weren’t who you thought you were, and you weren’t the person he had thought. The stories you’d told him weren’t you. The childhood you’d remembered wasn’t yours.
His hip pressed into yours, his body feeling warm now your body temperature had dropped.
You watched as he took a sip of his drink, before glancing over to you, a smile on his lips.
“Are you disappointed?” You asked.
His smile dropped. You felt suddenly vulnerable as he turned to properly face you, his eye contact unavoidable as he searched your face for answers you weren’t sure you had.
“You'll need to expand further than that, love.”
You gulped.
“That I'm not her, the human – ”  
His eyes were so serious, flickering from your lips to your eyes, his body curled towards you, almost smothering you.
“But you are.”
“I’m not –”
“I can’t lose you,” he blurted out suddenly, “not again. You’re… it almost killed me, the first time. No one knew where you were. The Doctor said you were… gone.”
“That bad?” you tried to joke, but you couldn’t keep it up.
His face fell.
“I spent centuries… and every dream, through everything… all I could think about was that I should’ve told you how I felt.”
“Centuries?” you whispered.
“Centuries.”
He wrapped an arm across you, getting closer still, and you searched his eyes.
There was so much unsaid. So much to figure out and discuss, but you knew it wouldn’t change your relationship. Neither of you were leaving the other.
“And now?” you asked.
“I’d still mean it.”
Burrowing your face against him, you could hear the thrum of his hearts, feel how much he meant it in your mind.
“What would you tell me?” you asked tentatively.
You could hear it in your mind, the word, the emotion. He smiled as you read his thoughts.
“That you’re staying. And that I… I loved you. Still do, I suppose.”
He cleared his throat.
“‘Love’ isn’t strong enough, not for people like us,” he told you, looking away while his words sent an ache through your hearts.
You smiled, but he wasn’t joking. Instead his deep eyes flickered to your lips, moving closer to cup your jaw. You could feel the drowsiness of regeneration sickness pulling at your mind, the uneasiness of your newly regained time senses. Mostly, you could feel the draw of his mind and body, after so long apart.
“Do you… do you want to stay?” he asked nervously.
Suddenly teary-eyed, you couldn’t help a watery laugh, nodding furiously and feeling his fingers bumping against your jaw, his smile matching yours. Your locket was still wrapped around his fingers, and as your eyes landed on the chain, he untangled it. The metal glinted before he fastened it around your neck, resting it back in that familiar spot, the fastener broken open.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he smiled apologetically, but you shook your head.
“Don’t,” you told him, “I want to keep it as it is.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please, Koschei.”
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gloves94 · 4 years
Text
Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 1
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Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: "You have everything you've ever wanted." "No." He said softly. "Not everything..." His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. "I guess not." She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes. 
My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T
"Uncle!" The young prince roared exasperated.
For once his uncle stood on the deck of the ship being quiet and distant. His eyes gazed out into the vast blueness that expanded so far you couldn't tell where the ocean ended and where the sky began. He wore a solemn expression on his face, both of his hands tucked inside of his sleeves. His eyes clouded with a rare sadness.
"I'm so close to capturing the Avatar! I'm going to lose his trail and we are losing precious time! I haveto regain my honor!" Prince Zuko barked. The dishonored banished Prince of the Fire Nation barked.
Iroh also known as the Dragon of the West, the retired general who had been disgraced at walls of Ba Sing Se remained pensive and let out a deep breath he had been holding.
"Why do we even have to go to the colonies?!" The frustrated prince threw his hands over his head.
"I already told you my dear nephew. I've received somber news. The sun has set on a dear friend Sencha's life. And so we must attend the service and show our respects to his spirit and his family."
"This is pointless!" Prince Zuko breathed out a cloud of fire, his exasperation boiling in the pits of his stomach. How he sometimes wished he could just shove his uncle into a sailboat and send him to out so that he could move on with his life and actually have a shot at regaining his honor. Why couldn't his uncle just go by himself?
Zuko was too blinded to see the pain in his uncle's amber eyes.
"Patience," Iroh sighed wisely and stroked his gray beard. "If you allow it, the howling wind shall carry you to your destiny. Who knows? You might encounter something interesting in the colonies."
The prince remained silent.
"Perhaps even the Avatar?" Iroh baited glancing at his nephew from the corner of his eyes.
Zuko gripped the railing tightly, his body tense. His uncle turned to look at him and flashed him a weak smile before squeezing his nephew's shoulder.
xxx
The prince's military vessel docked at the port of Yu Doa.
The city of Yu Dow was one of the first Fire Nation Colonies. It was known for it's unique architecture and surprising co-existence of Fire and Earth bending cultures as near equals. Because of this Yu Dao was the Fire Nation's most powerful asset and wealthiest colony. It was also famously known for having the finest weapon craftsmen in the world.
"This place is... odd," Zuko observed as they made away across the city.
No royal had set foot in the colonies since the war began one hundred years ago and it was safe to say that people from the mainland thought less of those from the colonies. Sneering at them, calling them colonials, and laughing at stereotypes.
The city was quiet, its citizens wore funerary colors and expressions of mourning. All windows were closed and shops were closing early.
"Of course, they are mourning their governor."
The Prince also noted how the people in the streets did not shy away from them like others would've back in the mainland. They neither bowed nor cowered with disrespect. The prince and his uncle entered the gates of the golden palace and were received by an escort who lead them inside the building. The architecture was a mixture of emerald green and square shapes typical of Earth Kingdom architecture with contrasting bold golden pikes, maroon carvings, and large figures and carvings of crimson and golden dragons on the walls which were typical of Fire Nation architecture and culture.
"General Sencha was appointed as the Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao sometime after your grandfather Azulon rose to the throne. He was a brilliant general, brave, courageous, a good friend and also a worthy Pai Sho adversary," Iroh said with a smile as they were lead through a massive pair of intricately carved golden doors.
"His people, they mourn him. It's almost as if they care-" Zuko was interrupted. "They do," Iroh nodded. "Fire Lords don't often concern themselves with the Fire Colonies once they are tamed. Sencha took it upon himself to provide a life of equal opportunities to both Fire and Earth Kingdom citizens. Together they worked to build and grow the city making it the most powerful asset of the Fire Nation abroad. Because of that Yu Dao paved the way for its own culture and traditions to blossom. That's why this place seems so different to you."
For a moment Zuko thought about his grandfather, Azulon. Besides other aristocrats and the military it had been just another day when he passed. His people hadn't mourned him, he hadn't been missed by many. He certainly didn't miss him. The citizens of the Fire Nation didn't seem to care much for him, then again, he had been a cruel man. It was a drastic contrast to the ambiance in Yu Dao and the respect its people had for their passed leader.
It was then that they entered the heart of the governing room where the service was being held. It was dark and the room was barely illuminated by numerous candles which were burning at different heights. At the center hoisted above a bed of white arranged wild flowers and lilies lay a fine wooden coffin. There were few government officials and family in the private service. The disgraced prince and the retired general approached the front to pay their respects. Iroh knelt before the bed and meditated for a moment on his dear friend's memory. Zuko nodded his head in respect and he patiently waited for his uncle to stand. His eyes scanned the crowd as he attempted to distract himself, not wanting to linger his gaze on the coffin before him. It was then that a spot of red in the darkness captured his attention.
His eyes froze on a person with a hair color he had never seen before. He had never seen an individual with hair the color of fire. Auburn, red, maroon, he couldn't place his finger on the shade. The dim light made it even harder. She appeared to be around his age. Her blazing hair was wavy and reached down past midback, half of it up in the matter that was considered fashionable in the Fire Nation. Her expression was one of pure desolation as a woman whom he assumed to be her mother held her close while holding her hand.
"Prince Zuko!" Iroh whispered harshly elbowing him snapping him out of his train of thought. As he did the girl looked up and their eyes met. His lingered on her face for a second.
Her mother turned as did the man Zuko assumed to be her father. He turned his head sharply ready to walk away, but instead Iroh turned the opposite way and began walking in the way of of the Vice Royal family.
Xxx
"I-I think I need some air," gasped the girl as she took in a deep breath suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Her soul felt numb with the absence of her dear grandfather. She felt dizzy and partly nauseous. She had shed her tears and her eyes were dry from crying so much, over the past couple of days. Her nostrils felt irritated from blowing so many tissues. Her mom gave her hand a gentle squeeze and a sad smile before letting her go. She noted the two strangers that were approaching to pay their condolences.
Distraught she didn't bother in engaging with them or even checking out their improper attire. From the looks of it they were probably military from the Fire Nation mainland. She stepped out quickly suddenly feeling like she couldn't breath due to the stench of flowers, incense and burning candles. She in took a large gulp of fresh air when she reached the small garden outside the governing room. She sat on a stone bench that was placed before a small koi pond fountain and under a blossoming plum tree. Just a few days ago she had been sitting in this same bench with her grandfather. She had been holding onto his arm tightly, he had given her one of the plum blossom flowers, tucked it into her hair and was telling her stories about her late grandmother.
And now- he was gone.
She felt fat tears begin to swell in her eyes as her lungs felt heavy with woe. She had done enough crying. Death was part of life.
"Loss is part of life,"her grandfather had said to her sagely. "But nothing worth keeping is every truly lost."
Her tears certainly wouldn't bring him back. She sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight as an arrow, just as she had been taught her entire young life. Holding her head up with pride.
She didn't know how long she had been out here. Holding her breath, trying to hold it all together.
"The flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful and rare of all," a wise voice interrupted. Her ears had to be playing tricks on her.
It was her grandfather.
"W-What?" She turned bewildered.
Automatically a cascade of tears streamed down her unblinking amber eyes.
It wasn't.
She almost felt as if she had heard her grandfather. She wished it had been him. She sternly believed that those had been his words through a different voice. One that was unfamiliar to her. The man standing beside her was older. His hair was aged and gray and he was large. He seemed like a pleasant person carrying an air of peace and gentleness around him. The kind that his grandfather might've kept around for counsel or as a part of the governing cabinet. He was the one that had walked in late, with the boy with the scar on his face that had been glaring at her during the service.
"Blooming season can be powerful, glorious and intoxicating, but tragically short-lived," the man said wisely. "It is a visual reminder that our lives, too, are fleeting."
Who was this man that spoke in riddles with his wise tongue? Where had he come from?
"They also signify most important above all love." He reached down and with care picked up a lost flower. Lifting it up he offered it to her with kindness. Ceasing her crying the girl took the flower from the wise man.
"Thank you," she said quietly keeping her head lowered in respect.
"You must be Tsai, Sencha's granddaughter," it wasn't a question. He knew who she was. She nodded. The man lowered his head bowing before her. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was a good man, he was also one of my closest friends. Strange that he would pass on such a pleasant day," he commented raising up to view the clear sky above.
"My name is Iroh," he introduced himself. "I have come here with my nephew to pay my respects."
Tsai rose to her feet and bowed her head in equal respect. Of course she had heard of the famous General Iroh, the Dragon of the West. Afterall he had been first in line for the throne of Fire Lord just a couple of years ago.
"General," she acknowledged respectfully.
"There you are!" A woman of similar features to the girl approached the two. She wore a matching dark tunic and her hair was light brown and her eyes were a minty green.
"How embarrassing," she breathed. "I certainly hope Tsai wasn't bothering you with any nonsense General," her mother said as she wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders holding her close.
Being of Earth Kingdom decent Sanyu, her mother, had always been hyper conscious of her and her children's behavior. She couldn't afford for them to be shunned because of their Earth Kingdom heritage.
"Not at all," He smiled kindly. "And just Iroh, please."
"Has it-" Tsai turned asking her mother. She simply nodded. The body had been ignited in flames as it was customary in Fire Nation funerary tradition. Her expression twisted into a tormented one. "I really do apologize that you've come to visit us on such a somber occasion," her father stepped forward. It was the new Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao. He had introduced himself as Azah. "It would truly be an honor if you could join us for lunch. It is not often that we receive such as esteemed guests. Specially royalty from the mainland."
"Uncle, send for the ship to undock. We don't have any more time to waste," a voice rudely spat into the conversation.
It was that rude boy who had been glaring at Tsai during the service. She eyed him warily as she approached her and her family in the plum-blossom garden. The governor's eyes narrowed at the royal's rude behaviors. Sanju seemed oblivious to this.
"Please excuse my nephew. We'd love to join you," Iroh nodded. "Tsai, have you introduced yourself to Prince Zuko?" Her mother spoke tensely slightly grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her towards the prince.
"Uncle-" The other protested.
"Zuko you're always talking about honor. We are going to stay and join our host the Vice Royal Governor and his lovely family for some tea and dinner." Iroh grinned cheekily as he grabbed his nephew's arms tightly and slightly shoved him forward towards the other teen.
Both were awkwardly pushed to face each other as their families observed the impromptu match-making meeting all with knowing eyes and discrete growing grins. Tsai's older brother Mecha snickered from the back, she wanted to turn and glare at him but was instead once again nudged forward by her mother who was glaring daggers at her and poking an invisible knife at her back.
Her grandfather had just died, could they cut the match-making and courtship some slack?
The prince stood half a head taller than her. Maybe he appeared to be taller because of the way he wore his dark hair, in a tall ponytail, most of his head was cleanly shaved off and Tsai realized that he hadn't been glaring at her. That's just the way his face was, it was stuck in a mean scowling mug with suspiciously narrowed eyes. However the most striking feature was half of his face, which was scarred by fire in an ugly branding on his skin. Of course she had heard stories and rumors about the banished prince. Most girls her age would giggle and say he was extremely handsome, other rumors said that he got his scar in a training accident. However, it seemed that his temper and infamous bad character were no myth.
"Tsai of Yu Dao," She bowed down her head lightly bangs slightly falling forward as she did. "It is an honor your highness."
xxxx
AN: Woooooooooo, this Avatar Netflix revival is doing things to me. I think I LOVE Zuko more than I did when I was watching the series as a child. I'm super excited to see where this story goes. I'm almost done writing it at chapter 30 and I've grown super attached to these two characters.
Let me know what you guys think and send me some love!
Best,
xxx
First: [Here] Next:  https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621143206633046017/sunburn-prince-zuko-2
CHAPTER MASTERLIST
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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years
Text
A Broken Fairytale  -  Five
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Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU
Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize.
Warnings: Language (Maybe), Fluff, minor character death, lil angst
Word Count: 3.4K
A/N: okay boys. It’s been five months. Omg im so sorry!!
SERIES MASTERLIST MASTERLIST edited poorly but oh well :)
~*~
“Do you know who (Y/n) is?”
Brock looks at the woman then scoffs. “Yeah, new servant girl. Decent enough. Why?”
The woman walks towards the Knight. “I want her gone. She’s been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day I got her. Get rid of her.” Brock raises his eyebrows, “What like, kill her?”
The woman groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ideally, yes, I’d like her dead. But if you haven’t the stomach for that, then get her out of the picture in a different way. Kidnap her, ship her away, lock her up. I really don’t care. But my sister almost saw her daughter tonight. All these years of hard work… could’ve been wasted.”
Brock looks at the woman for a moment then shrugs, “what’s in it for me?” He asks. The woman smiles a yellow-toothed smile and pulls something from her pocket.
“This is what’s in it for you.” She drops a heavy coin purse into his hand and he smiles, opening it and inspecting the pieces of silver and gold in the light of the full moon.
“You want her gone? She’s gone.”
As he turns to leave, the woman grabs his shoulder.
“I want her gone before the new moon. And I’ll need proof. Or else it’ll be you being hunted. I’m a wicked woman and I always get my way.” She lets him go and he scoffs, brushing off his shoulder and shaking off the slight fear he feels.
“Like I said,” he turns on his heel to leave the property, “she’s gone.”
The woman smiles wickedly, content with herself and the way she’s taken care of her problem.
~
“(Y/n)! Hurry up! We won’t make it to Ben’s before sundown if you don’t move your be-hind!” Wanda calls, sending you a playful smirk as you finish paying for some flowers.
“Alright! I’m on my way!” She giggles as you catch up to her, linking her arm through yours.
“So, I saw Prince James leaving our room the other night. What was that about?” You sigh and shake your head. “He wanted something that couldn’t be.”
She purses her lips and nods, “well I hate to be a bearer of potentially bad news, but he’s joining his cousin and my brother today.” You glance over your shoulder, stomach tightening as you see the dark-haired prince. His eyes are already on you, a guilty look in them and a shy smile on his face.
“Come on. We’re almost there. You can pout and sulk later.” You elbow Wanda in the ribs gently but follow her towards the bakery.
A hand is suddenly on your wrist, gripping it tightly but not tight enough to hurt.
“Ladies. A lovely day we have, isn’t it?” You look up at the prince then over at Wanda. “Yes. Indeed it is a beautiful day, Prince James. I am... surprised that you joined us.” He smiles softly and nods. “I figured it would do me some good to spend time with the people who keep my Palace in one piece.” She smiles then looks down at her feet.
The silence is awkward and tense, and you want to run straight at the horses trotting past.
“Well, I’d better go see how much money Pietro has wasted. I want to give Ben a gift of some sort. He’s always so kind to us.” You make a mental note to get her back as she leaves you alone with the Prince. “(Y/n)... I’d like to apologize for my actions the other night. They were inappropriate and uncalled for, and you deserve better. That’s no way for a prince to behave and no way for a potential suitor to behave. I’m offering you my deepest and sincerest apologies.” You’re surprised, and you’re sure your face displays that clear as day. “Um... you’re forgiven, your Highness. Although I am still curious as to why you wish to court me.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I find everything you do... mystical. You are different than the other maidens in the country, and you’re gentle. I think that’s what drew me in first. You’re gentle despite what you grew up with. And before you go defend Lady Griffon, know that Steve informed me of her actions.” You don’t look up, almost ashamed of yourself for what she did.
“You’re strong. And smart. And I wish to know you better.” You find yourself smiling, despite your earlier hesitation.
“Well... I suppose there’s no harm in just speaking to you, is there?” He smiles triumphantly and shakes his head. “No, there isn’t. Now, I want to know anything and everything about yourself.”
Steve watches with a smile as you and Bucky talk and laugh together without a care in the world.
However, Steve’s not the only one watching.
From a few feet back, a set of grey eyes stare at the pair, almost taking notes of their behaviour.
A plan formulates in the mind of the staring man, a disgusting and dangerous plan, but a plan that will get him recognized and filthy rich.
~
“Why do you buy such strange things?” The prince asks, having insisted upon holding your few items.
“I pick the carts that have the least amount of people near them. Those are the people who need the money the most.” He’s absolutely awestruck by your response, falling harder for you by the second.
“And every time we go see Ben, I try and leave some coins in a discreet place for him to find later. I’m not sure if it works, but I know he seems happier every time I see him.”
“How? How are you the kindest person in the kingdom?” You giggle softly and shake your head, handing him a piece of banana bread.
“I’m not. However, I know what it’s like to be mistreated. And I’d never wish that upon anyone. No one deserves to be treated badly.” He frowns, looking at you in confusion, “even those who mistreated you? Do they not deserve to be punished?”
You sigh and shrug, “that’s not for me to decide. If punishment is what is meant to happen to them, then it will happen in due time.” He’s silent for a moment, pondering your words while chewing the baked good.
You’ve given him a lot to think about during your conversations, and he couldn’t be more grateful.
“So there is no part of you that holds resentment towards the people who’ve treated you poorly?” He asks after a few moments of silence. You shake your head and sigh, “what good would it do now? There’s really no point in hating people whom I may never see again.” The back of his hand brushes against yours as you walk and you can’t help but smile softly.
“You shall never cease to amaze me. Every time you speak I find myself even more entranced than before.” You look down and shake your head, ignoring the way your heart races at his statement.
“You’re far too kind, your highness.” He shakes his head, fingers snaking around yours for a moment.
“Please, no more formalities. I wish to know you for you and you to know me for me. That is... if that’s what you’d like.” You stop walking to look up into his nervous but oh so beautiful blue eyes.
“I’d love nothing more, James.” He smiles brightly, so brightly you’d think he’s looking at the creator of all good in the world.
“Very well, what do you want to know?” He asks nervously, his fingers taping nervous patterns against his palm. You smile and gently take his hand in yours.
“I’d like to know about the real James Barnes. Not the prince. Can you tell me about that?” He nods with a smile.
“I can.”
~
“So... you and Prince James seem to be getting closer with each passing day,” Wanda remarks when you, her, and May are getting ready for bed.
You roll your eyes playfully and shake your head. “We are simply learning about each other. I figured it would be rude to deny the Prince of anything he wants.” May raises her eyebrows.
“Is that why you’re sneaking out of our chambers and walking through the gardens with him nearly every night?” You whip around to stare at her and May who are staring at you with identical smirks.
“Y-you noticed that?” She giggles and nods. “Of course! It’s the talk of the Palace. Only good talk though, I promise.” You sigh then smile widely. “Wanda he’s wonderful. He’s sweet and caring and so charming. He gave me his cloak to wear last night because I was cold. And he kisses my hand and he whispers the sweetest nothings into my ear.”
May smiles at you, a knowing look in her eyes. “You fancy him.” You shrug, smiling bashfully. You turn away from her, your eyes catching on something in the sky.
“Is that... smoke?” You ask softly, walking to the window and peering out. Sure enough, one of the larger houses in the village is on fire.
Just as you’re turning to ask May and Wanda where it’s coming from, the door bursts open and Peter runs in, panting hard with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Peter! What’s wrong?” May asks, jumping off her bed and gathering her nephew in her arms.
“I-I tried to s-save him!” You step forward and frown, placing your hand gently on his shoulder.
May gently rocks him side to side, trying to calm him down.
“Slow down Peter,” Wanda says, “start from the beginning.” He shakes his head then swallows hard. “There was a f-fire. At the bakery. U-Uncle Ben... h-he’s... I couldn’t...” He hiccups a sob and May gasps, arms dropping away from her Nephew to cover her face.
“No. Please dear lord no.” You take Peter by the elbow and guide him towards you, pulling him into a tight hug when he starts sobbing again.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, stroking his hair as he cries against your shoulder. You blink back tears of your own as Wanda coaxes May to sit back down, shushing the sobbing woman.
“B-but he's gone... h-he’s g-g-gone!” You hug him tighter and kiss the crown of his head. The four of you sit in partial silence for a while, May sobbing softly against Wanda while Peter gradually stops crying.
“It’s not fair,” he whispers. You nod, sighing heavily. “I know. And it’ll be hard. But I don’t think Ben would want you to be so... distraught over his passing.” He coughs a sob and clings to you.
Sighing, you wrap your arms around him and start humming.
When his sobs become less intense, you start singing softly to him.
“Hush now my Storeen Close your eyes and sleep Waltzing the waves Diving the deep Stars are shining bright The wind is on the rise Whispering words of long lost lullabies.”
Wanda helps May to bed, gently brushing her hair as you sing the lullaby to them.
“Oh won't you come with me Where the moon is made of gold And in the morning sun, We'll be sailing Oh won't you come with me Where the ocean meets the sky And as the clouds roll by We'll sing the song of the sea.”
~*~
You sing and hum to Peter for the next few hours, ignoring the way your eyelids grow heavy.
When he’s finally asleep the moon is high in the sky and the village is dark, the fire having been put out long ago.
“I’m going to go make some tea and maybe start on May’s tasks for tomorrow,” you whisper to Wanda as you pass her. May is sleeping restlessly, tears still dripping down her cheeks.
“Oh (Y/n). You don’t need to do that.” You wave off her protests and start down the stairs, the lullaby stuck in your head.
You hum it to yourself as you heat up some water and clean up the kitchen, trying to get ahead for her schedule tomorrow.
You’re so focused on cleaning that you forget about the tea entirely. More important, perhaps, is the fact that you don’t notice the man watching you. Well, until you crash right into him.
His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you up against his chest. “Careful,” he murmurs.
You stare up into his eyes, your lips parting for a moment before you push away from him slightly.
You offer him a shy smile before resuming cleaning.
“I heard about what happened,” he whispers, walking over to you and stopping you from continuing.
“Poor May and Peter,” you whisper, closing your eyes and trying to block out the memories of the two of them sobbing.
“If there is anything I can do to help you, please tell me.” You shake your head and offer him a tight smile. “I’m alright. I just want to get ahead in May’s chores for tomorrow.” He stops you again, taking your hand in his.
“You always focus on everyone else. Never yourself. I want to help you with anything you may need. Because I care about you. And I know you might just be trying to make me happy by allowing me to court you but... I do truly and deeply care about you.”
You take a deep breath and look over at him. “That’s the thing, I truly care about you too. I... I find that the feelings I have for you... they’re terrifying. I know that the product of these feelings will be nothing but pain.” He turns you to face him, waiting for you to look up at him.
“(Y/n). Please look at me.” You don’t, far too ashamed of your feelings and embarrassed at admitting them out loud.
“(Y/n).” The way he says your name almost makes you look up. Almost.
He cups your cheeks and bends down a bit, looking up into your eyes. “What’s wrong, doll?” He asks, gently wiping a tear off of your cheek. You sniffle and wet your lips before speaking.
“I’m scared. Of... of this being a hoax. Some kind of terrible joke. I’m so scared.” You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a laugh or a reprimand. Instead, slightly chapped lips are pressed against your forehead.
“I understand. I really do. I’m scared too. But I’m willing to face the consequences if it means I can be with you. Even if it’s only for a short period of time. You’re worth it. So worth it to me, (Y/n).” You look up into his eyes and cover his hands with your own.
“Do you really mean that?” He smiles and rests his forehead against yours, his eyelids dropping. “I do, (Y/n). I know it won’t be easy because we won't be able to tell anyone, but I’d really like to at least try this with you. And if you really don’t like it... don’t like me, I’ll leave you alone.” You nod once, your own eyes falling closed. He breathes a sigh of relief against your mouth before carefully slotting his lips against yours.
You rest your hands on his wrists and lean into the kiss, your lips moving in sync with his. One of his hands trails down to your waist and squeezes gently. He pulls you slightly and you stumble forwards, desperate to keep your lips connected.
He continues backwards then spins you around and pushes you against the wall. Your hands find their way into his hair and you smile against his lips, gasping for air when the two of you finally part.
“Please don’t push me away again,” he whispers, his breath fanning out across your lips.
“I won’t. But... can you kiss me again? Please?” He chuckles lightly and captures your lips in a searing kiss. His right-hand moves from your waist to your thigh, pulling it up until you hook it around his waist. Grabbing your waist with both hands, he hoists you up while pressing you harder into the wall.
Your other leg instinctively wraps around his waist, your work dress hiking up around your middle. You wrap your arms around his neck and buck your hips, gasping slightly as he grinds against you.
He takes advantage of your open mouth and slides his tongue inside. The feeling is foreign, however not unpleasant, and you find yourself absolutely melting into it.
A soft moan leaves your mouth, the sound going straight to the growing tent in his pants. He grinds against you again and you whimper. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, you tug hard, satisfaction and warmth filling you as he groans against your mouth.
He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and gently nibbles it as you catch your breath.
“Please,” you whisper, your mind not fully aware of what you’re asking for. The Prince, however, seems to know exactly what you want and attacks your mouth with more kisses while his hands start exploring your body over your dress.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You rip your lips away from his, hitting your head against the wall in the process.
“What the Hell, Steve!” The choice of language the man between your legs uses makes you raise your eyebrows. You take a look over his shoulder then immediately regret it.
Steve stands in the doorway of the kitchen, Wanda, Sam, Nat, Pietro, and Clint all with him.
You press your forehead against James’ chest and catch your breath while trying to muster up the courage to look at your friends.
James takes a half step back, holding your waist tightly as you place your feet back on the ground.
“What do you need?” His voice is rough and deep while his eyes are soft and gentle, gazing at you.
“Wanda was worried because (Y/n) was down here all ‘alone’. I guess she had nothing to worry about, huh?” Sam asks with a grin.
“Y-you guys won’t say anything to anyone... right?” Your voice is a nervous squeak and, upon realizing that you’re genuinely nervous, their eyes soften.
“Of course we won’t. But if you guys choose to pursue something, perhaps you should do it in a more private setting,” Steve says, a gentle smile on his face. You cast your eyes down and bring your hands in front of you, rubbing your thumb on your palm to distract yourself from the embarrassment you feel.
“Peter was waking up when I left. We should get back to him soon,” Wanda says, successfully breaking the awkward silence. You nod, looking up at Bucky for a moment.
“Go on. I’ll... I’ll find time to see you. I will.” You nod again, leaning your head back a bit as he leans down. His lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, different than the ones you shared a few moments prior.
Someone clears their throat and the two of you break apart. “I should... I should go,” you whisper. He rubs your cheek gently with the pad of his thumb and nods. “Yeah. I guess so.”
Shuffling behind you interrupts the moment and you glance over to the source.
“Peter,” you whisper, hurrying over to him. “It’s okay, Peter. I’m here now.”
He hugs you tightly and sniffles, “C-can you sing me the lullaby again please?” You nod and gently comb your fingers through his hair as you start singing, walking him slowly up the stairs.
“Oh won't you come with me Where the moon is made of gold And in the morning sun We'll be sailing”
Your voice trails off as you walk Peter away from the kitchen and upstairs to your room.
Wanda and Pietro follow quickly after, leaving Bucky to face all of his friends.
“You do realize you’re supposed to marry someone who isn’t (Y/n), right?” Natasha asks bluntly.
Bucky shoots her a glare but otherwise ignores the question, walking out of the kitchen without another word.
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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years
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chapter 3 of promises to keep is here!
[kristanna / 5 part 18th c scotland au / love and angst and kiltstoff in equal measure / rated t / 3.3k words this chapter / big cw for violence and death this chapter] 
masterpost
“Are you still angry with me?”
“Terribly.”
“What’ll I have to do to earn my place in your good graces again?”
She leaned back and raised her hands to cup his jaw, running her thumbs gently over the stubble there. “Come home to me safe and whole, and then swear to never leave my side again.”
chapter 3: a plea for forgiveness
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here.
Well, really, she hadn’t meant to be out here long enough to. In her mind, by now they would be halfway to Glenfinnan, maybe further if he’d managed to get hold of a horse, and then they’d keep going until they were out of Scotland entirely, and then maybe they could built a little cottage or find a port city and cross to Ireland or further even to the colonies, and there’d be no war nor uncle nor anything else to keep them apart.
But he hadn’t come, and now the sun had already risen, and fear swallowed the anger in her heart when she looked down from the top of the hill into the village and saw the crowd that had already gathered in the square.
Anna ran as fast as she could, the breath tearing from her lungs as she raced over the moor. The toe of her boot caught on her skirt, and she fell with a cry, skidding halfway down the hill and making a bloody, dirty mess of her shins. The second she came to a halt she was on her feet again, panting for air and praying let me make it, Jesus and Mary and God and anyone else who’s listening, let me get there in time.
She skidded to a halt next to the tailor’s shop, scanning wildly for him.It seemed the whole village was there crowding the streets, mothers straightening their son’s collars for the last time and wives clinging to their husband’s necks and little siblings enviously eyeing their brothers’ gleaming weapons. At last she laid eyes upon him where he hung back from the rest of them, his eyes cast downward as he fiddled with something in his hand, as if he wasn’t expecting a single soul to come and bid him farewell.
 “Kristoff!” she gasped, already reaching for him as she started to run once more, and immediately he looked up, eyes filling with hope as he closed the gap between them.
He caught her around the waist, lifting her slightly off her feet as she flung her arms around him. “I didn’t think you were going to come,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“Of course I came. I love you,” she choked out, her fingers knotting in the back of his shirt.
“It’s alright, my Anna,” he said softly, cradling the back of her head as she wept against his shoulder. “Don’t cry.”
“I thought– I thought you would come last night. I waited for you.”
He pressed a kiss into her tangled hair. “I knew you would. And I knew that if I came that I’d go with you and spend the rest of my life feeling guilty for it.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, memorizing the warmth of his skin and the feel of his arms around her. “I know. But I…I was still hopeful, anyway.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“Terribly.”
“What’ll I have to do to earn my place in your good graces again?”
She leaned back and raised her hands to cup his jaw, running her thumbs gently over the stubble there. “Come home to me safe and whole, and then swear to never leave my side again.”
“I will, I promise,” he said, and let go of her for a moment to fumble in his pocket. “And I– here, I wanted you to have this, so you can look at it, and…well.” His cheeks reddened. “I’m not good with words, but I guess you know why I want you to have it.”
He opened his palm to show her an iron ring. “Not gold yet, like I promised,” he said sheepishly, “but I made it myself, if that makes up for it.”
Anna set her fingers lightly on his palm. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, and he smiled and slid it carefully onto the ring finger of her left hand. “How did you get it just the right size?”
“I learned how your hand fit against mine long ago, and so I…well. Wasn’t hard, really,” he said, sounding almost shy, and she couldn’t help but kiss him then, twining her arms around his neck as she rose up onto the tips of her toes.
From somewhere at the other end of the square, the pipes started playing, a marching song, and panic began to rise in her chest. She pulled back to meet his eyes and found them sadder than she had seen them since the first day they had met, when he had been a lost little boy and she was his only anchor, and she realized that somewhere along the way they had changed places.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, feeling like a child. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“I have to, my love,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “But I’ll come home to you, I swear it. You won’t even have time to miss me.”
“I already do,” she whispered, and he kissed her one last time and pulled regretfully away, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze before letting go.
She fell back into the crowd, tears streaming down her face, as he joined the rest of the men. They were a ragged bunch, farmers and bakers and smiths, not a soldier among them, but she knew they’d be meeting up with the rest of the MacLeod clansmen as soon as they got to Lochailort, and somehow from there they’d find the rest of the army and march south to face the English head-on. 
How many are there like me, she wondered, watching them go and wondering which of them will come home again?
Her uncle glanced back then, his eyes meeting hers. She lifted her chin defiantly, expecting a scowl, but instead, he bowed his head, sorrow flooding his face, and it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps he, too, had never wanted it to come to this. Beside him, Callum looked just as grim, though he had eyes only for his wife, cradling his son. I’ll look after them for you, Anna thought, wishing she’d thought to tell him as much aloud. You take care of what’s mine, and I’ll take care of yours.
He glanced at her then, and she gave him a firm nod. A grin broke across his face, and he saluted her before turning away again to face the road that led them all away from her.
Every day there was a new kind of ache in him. He was used to hard work, to be sure, perhaps more used to it than many of the other men he marched with. But the endless miles of walking, the hours of drilling, the way he caught himself tensing his jaw near-constantly, all of it meant that at night he laid awake aching for hours on his bedroll, trying not to think of how he could have been home in a bed with a wife next to him if only he’d given less of a damn about honor.
He wasn’t the only one. Many of the men had joined the army for glory and pride and love of country, while others– the ones who seemed never to stop smiling– joined for the satisfaction of sinking a blade into its target and the pleasure of warm blood running through their fingers.
But the rest of them– most of them, actually, he was coming to realize– had come because their lairds demanded it of them, or because they had mouths to feed back home, or some combination of the two, all of them burdened a sense of duty that outweighed anything else, no matter how dear it was to their hearts. At night they would sit somehow alone and together all at once, and he would see Callum running his fingers over a little portrait of his wife, and there would be Thomas who’d come all the way from Peterhead reading a faded letter for the thousandth time, and gray-haired Duncan who never stopped fiddling with his wedding band, and Kristoff would wish desperately that he’d thought to take something, anything, that he could hold onto and think of Anna, some little piece of her that reminded him why he was sitting here in the drizzling rain with a rifle beside him that still felt strange in his hands.
They had, by sheer geographic coincidence, joined up straightaway with the Bonnie Prince himself and his army. Sometimes he caught sight of him talking with the officers or joking around with his private guard or making the rounds to meet the men who were ready to die to give him back a crown. Kristoff always avoided him when he came his way; all he could think when he saw the man’s bright smile was what is it, then, that you’ve had to leave behind?
The forge was empty now; smith and apprentice alike had marched off together. And the miller’s wife did the best she could to keep them all fed, and the carpenter’s boy used all of his fourteen year old fury at being left behind to give him stamina though he lacked much skill, and there was no one to replace the butcher so they made do with what was left in the larder and what they could manage to pull from the river.
Aunt Nellie shut herself up the same day the men left, and Elsa was better suited to helping keep books and sorting out the mind-numbing tasks of governance, and so it fell upon Anna to go from house to house each day, doing whatever little she could to raise their occupants’ spirits.
News came so rarely that most days they just rehashed the same conversations over and over, I remember when he was knee high to a lamb and I hope his blanket’s holding up and have I ever told you how we met? And she would say yes, and now he’s the size of a bear! and I’m sure it is, yours are always of the strongest weave and no, but I’d love to hear, and it was enough, at least, to fill the silence. She felt sometimes like a rag shoved into the cracks around a door, doing whatever she could to fill the gap and stop the cold from getting too far in.
And the softer hearts among them would ask after Kristoff, too; they had all seen her say goodbye to him, and before that had seen the years they spent side by side, and she would show them the ring he’d made and tell how he’d known just how to make it without even taking the measure of her hand, and they would smile and sigh and say you hold on to that one when he comes home.
I will, she would promise, and then before long she would have to take her leave and go out somewhere that none of them could see her and catch her breath before she went on to the next house and did it all again.
And then one day real news did come, that they’d taken Edinburgh and a town next to it, and she practically ran from door to door bringing word of it. “Maybe they really will be home by Christmas,” she said breathlessly to Callum’s wife, and then suddenly they were both laughing and weeping and holding on tightly to one another for dear life.
It had been six hours, and his hands were still shaking.
“You’re alright, lad,” Anna’s uncle was saying, grasping his shoulder to try and ground him, but it wasn’t enough; all he could hear was the man’s gasp when the musket ball had hit him and the solid thwack of the body hitting the earth and the cry that had escaped his own lips when he’d realized what he had done.
“You saved my son’s life,” the older man said then, his voice becoming strained, “and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“He was someone’s son, too,” Kristoff said, feeling faraway from it all somehow, like he was still on the battlefield, watching as tiny drifting snowflakes fell and melted when they landed on a slack face that was still warm.
“Aye, he was,” Lachlan said softly, “and that’s why we’ve got to keep fighting as best we can, so this madness can end before there’s none of us left to go home.”
Kristoff closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I told Anna I’d be home before the first snow fell.”
“It can’t be helped now, lad. But I’ll do all that’s in my power to get you back to her as soon as I can.”
He nodded, grateful, knowing it was as close to a blessing as he was likely to get. He half expected the other man to get up and leave, go back to his officer’s tent, but instead he stretched out his legs and leaned back on his hands, staring up in silence at the vast expanse of sky, and still he was there when at last the trembling stopped and, overcome with exhaustion, Kristoff fell into an uneasy sleep and dreams of Anna clinging to him with tears streaming down her cheeks and whispering it’s alright, all of it, so long as you come home.
The winter was long and dark, devoid of any news except word that a battle had been half-won in January, that a siege had been attempted but both sides had instead retreated partway through. “Why?” Anna asked the man who brought the message, but the only answer was a shrug as the man mounted his horse and turned towards the next village.
There was no news of who yet lived or died, and with the animals kept indoors and no crops to harvest and the moors too frigid to wander, there was little to do but sit at home and wait.
The days were bad enough, sitting by firesides and rehashing the same memories and thoughts and questions over and over for the thousandth time, but the nights were what hollowed her, left her staring up at the ceiling drowning in a tide of dread. This was supposed to have been a fast war, an easy victory for the mighty highlanders and the rightful king against the bastardly interlopers, harking back to the days of Bannockburn and wicked King Edward and the heroes of the Scotsmen charging into battle just as ferociously as they still did today.
She couldn’t help but wonder now what it had been like for the ones left behind back then, if they, too, had paced from room to room and trembled for fear and joy alike over every scrap of news, if they traded the same stories a thousand times over and told each other “this will be it, they’ll be home before you know it and the English will let us alone at last”.
One evening in February as she made her way home after spending an hour smiling and clapping at Callum’s little boy as he made his first hesitant steps across the floor, she found herself walking by the blacksmith’s shop and peering through the window out of habit, as if by some miracle she might catch a glimpse of Kristoff there, the light of the forge gilding him around the edges as he swung his hammer high, all warmth and strength and life.
She blinked and realized she had somehow drawn close enough to flatten her palm against the window, her nose pressing against the glass as she peered in through the gloom at the dust-ensconced anvil and bare table, and suddenly a wild thing overtook her, a desperate need to see some kind of light in the hearth, and before she knew it she was through the backdoor that had been left mercifully unlocked and kneeling before the fireplace.
It took a few tries, but she had seen Kristoff do it enough times that before long she had a fire going, and she sat back on her heels willing the warmth of it to melt the slick, icy dread in her heart that was turning her blood to sludge in her veins.
Anna closed her eyes as tight as she could, twisting the ring around her finger out of habit as she remembered the way his arms had circled around her, the way he’d pressed his lips to her cheek and promised such pretty things to her, the way the sunlight had glinted on his hair as he disappeared from view. If that was the last she saw of him, if that had been goodbye– 
She screwed up her face, willing herself not to cry, but the tears came anyway, burning as they rolled down her cold cheeks. She had told him she was angry with him, that she wouldn’t forgive him until he came home, but her fury had faded away the second she had lost sight of him, and now she was the one who wanted to beg for mercy, to tell him over and over again how sorry she was for spending the night on the moor waiting for him to betray himself when she could have spent hours in his arms, holding him and telling him how she loved him until the dawn.
If you come home to me, she thought then, as if it were a prayer, I’ll spend the rest of my life doing just that to make it up to you.
It wasn’t supposed to be happening like this. There were thousands of them, highlanders and lowlanders alike, drilled in rushing forward with a battle cry and startling the enemy into a retreat, the same way they had that had carried them through the fall, but somehow this time it had failed, and now half the army was back at Inverness, and the rest of them were here fighting as best they could through the mud and melting snow as the struggle quickly turned into a slaughter.
He was half out of bullets already, trying not to choke on smoke as he charged towards where Callum was trapped beneath a fallen horse, ignoring the pitched battle all around him as he sprinted forward, thinking only of the woman with curly hair and the blue-eyed babe in her arms standing straight-backed beside Anna and refusing to give in to tears, and then there was a scream and a sword and a burst of red and he was too late.
He stumbled back in horror, a cry bubbling out of his throat as he raised his gun to his shoulder, taking aim, but suddenly there was a shout behind him. On instinct, he turned, the musket ball firing uselessly into the air, and came face to face with a snarling man on horseback, his sword extended, and then there was a blinding pain tearing from his hip to his knee. 
He blinked, too stunned to cry out, and suddenly he was lying in the mud, his vision already going gray around the edges. He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to stay conscious, to stand again and keep fighting, to avenge Callum and the rest of his clansmen and fight his way through the entire army if he had to, if that was what it took to keep his promise.
He opened his eyes with a gasp of pain, and somehow there she was leaning over him, as solid and real as the earth beneath his back, grace in her eyes as she smiled at him, the ring on her hand glinting as she reached down to caress his cheek.
“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely, and she opened her mouth to reply, and then he blinked and she was gone, and in her place there was a soldier in a red coat with his rifle raised high, and he swung it down hard as if it were a hammer, and Kristoff saw no more.
a/n: thank you @kristoffbjorg and @ronnieiswriting for the idea of how he would know how to make her ring the right size
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How to Disappear
So I’m painfully aware of how long it’s been, but I’m back with a new Doctor fic finally.
Song: How to Disappear - Lana del Rey
Word Count: 3142
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John met me down on the boulevard Cry on his shoulder 'cause life is hard The waves came in over my head What you been up to, my baby? I haven't seen you 'round here lately All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't You just crack another beer And pretend that you're still here
             Heat emanated from the asphalt beneath her well-worn wedges, wrinkled dress fluttering about her legs as she strolled along a sidewalk bustling with every walk of life. Dozens of people that seemed to be straight out of magazines, performing and spectating, selling and advertising. A wry smile made its way across her dull, tired face. Vibrantly painting shops and other miscellaneous buildings passed on her other side, watching the world pass them by outside as others were constantly streaming inward and out. Everything she’d ever heard about California was true. Above her a lapis sky reflecting back, cotton ball clouds puffing along like steam engines above the crashing sea of humanity gathered near the ocean.
           (Y/N) swept her wavy (h/c) hair behind her, slipping through the crowd. Beautiful people met her face-to-face, brushing by her as if she belonged there. Thrumming with energy despite her complete state of utter exhaustion, her hand went to the bag dangling at her hip. Breaking from the crowd was almost difficult. There was something almost magical, the magnetism of being surrounded by so many eccentrics again. In the neon green light of the sign overhead, however, she felt the pull of something stronger: a cold beer after a weary day.
            Seating herself at the bar, she folded her legs neatly and searched in her purse. She took her compact out, reapplied her deep red lipstick, and ordered a cheap beer. The bartender almost smiled at her as she took her order, and offered her a lighter when the (h/c) pulled a cigarette from its pack. (Y/N) met the older woman’s gentle, watery blue eyes as she lit it, puffing out a cloud and murmuring a word of thanks. In return an ash tray was pushed her way, and she was alone with her thoughts again.
           It had been a long day. Or a week of long days, really. A long couple of months, would be a better descriptor.
           Six months ago she was climbing onto a plane with a breathtaking woman she’d only known for weeks, luggage stuffed haphazardly with clothes and other personal belongings. In the cold December air, she jetted for the New World alongside a goddess with a voice like honey and storms in her eyes, no sunlight on the horizon. Leaving London and a set of hazel puppy dog eyes in her wake. The pain flashed through them like lightning, her own (e/c) eyes watching it crackle across flecks of gold and green.
           Life was good for the first two or three months. They landed in the Big Apple, New York City, with a purse full of American currency and stars in her red, soggy eyes. From there they were unstoppable.
           Nights spent against each other, inhaling the sweet adrenaline of not knowing where they’d go next, heavy smoke, and the glitter her girl would dab onto her willowy cheekbones. Bus seats were their home when they couldn’t find somewhere to stay, shuttling off from town to town with no true destination in mind, just anywhere to run to. Anywhere they felt free. Until money started running low, and their dream crashed headfirst into an iceberg and sank, down and down until forgotten like ships from fairytales or dramatic novels or movies. And, they just so happened to bring their own Titanic down in the middle of Nevada.
           In the tiny house they’d managed to swing rent for, she felt every mile she’d traveled weighing on her shoulders. Even with the job she’d found, hunger pangs were still a reality. No longer salivating at the idea of escaping further into the American Dream, (Y/N) and the angel dripped and dripped until they were pools of tears that became oceans, rolling and thrashing, lashing out at each other. Gone were the featherlight kisses she’d pressed to her pillow-like lips, the intimate secrets and late nights spent lost in their own sultry twilight. Debauchery, it seemed, wasn’t a lifestyle she could realistically manage.
           Sticky, sweaty mornings spent groggy until hangovers set in were lost in time, dissolved like medicine in a glass of water. Biting kisses became biting remarks, and biting remarks grew into discussions that grew into (Y/N) moving out with all her savings. A bus ticket was her ticket to salvation, and she shipped off for California, the land of the freaks and free, apparently.
           Thick steps brought her onto the bus once again, and her thoughts were finally forced back to those eyes, loving her and hating her in equal measure as she ran from their affection. (Y/N) remembered how regret was a boulder sitting in her stomach, fear was the blood in her veins, He’d still come with hope things could’ve been different, and the last thing she remembered as she stared into their abyss is that she never deserved him.
           And in the midst of her misty-eyed reverie, an all-too-familiar touch ghosted her waist. Dabbing the wetness away with the napkin that had come around her almost empty drink, she turned to the love of her life with the same tenderness she’d always had.
           “Allow me to buy your next one, and the proceeding one, if I may.”
           The sound of his voice hummed through her like hot chocolate hitting a cold stomach. Flooded with remorse and the only true sense of comfort she’d ever known in her short life, she studied his sharp face. Thick, chestnut colored locks of hair flopped down over his forehead as he settled into the stool next to hers. Even in the middle of summer on the western coast, he wore his signature tweed coat over his brilliantly crimson bow tie. The bartender nodded at them from her spot behind the bar, sliding two more beers their way.
           All of a sudden it was their first meeting again, the one where she fell in love instantly.
           “Hello, Doctor.”
           “Hello (Y/N).”
 This is how to disappear This is how to disappear
             They danced on the floor after one two many rounds, (Y/N) thrown around the Doctor’s lithe frame as she cried for the fourth time that evening. One spent catching up, laughing like old times, and even talking of the future. Their future.
           “I’m sick, Doctor,” she whispered, voice slightly slurred as her damp cheek pressed into his chest. “I never wanted to leave you.”
           The Doctor stilled his swaying for a moment, but continued almost as if he hadn’t stopped. Raking his fingers clumsily through her long, dirty (h/c) hair, he pressed the thin line of his mouth to her forehead.
           “I know.”
 Joe met me down at the training yard Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard I know he's in over his head But I love that man like nobody can He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things that they hold dear To forget the things they fear
             The year was 1939, years before America joined the war. Word was coming from overseas, and it felt bleaker than the textbooks describe. (Y/N)’s stomach dropped when she heard of Germany’s attack against Poland, as if she didn’t know what came next. It was all worlds away, however, as she leaned against the concrete wall of the military base. Her curls were falling int he sticky southern heat of Louisiana, and she lifted her lit cigarette to her painted mouth. Across the yard, he sparred with a stocky man covered in tattoos.
           Travelling felt so good, for the first time in what felt like forever. The luxury of a confirmed bed to sleep in every time she chose, food being available almost instantly, but the true pleasure came in the company she kept while doing so. The Doctor, her sweet boy, the eternal man, took her in without a question. Her impending doom was a topic for another day whenever he wrapped her in his wiry but sturdy arms, eyes finding hers in confirmation she isn’t leaving again.
           Her mind is elsewhere as her own wandering eyes are focused on his back. In a baggy, soiled white tank top and hefty olive pants, dark boots that added two inches to his height, with shaggy hair that was already growing back, he seemed as if he almost belonged there. Landing solid punches left and right, he pulled back as his opponent countered. Dodging swiftly, he moved in again for a quick onslaught on the man’s side. Hunching over, the man seemed spent, and the Doctor turned his back on him. A mistake, however, when the man stood and lurched forward with a hairy-knuckled fist. She cried out, causing him to turn a few seconds too late as it collided with his sharp jaw.
           Hands covered her mouth as she watched him reel, spinning back with furious punches that came from some sort of inward strength. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t human. Or, in actuality, she forgot he was so damn resilient. Two hearts pumping liquid gold through him, all the knowledge in the universe stacked carefully in his enormous mind, and thousands upon thousands of years of experience on his shoulders.
           Before she could process it, the match was over, and the Doctor was sauntering towards her. Sweat poured and clung to his unevenly tanned skin, dark eyes watching her with hunger. He grimaced at her as she took another drag, but it wasn’t the same disappointment as it once was. Now it was bitter resign, and he slid his shirt from around him and draped it across his shoulders before spitting blood and taking the cancer stick to hit it himself.
           “Where to next? Had your fill of propaganda and bigotry yet?”
           A dry chuckle left her throat as he smiled at her, causing her to roll her eyes. He puffed on as if he had his entire life. Carefully her eyes slid over his physique, taking in his muscles and dirt and grime, the bruises on his knuckles and face.
           “Or are you just trying to get off from watching me battle the entire army?”
           A sly smirk and light blush instantly bloomed across her face, and she dabbed at her brow with the handkerchief he’d made a show of giving to her in front of the other ladies she’d been working alongside.
           “Guilty as charged, hm? No, I believe we’ll be leaving tonight. Is that alright?”
           The Doctor merely watched the sun setting behind the other buildings, the sweet screams of cicadas loud in their ears as he reached for her. Throwing the butt down, his arm drew her to his chest and he dipped her, kissing her deeply. His mouth lately had become so sweet, it tasted of cherry pie and ashes and bittersweet unspoken words she knew were bursting in his chest like bubbles against the ground. Across the training grounds, other men whooped and whistled, and they simply remained wrapped up in one another, as always.
 This is how to disappear This is how to disappear
             Only having a year or two (approximately, give or take a few months) wasn’t as scary as movies or television shows made it out to be, or so (Y/N) thought.
           Given her diagnosis, she expected to feel her world crumble around her, or maybe for the sky to fall in the minute she stepped foot outside of her physician’s clinic. Instead, she felt numb. Not unhappy, but she simply did not feel. As she walked to the nearest gas station, she had a basic plan mapped out. Leave the Doctor on some sort of sour note so maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t try to follow her. Go somewhere to sit and decompose like all things do, maybe become fertilizer for wildflowers.
           Meeting Jacqueline was her self-described “sign” that she was in the right. Not like in television dramas where the main character was doing the wrong thing, but one reality show that made perfect sense, where she would leave both of the Doctor’s aged hearts broken and bitter, where he would be driven to scream her name out in frustration atop some building somewhere.
           Singing in a run-down pub was her only means on income, but she was still stunning in chipped heels and hand-me-down leopard print dresses. Deep mahogany hair that surrounded a porcelain portrait of perfection with slate blue eyes, false eyelashes, and a rose-kissed pout that (Y/N) never tired of meeting with her own until things went south. They fell into something that could’ve been more than infatuation if she hadn’t been so toxic and if (Y/N) hadn’t been hopelessly in love with someone else.
           In her head there was no other way of erasing herself, her existence entirely, without the Doctor’s help. So she went the human way out: selfishly, and without warning.
 Now it's been years since I left New York And I've got a kid and two cats in the yard The California sun and the movie stars And I watched the skies getting light as I write As I think about those years As I whisper in your ear
 A blissfully historic year and a half passed, and (Y/N) was surprisingly still kicking. Feeling weaker every day, it was almost as if she could feel the cancer spreading from her bones outward. Like a tree covered in vines or moss, feeling the tendrils rise and extend and envelop her. Sometimes she thinks the Doctor can tell she’ll pass soon, but she’s always prided herself on her acting. Or maybe he simply doesn’t want to believe it, only he knows but won’t tell.
Now it’s 1984, and she’s reclining on the front porch in a dusty town in Nebraska, feet propped against the chair’s arms. Corn surrounds them as far she can see, wind whistling through and shaking it. The open windows and breeze carry sounds of the Cheers theme and the Doctor rummaging through the kitchen, tinkering with something. On the horizon, the sun is setting and their friends are sprawled on a blanket on the front yard.
Amy and Rory laugh at the sky and whisper like lovestruck children, taking photographs and promising they’ll remember today forever, and (Y/N) can feel the warmth pooling in her chest at the immense amount of love she carries for them. As he wraps his arm around her and their lips lock, the clearing of one’s throat breaks her trance. Jumping at the sound, she playfully glares at her Doctor before realizing he was offering her a glass of iced tea, something he was surprisingly fond of after spending time in the southern United States.
“I never thought this would be where I’d want to be.”
The Doctor hummed in agreement as he sat in the vacant chair next to her, one hand cradling his own drink and the other instinctively falling over hers. As she gazed at the Doctor now, jacket abandoned and suspenders down around his waist, bowtie forgotten in their bedroom somewhere, she felt as if they’d been together for years. His socks were slouched around her ankles, brown with pastel spots, her fingers warm beneath his as the ice in her tea cooled her others, and she knew this was it. This was where she wanted to die. If an afterlife should exist, this would be the exact moment she’d choose for her own personal heaven. To live through every day with the ones she held dear, with not a care in the universe, forever.
That would be just fine.
Amy called to them, crawling up from Rory’s embrace, camera in hand. The pair approached them with the same warmth from her chest in their faces and cheeks, and it was so beautiful she could have wept.
“You look like those old married couples in paintings!”
And she took their picture.
(Y/N) wouldn’t have called them an old couple, but as she looked at her baggy jeans and heavy green sweater, she might have been swayed. They laughed regardless if they agreed, and the Doctor looked indignant as (Y/N) began to crawl into his lap.
“Just because I am an old man doesn’t mean I look it.” He huffed at the pair as they giggled and ran inside.
“Just like children.” She hummed, leaning her head against his as his arm slithered across her waist, accommodating her lighter than ever frame.
“I don’t look it, do I?” The Doctor asked, earning a chuckle in response.
“I dunno, I’ve always had a thing for older men. Maybe that explains why I’m so bloody attracted to you.
“Are you sure it isn’t my devilishly cunning mind or my incredibly chiseled jawline?” He smirked, turning to her with a wink.
“Oh yeah.” She finished, covering his mouth with hers.
Falling into the groove of the kiss, the Doctor dropped his glass as he lifted his hands to her hair. (Y/N) allowed hers to slide from hers as she reached for his face, neither minding the mess at the moment. Because at the moment, it was an alien and a human, completely intertwined with one another, burning their skin into each other’s, as if they could meld together into one and never be without.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” the Doctor pulled away and began mouthing the words against the sickly skin of her neck, and she felt the words reverberate through her as if they were gospel, as if she were a holy vessel with divine intervention being delivered through her.
“Until every blade of grass falls away, until the winds cease, until all color fades from every star, I love you.”
“Mm, poetic for my gangly, awkward man, hmm?”
The Doctor breathed against her neck, no humor found tonight.
“No funnies tonight? Let me put my notecards away then.”
Pulling back, she pouted like a child in its parent’s lap. The Doctor was as serious as the grave, with pounds of suffering weighing his sad eyes down. (Y/N) turned and leaned into his chest, slouching down his torso before feeling his head lay on hers.
“Don’t be so blue, my great American novel is about to end spectacularly.”
           Her voice was a hoarse whisper. His response was silence.
           Until she felt his tears drip down into her hair, and (Y/N) simply rubbed his hands as the sun fell far from their sight. Laying in his lap, she felt him cling to her as he sobbed, all in silence.
 I'm always going to be right here No one's going anywhere
25 notes · View notes
the-dot · 6 years
Text
more blue sword shenanigans i like to think about, in no particular order:
1. harry bites into a peeled orange like an apple. "what?" she says, as her family looks on in horror.
"that's not how you eat oranges," says mathin.
"they are PRE-SLICED by NATURE," says innath. "WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT....CARNAGE"
"what the fuck are you talking about," harry says, but proceeds to eats her orange like a normal goddamn person
---
2. kentarre: your brother is really hot, can i bang him
harry: as long as you promise never to call my brother hot in my presence ever again you can do whatever you want
harry, later: .....this is gonna be fuckin hilarious
kentarre goes up to richard, who is sitting with jack.
"you are very hot and i would like to bang you," she says in damarian.
richard, who does not yet speak damarian: ?????????
jack laughs until he cries. kentarre fumes for a minute, then resolves to teach richard damarian so that she can flirt with him aggressively and Get A Piece Of That Ass. he learns the curse words for many things. the first time he unknowingly says something utterly filthy in damarian and looks at her hopefully she is struck with one single clear thought.
"i'm gonna marry this nerd," she decides, and promptly asks if she can bang him, because that was her original intention and kentarre is a go-getter.
---
3. "hey," corlath says. "does richard hate me?"
"????" says harry. "no??? i dont think so?? why?"
harry, internally: do i need to kill my brother
"haha just had a thought," corlath says. "it's all fine."
narrator: it was not all fine, however
corlath proceeds to be sad bc he wants to have family but it kinda seems like??? harry's family doesn't like him?? which is understandable, he supposes, seeing as he basically kidnapped an entire person without any actual reason beyond that he thought she Might be helpful.
harry, however, is having None Of That Bullshit, and corners richard.
"what the fuck did you do to my husband," she demands. "he asked me if i thought you hated him and now he's SAD."
richard: ???? what the fuck???? no???? i'm terrified of him???? why the FUCK would i make him upset
harry: ohhh oh dear
harry promptly drags richard into a room with corlath.
"neither of you dislike each other and i love you both and you both love me," she announces, "so make friends."
(they do, with her help.)
---
4. this is less shenanigans and more Assorted Feelings About The First Royal Baby: corlath absolutely cries when he sees his son for the first time.
"he's so small," he says, barely able to even look at him, because he's destroyed things less fragile with barely a glance. "i'm gonna hurt him, harry, oh gods."
"nonsense," harry says, and pulls her husband closer so that he can hold their son.
baby tor mathin absolutely adores his parents. like, he cries and cries and cries when they aren't in the room, and his parents don't have the heart to let him, so he ends up going almost everywhere with them for the first year and a half of his life. everyone is delighted by this arrangement. harry catches corlath singing tor mathin to sleep more than once and falls a little more in love with him each time.
"my boys," she says affectionately each time, and corlath is so indescribably happy with his life that it hurts a little.
---
5. somehow, the gang ends up somewhere with lots and lots of snow. three things happen:
a) innath, upon discovering that snow can be rolled into balls, slam-dunks a basketball-sized snowball onto corlath's head. it turns into War.
b) harry and corlath organize a snowball fight where they are on opposing teams, complete with forts and strategies and it kind of looks like an actual war. jack is both awed and horrified. it ends with no one the victor but everyone cold and wet. the king and queen disappear somewhere ""to warm up"" and predictably aren't seen until the next morning.
c) richard suggests ice skating, because somehow they have ice skates, and kentarre is delighted by the idea.
"KNIFE SHOES," she says, somehow doing backwards figure eights despite never having been on skates in her life
"what the fuck," corlath says, watching in horror
everyone who skates regrets it immensely the next day.
---
6. tor mathin can talk to animals, and he loves them. all of them. usually this is cute---an exasperated isfahel will come up to harry with tor mathin's collar in his teeth, drop him in his mother's lap, and walk away in a huff because tor had tried to wander away from the camp a lot of times and there is only so much herding isfahel is willing to do; he spends so much time with narknon that she treats him like a kitten and hisses at anyone she doesn't like who comes too near him; he convinces tsornin to help him onto his back and ride around the city. other times he will excitedly show his parents a new friend, and it's a cobra or a giant, feral dog that attacks every human that comes near it but is an angel to the prince. corlath has about three heart attacks every time he hears tor say "papa, look, i made a new friend!"
---
7. narknon......does not make life easy for corlath.
"i'm sorry," harry says laughingly when narknon is sprawled over corlath's half of the bed, and he would be more annoyed but he cares a lot less when she scoots over and turns and holds out a hand to him and they hold each other all that night.
"are you serious," corlath says flatly, glaring at narknon, who has seated herself in his chair at the dinner table when she had been sitting in the chair next to harry before he'd gotten up for a fraction of a second. narknon smiles a cat smile at him while harry tries valiantly not to laugh.
he gives up when he's trying to hold court with harry, not long after their marriage, and narknon is sitting on his throne.
("i do like cats," he argues later, while harry laughs so hard that tears stream down her face. "it's only that your cat thinks her purpose in life is to inconvenience me in every way possible, and i am fond of her, but she is a goddamned nuisance.")
43 notes · View notes
hudsonespie · 4 years
Text
Christmas 1944: The Liberation of Leyte
"People of the Philippines: I have returned. By the grace of Almighty God our forces stand again on Philippine soil—soil consecrated in the blood or our two peoples. We have come dedicated and committed to the task of destroying every vestige of enemy control over your daily lives, and of restoring upon a foundation of indestructible strength, the liberties of your people."   - General Douglas MacArthur, U.S. Army, October 20, 1944
Seventy-five years ago, on December 25, 1944, after a six-week campaign to liberate the Philippine island of Leyte, Allied forces under General Douglas Macarthur were mopping up the last vestiges of Japanese resistance. The invasion of the Philippines was one of the last major land battles of the Pacific War leading up to the surrender of Japan. By the 26th, MacArthur announced the end of organized resistance on Leyte. It was a fitting Christmas gift to the Philippine people and MacArthur’s forces would pursue the enemy back to the island nation’s capital in Manila. 
Tumblr media
LST-66 (second from left) and other LSTs debarking troops and supplies on the beaches of Leyte Island, the Philippines. (U.S. Coast Guard Collection)
Coast Guard manned ships, such as LST-66, ensured a steady stream of troops, equipment and supplies to Allied offensives like the Battle for Leyte Island. At 328 feet in length, the LST (short for “landing ship, tank”) was a product of British and American engineering genius, and the Allies’ desperate need for amphibious ships in the European and Pacific theaters. The largest of the Allies’ purpose-built landing ships, the LST carried 2,100 tons of troops, tanks, trucks, supplies and ammunition. A crew of 110 Coast Guard officers and enlisted men called LST-66 their home.
In the fall of 1944, the Allies launched one of the most strategically important amphibious operations of the war—a campaign to liberate the Philippines from Japanese occupation. In so doing, General Douglas MacArthur would redeem his pledge made in 1942, before the surrender of the islands, to return and free them. More importantly, Allied control would cut-off the Japanese homeland from vital raw materials, such as the oil reserves located in the Dutch East Indies and Malaya, and isolated Japanese military units holding out as far south as Borneo.
Japanese military leaders knew all too well the strategic importance of the Philippines. Its loss would initiate the final chapter of a retreat to the home islands that had begun in mid-1942 with the Allied “island-hopping” campaign. To hold onto the Philippines, the Japanese military resorted to desperate measures. These included sending the last major units of the Imperial Japanese Navy on a suicide mission to destroy the Allied invasion forces and a new aviation tactic termed “Kamikaze,” or “Divine Wind.” Japanese kamikaze pilots flew one-way missions to crash-dive their fighters and fighter-bombers into Allied ships.
American military leaders decided on Leyte Island as the target of their first Philippine landings. One of the largest amphibious operations of World War II, the Leyte invasion included nearly 430 amphibious vessels supported by aircraft carriers and warships of the Navy’s 3rd and 7th fleets. On Friday, October 20, 1944, LST-66 helped land the first of the invasion’s nearly 200,000 troops.
Tumblr media
U.S. Army Air Corps employed the P-38 “Lightning” pursuit fighters in the Pacific theater of operations. (Courtesy of U.S. Air Force)
At Leyte, enemy resistance met Allied forces on land, in the air, and at sea. Entrenched Japanese troops fought U.S. Army units in the jungle while kamikazes crashed into Allied ships and Japanese fleets attacked the Allied armada in world history, Allied warships repulsed Japanese naval forces leaving most of the enemy’s warships damaged or destroyed. 
On Sunday, November 12, LST-66 returned to Leyte to land more troops and supplies. At 8:30 a.m., the 66 ran ashore on the grey sandy beaches near the town of Dulag, opened its protective bow doors and dropped its landing ramp. The shoreline had been cleared of enemy defenses, so the LST’s doors remained open for the day to deposit cargo and embark exhausted American troops from the invasion’s first wave. Members of the LST’s crew even had a chance to observe the anniversary of Armistice Day (now known as Veterans Day) a day late at the growing Allied military cemetery located not far from the beach. Little did these shipmates know that several of their number would soon lie in that hallowed ground.
In the afternoon, the 66 embarked men of the 75thJoint Assault Signal Company. Prior to the initial October landings, this joint Army-Navy reconnaissance unit had been inserted on the Leyte coast to identify Japanese defenses and communicate their location back to the invasion planners. After weeks of living in the jungle on C-rations, the recon men were happy to board a friendly vessel with bunk beds and hot chow. The weary troops made their way to the relative safety of the LST’s stern, out of range of enemy snipers. A lieutenant with the unit even brought aboard a cockatoo perched on his shoulder, which drew a crowd of curious 66 crewmembers.
Throughout November 12, Japanese “Zero” fighter aircraft had made suicide attacks against the landing ships, so the U.S. Army Air Corps sent up P-38 fighters to protect the vessels. Fast and deadly, the fighter’s manufacturer named the P-38 the “Lightning,” but the Japanese called it “two planes with one pilot” because of its unique twin-fuselage and center cockpit design. At about 5:00 p.m., with two P-38s hot on its tail, a Zero appeared from behind the mountains on Leyte. The Lightnings hit the Zero with machine gun fire, suddenly broke off their pursuit, and rocketed skyward. A 66 crew member who saw the dogfight from the forward deck, recounted:
"Over the high area forward I saw two P-38 fighters zooming straight up as if to avoid our ship from being gunned down by us. At that very instance [sic],I saw and heard this roaring Japanese kamikaze plane with the meatball markings almost 15 feet directly overhead that is forever imprinted in my brain."
What happened next was a brutal shock to everyone. The wounded Zero zoomed straight for the Army and Coast Guard men gathered on the starboard side of the LST’s stern. In milliseconds, the enemy fighter impacted the LST’s deck, careened across the ship’s aft quarterdeck, sprayed aviation fuel over everything, exploded, and obliterated men and machines. The Zero left a swath of carnage and wreckage in its wake before crashing into the water. The lieutenant and one of his men were killed instantly with another seven Army men severely wounded.
Tumblr media
Early photo of LST-66 hero Robert Goldman in his Coast Guard uniform. Goldman will be the namesake for a new Fast Response Cutter. (Courtesy of the Goldman family)
The crash took a greater toll on the ship’s crew, with four Coast Guardsmen killed and seven wounded. All that remained of the parrot were white feathers sprinkled over the twisted metal and mangled bodies strewn about the quarterdeck. In the aftermath, Pharmacist’s Mate 2nd class Robert Goldman swung into action treating the wounded and dying in spite of his own burns and shrapnel wounds. He was honored with the Bronze Star and Purple Heart medals and will be honored as a Fast Response Cutter namesake next year.
LST-66’s dead were tagged for identification and sent ashore for burial in in the same military cemetery that several of them had visited earlier that day. Like the fallen of LST-66, thousands of other Coast Guardsmen serving on the high seas never returned home. They made the ultimate sacrifice and remain part of the Coast Guard’s long blue line of brave men and women who go in harm’s way to defend the freedoms we hold dear.
William H. Thiesen is the U.S Coast Guard Atlantic Area historian. 
This article appears courtesy of Coast Guard Compass and may be found in its original form here. 
from Storage Containers https://maritime-executive.com/article/christmas-1944-macarthur-returns-to-the-philippines via http://www.rssmix.com/
0 notes
hudsonespie · 4 years
Text
Christmas 1944: MacArthur Returns to the Philippines
People of the Philippines: I have returned. By the grace of Almighty God our forces stand again on Philippine soil—soil consecrated in the blood or our two peoples. We have come dedicated and committed to the task of destroying every vestige of enemy control over your daily lives, and of restoring upon a foundation of indestructible strength, the liberties of your people.   - General Douglas MacArthur, U.S. Army, October 20, 1944
Seventy-five years ago, on December 25, 1944, after a six-week campaign to liberate the Philippine island of Leyte, Allied forces under General Douglas Macarthur were mopping up the last vestiges of Japanese resistance. The invasion of the Philippines was one of the last major land battles of the Pacific War leading up to the surrender of Japan. By the 26th, MacArthur announced the end of organized resistance on Leyte. It was a fitting Christmas gift to the Philippine people and MacArthur’s forces would pursue the enemy back to the island nation’s capital in Manila. 
  LST-66 (second from left) and other LSTs debarking troops and supplies on the beaches of Leyte Island, the Philippines. (U.S. Coast Guard Collection)
Coast Guard manned ships, such as LST-66, ensured a steady stream of troops, equipment and supplies to Allied offensives like the Battle for Leyte Island. At 328 feet in length, the LST (short for “landing ship, tank”) was a product of British and American engineering genius, and the Allies’ desperate need for amphibious ships in the European and Pacific theaters. The largest of the Allies’ purpose-built landing ships, the LST carried 2,100 tons of troops, tanks, trucks, supplies and ammunition. A crew of 110 Coast Guard officers and enlisted men called LST-66 their home.
In the fall of 1944, the Allies launched one of the most strategically important amphibious operations of the war—a campaign to liberate the Philippines from Japanese occupation. In so doing, General Douglas MacArthur would redeem his pledge made in 1942, before the surrender of the islands, to return and free them. More importantly, Allied control would cut-off the Japanese homeland from vital raw materials, such as the oil reserves located in the Dutch East Indies and Malaya, and isolated Japanese military units holding out as far south as Borneo.
  Japanese Zero fighters, such as this one, were used in the Philippines as kamikaze aircraft. (Courtesy of Commemorative Air Force/American Airpower Heritage Flying Museum)
Japanese military leaders knew all too well the strategic importance of the Philippines. Its loss would initiate the final chapter of a retreat to the home islands that had begun in mid-1942 with the Allied “island-hopping” campaign. To hold onto the Philippines, the Japanese military resorted to desperate measures. These included sending the last major units of the Imperial Japanese Navy on a suicide mission to destroy the Allied invasion forces and a new aviation tactic termed “Kamikaze,” or “Divine Wind.” Japanese kamikaze pilots flew one-way missions to crash-dive their fighters and fighter-bombers into Allied ships.
American military leaders decided on Leyte Island as the target of their first Philippine landings. One of the largest amphibious operations of World War II, the Leyte invasion included nearly 430 amphibious vessels supported by aircraft carriers and warships of the Navy’s 3rd and 7th fleets. On Friday, October 20, 1944, LST-66 helped land the first of the invasion’s nearly 200,000 troops.
  U.S. Army Air Corps employed the P-38 “Lightning” pursuit fighters in the Pacific theater of operations. (Courtesy of U.S. Air Force)
At Leyte, enemy resistance met Allied forces on land, in the air, and at sea. Entrenched Japanese troops fought U.S. Army units in the jungle while kamikazes crashed into Allied ships and Japanese fleets attacked the Allied armada in world history, Allied warships repulsed Japanese naval forces leaving most of the enemy’s warships damaged or destroyed. 
On Sunday, November 12, LST-66 returned to Leyte to land more troops and supplies. At 8:30 a.m., the 66 ran ashore on the grey sandy beaches near the town of Dulag, opened its protective bow doors and dropped its landing ramp. The shoreline had been cleared of enemy defenses, so the LST’s doors remained open for the day to deposit cargo and embark exhausted American troops from the invasion’s first wave. Members of the LST’s crew even had a chance to observe the anniversary of Armistice Day (now known as Veterans Day) a day late at the growing Allied military cemetery located not far from the beach. Little did these shipmates know that several of their number would soon lie in that hallowed ground.
  LST-66 (second from left) and other LSTs debarking troops and supplies on the beaches of Leyte Island, the Philippines. (U.S. Coast Guard Collection)
In the afternoon, the 66 embarked men of the 75thJoint Assault Signal Company. Prior to the initial October landings, this joint Army-Navy reconnaissance unit had been inserted on the Leyte coast to identify Japanese defenses and communicate their location back to the invasion planners. After weeks of living in the jungle on C-rations, the recon men were happy to board a friendly vessel with bunk beds and hot chow. The weary troops made their way to the relative safety of the LST’s stern, out of range of enemy snipers. A lieutenant with the unit even brought aboard a cockatoo perched on his shoulder, which drew a crowd of curious 66 crewmembers.
Throughout November 12, Japanese “Zero” fighter aircraft had made suicide attacks against the landing ships, so the U.S. Army Air Corps sent up P-38 fighters to protect the vessels. Fast and deadly, the fighter’s manufacturer named the P-38 the “Lightning,” but the Japanese called it “two planes with one pilot” because of its unique twin-fuselage and center cockpit design. At about 5:00 p.m., with two P-38s hot on its tail, a Zero appeared from behind the mountains on Leyte. The Lightnings hit the Zero with machine gun fire, suddenly broke off their pursuit, and rocketed skyward. A 66 crew member who saw the dogfight from the forward deck, recounted:
"Over the high area forward I saw two P-38 fighters zooming straight up as if to avoid our ship from being gunned down by us. At that very instance [sic],I saw and heard this roaring Japanese kamikaze plane with the meatball markings almost 15 feet directly overhead that is forever imprinted in my brain."
What happened next was a brutal shock to everyone. The wounded Zero zoomed straight for the Army and Coast Guard men gathered on the starboard side of the LST’s stern. In milliseconds, the enemy fighter impacted the LST’s deck, careened across the ship’s aft quarterdeck, sprayed aviation fuel over everything, exploded, and obliterated men and machines. The Zero left a swath of carnage and wreckage in its wake before crashing into the water. The lieutenant and one of his men were killed instantly with another seven Army men severely wounded.
  Early photo of LST-66 hero Robert Goldman in his Coast Guard uniform. Goldman will be the namesake for a new Fast Response Cutter. (Courtesy of the Goldman family)
The crash took a greater toll on the ship’s crew, with four Coast Guardsmen killed and seven wounded. All that remained of the parrot were white feathers sprinkled over the twisted metal and mangled bodies strewn about the quarterdeck. In the aftermath, Pharmacist’s Mate 2nd class Robert Goldman swung into action treating the wounded and dying in spite of his own burns and shrapnel wounds. He was honored with the Bronze Star and Purple Heart medals and will be honored as a Fast Response Cutter namesake next year.
LST-66’s dead were tagged for identification and sent ashore for burial in in the same military cemetery that several of them had visited earlier that day. Like the fallen of LST-66, thousands of other Coast Guardsmen serving on the high seas never returned home. They made the ultimate sacrifice and remain part of the Coast Guard’s long blue line of brave men and women who go in harm’s way to defend the freedoms we hold dear.
William H. Thiesen is the U.S Coast Guard Atlantic Area historian. 
This article appears courtesy of Coast Guard Compass and may be found in its original form here. 
from Storage Containers https://www.maritime-executive.com/article/christmas-1944-macarthur-returns-to-the-philippines via http://www.rssmix.com/
0 notes